Chapter 13 #2
“I what?” I boggled at him because my life was a long way from spoon-fed. “I work fucking hard. Who was Mr. Smith, anyhow? What did he want with me?”
“You’d have found out if you stuck around.”
“No, thank you. I bet he’s a bookie.” Uncle Wayne didn’t flinch, but his expression went flat. “That’s probably against the terms of your parole, huh? Hanging out with other ex-cons?”
“He’s not an ex-con. And go ahead and try to snitch. You won’t like what happens.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Would I do that to my dear departed brother’s child?” He smirked.
I’d never liked the way Uncle Wayne talked about my dad. They hadn’t gotten along, not since they were teens. “I think you’d threaten a nun if it made you money.”
“Sure I would. Fuck the nuns. Religion’s all a big scam.”
I wasn’t going to stand up for the Catholic Church, and we’d gotten off track. “So who is Mr. Smith?”
Uncle Wayne shrugged and leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “Looked like you had the Cardinals’ number tonight. What was different from last night?”
Our forwards got the puck into their net? I didn’t bother to answer.
“Think you’ll be moving up to the NAPH soon? Any rumors of a trade?”
“You really think I’m going to give you insider tips?”
He smirked. “You might want to be nice to me. If you do get traded, I’ll be the only one home with Dad. Give me a month, and I can probably get you cut out of his will and own it all. He’s such a soft touch.”
“Motherfucker!” I strode over and grabbed him by the shirtfront, slamming him up against the pantry cupboard. “Listen up.”
He clamped down on my wrists and dug his fingers into the tendons. He was probably leaving bruises, but I didn’t let go.
“You wanna fight me?” he gritted between his teeth. “Go ahead. Bust me up, make me bleed. I’ll call the cops, see how your team likes you with an assault charge.” He changed to a high-pitched tone. “Ooh, that Callum, he’s such a hothead, all those penalties. Be just like him to punch an older man.”
I gave him a shake but opened my fists and stepped back. “Sure, like the cops would believe you.”
He tugged his shirt straight and glared at me. “Don’t get on my bad side, little boy. I’m ten steps ahead of you already. I have lots of ways to make your life hell and don’t you forget it.”
Fuck you! My fists balled up of their own accord. I breathed through my nose and tried to convince myself I couldn’t punch his sneering face, must not punch him. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”
“Aw, little orphan Annie. Always with the big eyes and the pity-me, getting away with everything. Maybe you did something, maybe you didn’t, but life ain’t fair, Cal. The question is, what can you do for me now? Might give that one some thought.”
He turned and strode out, then I heard him taking the stairs much faster than Grandpa had. I froze, straining my ears, but as far as I could tell, he didn’t stop at Grandpa’s level, just continued on up to the attic.
Sonofabitch! I pulled my punch at the last moment so I didn’t break a finger on the pantry door. My knuckle still left a smear of blood on the wood, and I stuck it in my mouth.
Maybe it would be good to get traded. At least, if that put me in the NAPH. Minimum salary was close to a million. I could pay someone to manage Nina’s, fly Grandpa out to live with me wherever, ditch Uncle Wayne.
Except Grandpa would never leave the store his father founded and the house Great-grandpa bought for his wife unless he had to.
“Fuck my life.”
I decided to just pack the stuff I had at Zeke’s for this roadie.
There was still time for a late-night laundry load.
I didn’t want to go upstairs. I tidied the kitchen and headed out, making sure the alarm was set.
I had a moment of temptation to delete Uncle Wayne’s code, since I had the master.
But odds were, if it went off, he’d just wake Grandpa, forcing him out of bed to shut it down. Petty satisfaction, but not worth it.
Zeke’s house was dark and quiet when I opened the front door.
I coded through his alarm and reset it, then wandered the downstairs.
Last night, I’d come home to find Jos zonked out on the couch.
He’d muttered at me when I woke him, then vanished upstairs.
Tonight, he must already be in his room.
Hopefully in bed, since he had school again in the morning.
On the way to my room to put together my laundry, I paused outside Jos’s door. Nothing reached my ears and no light came from underneath. With luck, he was sleeping.
I headed down to the unfinished basement where the washer and dryer sat amid a jumble of boxes and shelves full of oddments.
A big towel sat crumpled on top of the washer, and when I lifted it, the faint scent made me grin.
“Naughty, naughty, Zeke, putting off the laundry for four days.” Although he was probably too responsible to run the machine for just one item.
Zeke on his hands and knees had been so fucking hot.
He was gorgeous and hungry, yielding and eager.
I would fuck him any time we had the leisure.
We’d got in a hand job yesterday while Jos was in school, the heat as we kissed flaring so high we hadn’t bothered to do more than stick a frantic hand down each other’s pants, but there were any number of surfaces in this house I’d like to bend Zeke Evans over when I got the chance.
After rinsing the towel, I threw it in the washer, added my shorts and shirts on top, and started the load running.
The machine engaged with its usual screech and clank that suggested a tune-up wouldn’t be a bad idea, but then began filling like it should.
I watched for a minute to make sure the noise wasn’t a death rattle this time, then turned away.
“Mom?” Jos stood at the bottom of the stairs in sleep pants and a T-shirt, his feet bare, his eyes wide. I hadn’t heard him over the sounds of the washer.
“Hey, kiddo. It’s just me. I needed to wash some things for my roadie tomorrow. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“I thought…” He glanced around, still seeming dazed. “Zeke never runs laundry at night. Mom used to—” He cut himself short with a fist pressed to his lips.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Where’s Zeke?”
“Working.” I figured Jos knew that, but if he woke thinking his mom was here, he might be all kinds of disoriented. “He’ll be back in a few hours.”
“This sucks!” Jos threw a sudden punch at a stack of boxes, knocking one down. “Fuck this!” He slammed his shoulder into the next batch, toppling them, then aimed a kick with his bare foot at a solid-looking trunk.
I grabbed his arm, yanking him away from broken-toe range.
“Let go!” He struggled against my hold. “Get off me.”
“You gonna try to break yourself again?”
“What do you care? You don’t even know me. You’re just fucking my brother.”
I let go of his arm like it was red hot, panic flashing through me. “What did you say?”
“You think I’m stupid?” He sneered. “I ditched school Tuesday and came home, and you were making out in the kitchen.”
“We…” I cut off whatever lie I might’ve tried, because if he saw us, he saw us. I was checking your brother’s tonsils with my tongue wouldn’t fool anyone. Fuck, fuck, fuck! “Did you tell anyone?”
His sneer deepened. “I’m not a snitch.”
“I… Thank you. Because I’m not out and… and… I don’t want to be. Not yet.” My heart was trying to escape from my chest and sweat trickled down my spine. My entire future was in the hands of a twelve-year-old who loathed me.
Jos tilted his head and his expression smoothed out. “Doesn’t anybody know? Well, Zeke, duh.”
“And my grandpa. That’s it. And now you.” Plus a collection of hookups, but they hadn’t known who I was, so that wasn’t the same thing.
“What about Sully? And Hannah?”
“No.”
“Why not? Sully’s cool.”
“I… It’s just not an option. Not yet. I want to make the Dragons.”
“But they had Farrell. He was gay.”
I was surprised Jos knew about him. Maybe something Zeke had said. “Yeah, they did. And they traded him as soon as he made waves.”
“Oh.”
“Right. Oh. I can’t be out, not yet.” Maybe not till I was retired. Or till I won the Cup. Something so big I’d be secure for life. Although there was no such thing— the best players in the game sometimes got traded.
“So what are you doing with my brother?”
I choked a laugh because even at twelve, it should be fucking obvious. Emphasis on fucking.
“Oh.” This time the word sounded choked, and Jos flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I meant… Zeke’s okay with just… sneaking around? He’s not really the sneaking type.”
“You’ll have to ask Zeke about that,” I said, ruthlessly sacrificing him to the conversation.
“Yeah, no, not happening.” Jos rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to bed.”
“Don’t wake Zeke when you get up for school. He’ll be getting to bed real early in the morning.”
“I know that.” Jos whirled and stomped up the stairs.
Going after him would be worse than not. Especially when he was pissed off. Still, I stood for a while peering up the steps. Had he promised not to tell anyone? He’d said he wasn’t a snitch, but I couldn’t remember for sure.
He came down missing his mom, and I made it worse. Except no, not really. He’d known about me and Zeke for two days already.
Maybe thinking about the two of us could be a distraction.
Being mad at me, or grossed out by his brother having a sex life, was probably better than that hollow feeling of missing his mother and thinking, for one glorious, horrible moment, that she wasn’t dead.
I remembered all the times that’d happened to me, the swoop and fall of my stomach as I thought I saw Mom in a store, or on a bus, till the lady with red curls turned around and it was never her.
An unfamiliar face, a blank stare. The ache, knowing it never would be Mom.
Poor kid.
Maybe when we were back from our roadie, I’d get Sully to hang out with Jos again. “He’s cool” was like an Olympic gold medal, coming from a preteen.
I leaned against the washer, feeling the churning vibrate behind me.
The surge of adrenaline at being outed faded, leaving me tired.
Whatever happened would happen. Uncle Wayne’s bullshit was probably worse than the risk of Jos shooting off his mouth.
Neither one was something I could control.
I had a flight to make tomorrow, then two important games to play.
Hockey. I needed to focus on hockey and let the rest of my life go, at least for the duration of this road trip. Still, when I got upstairs, I climbed to Zeke’s room and left a note beside his bed. “Jos knows we’re sleeping together. Not sure what he thinks. He seemed cool with it.”
The temptation was strong to fall into that bed, to doze till Zeke got home so we could talk, maybe touch, or just lie close together before I had to head out in the morning. But Zeke would be exhausted, and he didn’t need to deal with my crap. The note would have to do.
I went back down to my room, avoiding the telltale tread in the staircase. Then I lay awake for hours, my thoughts churning, before I fell asleep at last.