Chapter 7
CALLUM
I’d probably been inside Zeke’s house at some point over the years. Not for his birthday parties. Three years apart was enough that his friends and mine didn’t overlap. But some adult thing, wandering in behind Grandpa. I didn’t remember, anyhow.
The interior was nicer than ours, and much better kept up.
Even when I was younger, Grandpa was always busy and short of cash, and I was a little shit who didn’t do extra chores unless forced to.
Our hardwood floors had never gleamed like these, the curtains on our front windows were faded, not crisp white, and our furniture had what Grandpa called a “lived-in patina” and most people called wear and tear.
The basic layout was familiar, though, as if they’d been built by the same designer. Zeke led the way from the foyer into the kitchen, calling, “Hey, Jos? You around?”
A few thuds overhead suggested yes, and then Jos appeared on the stair landing dressed in sweatpants and an oversized band T-shirt for some group I’d never heard of showing an exploding guitar. “What?”
“We have some stuff to figure out. Can you come on down?”
“I’m busy.”
“It won’t take that long, and it involves you.”
“If I have to.” He stomped down the stairs, making a surprising amount of noise for someone skinny in bare feet, and leaned in the doorway. “What?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out what to do when I have to start working overnight shifts. You can’t stay in the house alone.”
“I’m not a baby!”
“No, but you are twelve. Afternoons, evenings, I trust you to be okay. Nights, not so much. If you want to live with me, and not your Aunt Heidi or your grandmother, we need to not get me arrested for neglect.”
“That’s stupid. If I’m going to get into trouble, it’d be when I’m awake, not when I’m asleep.”
Zeke pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a second.
I said, “Hey, sick shirt. I like it,” as a distraction.
Jos turned cool eyes on me. “Who cares?”
Zeke straightened quickly. “Jos! That’s rude.”
“So is commenting on how someone looks.”
Before Zeke’s sputter could turn into a scolding, I said, “I know, right? Like, how many times did I get the ‘redheads have no souls’ and ‘gingers are ugly’?” And my hair’s not even that red.”
“It is, though,” Jos said. “Like, really red.”
I retorted, “Who cares?” and grinned.
He blinked at me, then a tiny smile quirked his mouth as if against his will.
“So Zeke’s schedule thing,” I went on. “We need to figure something out, because if my grandpa finds out you’re over here alone for, like, twelve hours, he’s going to be coming over all the time, barging in with day-old pastries and bananas from the store, and asking you if you want to play board games like Monopoly.
Pretending he just happened to be in the neighbourhood. ”
“I like Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Jos said. “A lot.”
I leaned toward him and whispered, “So do I. But he’s the world’s biggest worry-wart.” That was true enough, although he’d learned to be hands-off with me when I snapped back at being coddled. I’d really sucked as a teenager.
I settled on a stool at the kitchen counter. “So here’s the plan. There will be days when Zeke has to be at work in the night. You could come over to our house and hang out for his shift, or just come over there to sleep.”
“I like my room.”
“Or I could come over here and sleep in a guest room, so if, like, the roof falls in, you have someone you can yell for.”
“Roofs don’t fall in.”
“Well, they can and do. Thump, crash.” I pulled up a news shot of my unfortunate building and passed Jos my phone.
Zeke flicked me a frown like he wasn’t happy I was scaring the kid, but Jos just said, “Ooh, yikes. Were people in there?” sounding more fascinated than afraid.
“No, luckily. But you see that window?” I pointed at the screen. “That was my apartment.”
“Is that why you’re around all the time now?”
“Yeah. I decided to move back home. I’d rather pay my grandpa rent than pay for a smooshed apartment.” I took back the phone and pocketed it. “So what do you say? You and me and Grandpa and Zeke? Can we figure out something that social services won’t freak out about?”
“I don’t care if you want to come around sometimes.” He shrugged. “I guess. My friend Madison would be jealous. She likes ginger guys.”
“Hey, whoa, no!” I held up my hands. “I’m not a guy. I mean, I am, but as far as you and your friends are concerned, I’m as ancient as Grandpa, right? Your totally boring and responsible neighbour.”
Jos tilted his head. “Except you’re a hockey player.”
“Hockey players can be boring and responsible.”
“Mom said you’re a bad influence on the ice,” he chirped, then suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut. Whirling, he ran out of the kitchen and fled up the stairs.
Zeke bit his lip, staring after him. “I think that’s the first time he’s mentioned his mom casually like that since the funeral.”
“Fuck. Bet that hurt.”
“I don’t know what to do for him.”
“Just what you are doing,” I suggested. “Be here. Be cool. Don’t let him make you mad but don’t take too much shit either. Is he back in school?”
“Yeah, he wanted to.”
“Probably the best thing. It’s weird when you lose a parent.
Like, you want the world to stay exactly the way it was, but you also want everything to be terrible and on fire, like you feel on the inside.
” I shook myself out of that particular memory lane.
“Grandpa would be good for him, I think. I already planned to work more hours in the store, when I can, so he’ll be home more. ”
“You’re a good guy.”
“Hah.” He had no idea who I really was. “Just trying to pay back a tiny bit of what Grandpa put up with from me all those years. But I do promise, I’m not some kind of creepy weirdo or pedo, and you can trust me with your kid brother.
I get riled up kind of easy, but I’d never take it out on a kid. ”
“I believe you.” Zeke folded his arms, then flinched.
“Ouch. Forgot how those hurt right after.” He slid his sweatshirt off carefully and eyed the wrap on his arm where the tattoo still looked pretty good, if a bit oozy.
“Thanks for recommending River and coming along. And for the Timbits. You were right about my blood sugar.” He glanced around the kitchen.
“I should make something for dinner soon. I wonder if Jos already ate. Or will he bite my head off if I ask?”
“Give him half an hour,” I suggested. “I need to head back to Grandpa’s. But I’ll link you our team schedule so you can see what days we’re on the road. Then you and me and Grandpa can figure things out.”
We eyed each other and our gazes locked.
Heat slowly built between us, the same attraction that’d hit me around Zeke off and on since we were teens, ten times stronger now with the man he’d become.
I’d already kissed him once, as ridiculous as that choice had been, and I wanted to do it again.
But he had a grieving kid upstairs and a dinner to make, and this wasn’t the time.
I said, “See ya,” and turned for the door, but I felt his gaze on my back as I let myself out into the damp, chilly February evening.
When I headed into our house, I was surprised to find Grandpa already home.
Sure, he’d worked a ten-hour day as it was, but I knew he’d been doing fourteens.
A big part of the reason I was moving back home and living with the fucking forty-minute commute was to be able to take on some of those hours.
“Hey, you made it back early,” I said. “Should I start some dinner?”
He looked up from the papers he was reading on the couch. “That would be great.”
“You feeling okay?” I headed to the kitchen.
“Just giving my feet a break.”
“Bet they deserve it.” I put water on to boil for spaghetti and opened a jar of sauce while I told Grandpa about Zeke’s dilemma.
“Sure. Whatever we can do,” Grandpa agreed. “That poor Josiah. So hard for a boy to be without his parents so young.”
“He’s going by Jos now,” I told him.
“Yeah? Okay, I’ll remember.”
I had to walk out to the living room, bend over, and give Grandpa an awkward hug. He returned it and smiled up at me. “What was that for?”
“Being you. I remember when I came out to you and you took it in stride, just like that.”
“I may be old, but I’m not stuck in the fifties. You know I liked Tom Evans, but Krystal was a hard woman to get to know. After Tom died, she made Josiah— Jos— into a bit of a mini-Tom, military haircuts and camo and all. I guess now she’s dead, Jos might either lean into that or rebel against it.”
“I think he’s rebelling.”
“Poor Zeke. He was always a good boy. Tell him they’re both welcome over here anytime.”
“I will.” I went back to add ground beef to the sauce and throw some tomato and cucumber slices in a bowl for veggies. The team nutritionist would’ve probably had a fit about how I was eating, but sometimes fast and easy was the way to go.
When I set silverware on the table, Grandpa was peering at his papers again. I asked, “What are you working on?”
“Oh, nothing.” He slipped the pages into a folder and leaned back on the couch. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
That only made me more curious, but I knew nagging wouldn’t get me any answers, so I told him about my tattoo plans for Dad and showed him the final sketch on my phone.
Grandpa’s eyes went a little shiny. “Oh, he would’ve liked that. Good choice.”
“Thanks.” My throat was tight, so I returned to finishing dinner and dishing it out.
We sat at the kitchen table to eat. About halfway through, Grandpa said, “I’ve been thinking, just maybe, it might be time to sell the store.”
I choked on my pasta and stared at him. “Sell Nina’s? But… Do you want to?”
“Not really.” He stirred his spaghetti around on his plate. “But I’m gonna be seventy-five soon. I’m not as sharp as I used to be. And I have to wonder what I’m keeping the place going for. You’re destined for better things—”
“Hockey isn’t better, not for the people who count on having the store there when they need to shop. It’s just bigger. Pays more. But it’s a game, not really useful.”
He waved me off. “Pays ten times more. The store can’t compete with that, and I don’t want it to. From the day you strapped on skates, you were happiest on the ice. You have a God-given talent, yes, but I know how hard you’ve worked to improve.”
“I’ll get better yet,” I promised. “I’ll make the NAPH.”
“I know you will.” He patted my arm. “But you won’t be a storekeeper. Your father’s not with us anymore, and Wayne, well, I can’t see him managing Nina’s.”
I restrained a bitter laugh because no, even if he wasn’t in prison, Uncle Wayne didn’t like to work that hard. Plus Koda would last maybe three days before Uncle Wayne’s sneers would drive them off. Lily too. She’d probably break something over his head on the way out.
“If you don’t want to sell it, you shouldn’t have to,” I told Grandpa.
“Give me one more year. Less than. Give me till next October. I’ll find a way to sign with a NAPH team, I swear.
Minimum starting salary is eight hundred K.
I can help out. Hire a manager for the store maybe, so you can only work when you want to.
” I heard an edge of panic in my voice. If Grandpa couldn’t wait, would I quit hockey to keep the family business alive?
Should I, even if he said no? That was my great-grandmother’s name on the signboard.
I can do a hell of a lot more with an NAPH salary.
I hoped that was logic, not just wishful thinking.
“Relax, Callum.” Grandpa took another bite of pasta. “It’s not an immediate problem. Just something I’ve been mulling around in my head. I didn’t think you were that attached to the place.”
Am I? I wouldn’t have said so, but now I realized the store was like Grandpa, a fixture in my life, something that’d stayed the same when everything changed. I didn’t do well with changes. “You do what you think is right,” I mumbled. “But if you give me time, I’ll help.”
I made Grandpa go back to the couch and rest his feet while I cleared the table, filled the dishwasher, and put the leftovers away. When I glanced into the living room, he was already asleep, his head tipped back, the file folder slipped from his lap to the floor.
As quietly as I could, I went and picked the pages up.
Not so I could look at them. Well, not just. I was being helpful, but I couldn’t help taking a peek.
I wasn’t good with business stuff, but it looked like mortgage papers for the house.
I thought Great-grandpa had willed Grandpa the house fully paid off, but this showed a scary sum in the principle remaining.
The amount paid off wasn’t all that much, by comparison.
Is the store doing that badly? Did he mortgage the house to keep it going? If Grandpa didn’t want to tell me, I didn’t think I could ask.
I stuffed the sheets back in the folder, set it on the coffee table, then cleared my throat. “Hey. Hey, Grandpa?”
He blinked his eyes open and stared at me, his face blank for a second. Then he seemed to come back to earth and smiled. “Hey, Callum, want to watch some TV with me? I think that Dr. Who show you like is on.”
“Sure. I can always watch that.” I dropped into the armchair, and he fumbled with the remote, turning the TV on.
We sat in comfortable silence, although fifteen minutes later, he was asleep again.
I let him doze, staring at the screen, and not even Ncuti Gatwa’s cheekbones could distract me from worrying about Grandpa, and the fact that my life might be about to change again.