Chapter 13
CALLUM
I buttoned my game-day suit jacket and mumbled goodbyes to the guys as I headed out of the arena after the game. A bunch of them were going out drinking, but I’d said I wanted to get home. Home. But not really home.
Living next door to Grandpa was weird. I went over there sometimes, to cook dinner for him or make sure the trash was taken out, stuff I didn’t want Grandpa doing.
Sometimes Uncle Wayne was around, mostly he wasn’t and I managed to dodge him.
I didn’t know what he was doing, but it sure wasn’t the chores.
I saw Grandpa at the store, too, when I worked shifts, but it was still weird.
We talked, but we couldn’t discuss the real things like why he should kick Uncle Wayne out, or what I was really doing with Zeke.
Five days of living with a guy I had the hots for, playing house like we were boyfriends when it was just sex and friendship, kind of did in my head.
And then there was Jos, who mostly ignored me like I didn’t belong there.
Although he ignored Zeke too, a lot of the time.
I’d spent the last two nights in that house as the responsible adult because Zeke was at work, and Jos had said maybe six words to me.
Even when I got up to make breakfast because Zeke came home and crashed, Jos grabbed a granola bar and slouched off to catch his school bus.
Hockey was still good. I was playing okay— other than another shit show last night, offset by a great win tonight— but off the ice, my brain was fumbling for traction and feeling guilty.
So when this unfamiliar guy came up to me outside the arena as I was heading for my car and said, “Your uncle Wayne sent me to find you. He said to tell you it’s urgent,” my first thought was that something was wrong with Grandpa.
I followed him when he jogged off, calling, “Hey, what’s up?
” And only realized that might be a bad idea when I rounded the corner of the arena, and there, in a deserted space near some utility posts, stood Uncle Wayne and another man, this one in his fifties at least, stocky and short and dressed in a suit.
Suit-guy said, “Hey, there. You must be Callum Fitzpatrick. Nice game. Unlike last night.”
I put on the brakes and stared at Uncle Wayne. “What’s going on?” The man who’d fetched me had moved behind me, so backing up wasn’t an option.
“Listen to him.” Uncle Wayne tilted his head at suit-guy.
“Why?”
“You can call me Mr. Smith.” Suit-guy held out a hand, but when I didn’t shake it, he grinned. “I have a proposal for you. Something that could get you easy cash, no risks. Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
Easy cash made my pulse jump in alarm. “Not interested.” I stepped back, banging into the guy behind me. Dude didn’t stop me, though, as I dodged around him.
Smith called after me, “You’re making a mistake.”
The hell I am. I broke into a jog, rounded the corner, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the lingering crowd.
Anyone Uncle Wayne was mixed up with no doubt would turn out to be bad news.
A couple of people came over, asking for autographs, and I signed things while keeping watch on the spot I expected Uncle Wayne to appear.
After ten minutes, when he hadn’t showed, I figured he was gone.
Still, driving home, I almost took a longer route in case I was followed.
Then I realized how ridiculous that was, because Uncle Wayne lived right there.
The thought that he could just bring Smith back with him into my life made me shiver.
I pulled into Grandpa’s driveway, rather than Zeke’s.
Better to not be associated with the house next door, when Jos was often home alone.
I made a note to round up some clean shorts and shirts while I was in the house, to pack for our roadie.
We were flying down to Pasadena next morning to play two away games against the Pythons on the weekend.
I wasn’t generally a fan of road trips, but I’d kind of been looking forward to this one and getting my head back on straight.
Now I was worried about Grandpa and Jos and what the hell Uncle Wayne was up to.
I found Grandpa asleep on the couch, the TV playing but muted in front of him. Judging by the channel, he’d been watching my game. I eased the remote out of his slack fingers and tapped off the screen.
Grandpa woke with a snort. “What? Oh, Callum. Hi. I thought you weren’t coming over tonight.”
“I have a bit of time. Jos barely notices if I’m in the house or not.”
“I’m sure he appreciates not being all alone, even if he’ll never say so. I remember you not saying you appreciated things at that age.”
I’d been an ungrateful snot, so maybe I could cut Jos more slack. “Grandpa, do you know what Uncle Wayne is doing these days?”
The lines of fatigue in Grandpa’s face got deeper, but I needed to know. “Looking for work, he says. He got a new driving licence, so he’s legal.”
“He’s not looking for work at this hour. The truck’s not outside.”
“No. I imagine he’s out with friends. Or trying to pick up a woman, maybe. He’s a grown man. I don’t expect him to sit around here every evening, being bored and watching me nap.”
He’s lucky to have that option. But yeah, a quiet evening at home didn’t sound like Uncle Wayne.
I wondered if he’d been at my game. PHL tickets were relatively cheap, so maybe he could afford it.
He was a sports fan, but I didn’t want him watching me, even from the twentieth row.
Especially with whoever that Smith guy was.
“Has he ever mentioned a Mr. Smith? Older guy, pot belly, thinning hair, wears a suit.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. But then, I know almost none of Wayne’s friends.”
That was probably a good thing. Odds were, they were all douchebags I wouldn’t want around Grandpa. Smith definitely set off my douchebag alert, despite the classy clothes. Although, maybe Uncle Wayne by his side had been all that it took to ping that radar.
“I missed the end of the game,” Grandpa said. “Did you win?”
“Yep. Five-one. And the one was totally not my fault.”
“Good. Congratulations. You’re doing so well.”
I was. I’d pushed my goals-against average back down under two again, if barely. Even yesterday’s loss was just two-zip, although both goals had been my mistakes. I was second in the league right now, and only by a tiny fraction. First in my conference.
Grandpa peered up at me. “Are you worried about the trade deadline?”
My stomach rolled. I’d almost forgotten we were four days out from that milestone.
Except that was a lie. I hadn’t forgotten, just shoved the knowledge down deep.
Every PHL player was watching that date as the teams juggled their lineups heading into the spring playoff drive.
Just last week, we’d had Kapinski traded away for a pair of HLENA wingers who needed seasoning but might learn to score goals.
My place as the force behind the Foxes’ winning record should’ve been secure.
Maybe. Except I was becoming a valuable commodity, and there was a non-zero chance that Vancouver might trade me for some strong offense, which they needed more than a stellar goalie in the wings.
They had two good goalies. Although Anosov was thirty-six, which meant realistically, his years with the Dragons were numbered.
They might hang on to me as insurance… Okay, fuck yes, I was worried. “It’s fine,” I said.
Grandpa pushed to his feet, slowly and crookedly enough that I helped with a hand under his elbow.
He smiled at me. “Stiffened up a bit. I’m too old to sleep on that couch.
But yes, whatever happens, you’ll be fine.
Buffalo and Phillie both could really use someone like you in net, so if you do get traded, you might make the NAPH at last.”
“I don’t want to move across the country,” I muttered. Not even to play in the NAPH? Luckily, I didn’t have to answer that question, since it wouldn’t be my choice.
“I know, son. But we take our chances where we can find them.”
“I hate the thought of leaving you alone.” I felt a sharp pang at the idea of leaving Zeke and Jos, too. But it was Grandpa who really needed me.
“Well, what do you know, I’m not alone. I have Wayne back now.” He smiled.
That’s worse than alone. Although if Grandpa fell and couldn’t get up, Uncle Wayne might at least call 911.
Grandpa patted my arm. “I’m sure it’ll all work out. You should get something to eat after all that hard work. I’m heading to bed. Will I see you again before you head out on your road trip?”
“I’ll stop by the store on the way.” We’d all gather at the barn to get on a bus to the airport. No one wanted to ride herd on a whole team trying to find airport parking. I could run past Nina’s before driving to the arena.
“I’ll be glad to see you. But if something comes up and you’re running late, don’t worry about me. I’ll be cheering for you to show those Pythons how it feels not to find the back of the net.”
“Thanks.” I watched him hobble towards the stairs. After a few steps, he began moving less stiffly, but he kept a pretty good grip on the rail as he climbed out of sight.
I remembered him bounding up those steps when I was a boy, fetching something from his room. A lot had changed in the last ten years.
I’d eaten a meal at the rink after the game.
The team was good about serving a post-game spread with healthy options.
But by this point in the season, we were all trying to keep weight on, so a snack wasn’t a bad idea.
I was in the kitchen eating a thick layer of peanut butter on whole-grain bread when I heard the front door.
Of course, my luck, Uncle Wayne came into the kitchen while I had my mouth glued shut.
He glanced at me and frowned. “You made me look bad.”
I chewed, swallowed, chugged some of my sports drink, and managed to say, “Ask me if I care.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to care. You get everything handed to you with a silver spoon.”