Chapter 42 Nick
Nick
Istraighten the tie I’m wearing as I walk up the massive driveway at Poppy’s parents’ house in the Belcaro neighborhood of Denver—the wealthiest neighborhood in the whole city.
“Your parents’ house is huge. Jesus,” I say.
Poppy sighs. “It’s definitely big. And way too much house for just two people.”
“Why’d they buy it if it’s too big for what they need?”
“Status symbol. It’s important for my parents to look well-off.”
I nod like I understand, even though I don’t. I’ve never been poor, but growing up, my parents were working class. My mom stayed home to take care of my sister and me while my dad worked two jobs so that he could support us.
When my big brother Ryker got drafted into the NHL and started playing pro hockey, that’s when things changed.
He started making tons of money and took care of us financially.
He paid off my parents’ old house, then bought them a bigger, nicer one that they live in now.
He bought brand new cars for both Anna and me when we graduated from high school.
He pays my rent and Anna’s rent because he wants us to focus on school and not have to stress about bills.
I know how lucky I am to not have to worry about money, thanks to my rich hockey pro brother, but Poppy’s parents are in a whole other league.
“I know meeting my dad was stiff and unpleasant, but my mom will be nicer to you,” Poppy says. “She’s a lot friendlier when she first meets people.”
“Good to know.”
“And if you want to get on her good side, compliment how she looks. She loves it when people tell her she looks young or when you notice her outfit.”
“Noted.”
As we make our way to the porch, I notice Poppy fidgeting with the buttons on her long wool coat. She’s nervous.
There’s a soft pang in my chest. I hate that she feels this way when she’s about to go home and see her parents. I think about my family, how happy and relaxed I am whenever I go to their house and spend time with them. It sucks that Poppy doesn’t have that.
I stop walking, take her hand in mine, and turn her to face me.
I cup her face in my hand. “You look fucking incredible in that dress,” I say softly. “I can’t wait to see it on my bedroom floor later.”
The worry in her eyes melts away, and she chuckles softly. “We’re about to have Thanksgiving dinner with my snooty parents, and all you can think about is fooling around?”
“Can’t help it. My girlfriend is gorgeous.”
She beams and kisses me. When we break apart, I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. “It’ll be okay,” I say softly.
She lets out a breath. “Thank you for coming with me.”
I lean back and look her in the eyes. “I’d do anything for you, Poppy.”
I take her by the hand and walk up the porch steps. She opens the front door and glances around the massive foyer, which looks like it’s made of all marble. The floors and the staircase are so damn shiny. I glance up at the huge crystal chandelier hanging above.
“It’s obnoxious, I know,” Poppy says.
I hear the soft sound of conversation coming from down the hallway. With her hand in mine, she leads me down to the main part of the house, which is a huge open-concept living room, kitchen, and dining room.
Damn. This space is bigger than my parents’ house. About thirty-five people are standing around, drinking cocktails while chatting.
A guy in a white dress shirt and silver tie holding a tray of champagne flutes walks over to us.
“Welcome to Mr. and Mrs. Wylder’s Thanksgiving luncheon. Can I interest you in a cranberry champagne cocktail?”
“Uh, sure,” I say. I grab a glass and thank the server. Poppy says no thanks, and he walks off.
I notice a couple other servers milling around with trays, offering people drinks and appetizers.
“Do your parents always hire waiters for Thanksgiving?” I ask.
“Yup,” she says through a sigh.
I take a sip of the cocktail. “Pretty good.”
“Drink up. The best thing you’ll get out of today is free alcohol.”
Another server stops by and gives Poppy a glass of sparkling water and she takes a small sip.
“Poppy, darling. You made it.” I look over and see a woman around Poppy’s height wearing a black dress, walking over to her. She pulls Poppy into a hug.
“Hi, Mom.”
I stand back and let mother and daughter greet each other. I notice Poppy looks a little more relaxed with her mom. She’s actually smiling when she’s talking to her, instead of the way she frowned at her dad.
After a second, Poppy turns to me. “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Nick. Nick, this is my mother, Marla.”
I shake her hand and smile. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Wylder.”
“Oh, I insist that you call me Marla. Mrs. Wylder makes me feel a hundred years old.”
“Well, you certainly don’t look a hundred years old,” I smile at her. “If I saw you and Poppy walking down the street together, I’d think you were her older sister.”
She beams at me and pats my arm. “Oh, you’re a charmer.”
Poppy smiles and flashes me a thumbs up. I’m not even lying. Poppy’s mom is really pretty. And she has the same long, sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes, just like Poppy.
“Nick is my best friend Anna’s twin brother,” Poppy says.
Marla’s face lights up. “Oh, how wonderful! Your sister Anna is quite impressive. Incredibly intelligent. Last time I saw her, she said she was planning to attend medical school.”
“She definitely got the brains for the two of us.”
Marla chuckles.
“Nick is an incredible hockey player. He’s the star of the Hollis University men’s team.”
Marla smiles. “Oh, well done!” She chuckles. “You’ll have to forgive me, Nick. I’m not much of a hockey fan. Or sports in general.”
“It’s okay. Not everyone is into watching a bunch of guys slide around on ice while they chase around a rubber disc.”
Marla’s head falls back as she laughs. She pats my arm again, then turns to Poppy. “Darling, your boyfriend is a riot,” she says. “I have to check on the turkey, but you kids help yourself to drinks and appetizers.”
She walks off and Poppy lets out a breath.
“That went a lot better than when I met your dad,” I say.
Poppy smiles, but a second later, it fades when she looks past my shoulder.
“Dad. Hi.”
He steps over and gives her a quick hug.
“Poppy, darling. So glad you’re here.” He turns to me. “Nick. Likewise.”
I nod at him. “Thank you for having me.”
He gives a tight, unimpressed smile when he looks at the dress shirt, tie, and trousers I’m wearing. I hold in a laugh at how obvious his dislike for me is. This guy is pathetic.
A second later, an old guy in a suit walks over to us. He greets Poppy.
“Poppy, my dear. How are you? How’s junior year of college treating you?” he asks.
“Busy as ever,” she says.
“I’m sure you’re leaving everyone in the dust with how hard you work and study. You’ve always been brilliant,” he says.
She smiles shyly at him. “Just trying to do my best.”
“She’s got a perfect 4.0 GPA,” her dad says to his friend. “And she’s been studying a lot for the LSAT, too. She’s going to knock that out of the park, I just know it.”
Poppy’s smile wavers.
“Oh, I bet. She’s going to be a successful and smart lawyer, just like you, Sterling,” his friend says.
“Before I leave, remind me to get the number of your golf instructor. My swing is in dire need of help…” The guy trails off when he looks at me.
“Oh, hey. You’re Nick St. George. You play hockey for Hollis U. ”
I nod at the guy. “That’s me.”
He grins. “I’m a season ticket holder. I go to all the home games. Rebels for life!”
I smile and shake his hand. “Thanks for supporting the team. That means a lot. What was your name?”
“Richard Wells. Good to meet you, son. You’re a hell of a hockey player.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He turns to Sterling, who looks mildly annoyed that his friend likes me. “I didn’t know you invited a college hockey star to Thanksgiving dinner,” Richard says.
“Nick is Poppy’s boyfriend,” Sterling says in a strained tone.
Richard turns to Poppy, who’s smiling. She grabs my hand. “It’s true.”
Richard chuckles and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, this is just delightful. Nick, son, you’re a menace on the ice. It’s a blast watching you play. Peter! Guess who little Poppy Wylder is dating.”
Some other older guy in a suit walks over. I shake his hand. Richard introduces the guy as his business partner.
“Peter is a Hollis U men’s hockey season ticket holder, too,” Richard says.
“What a surprise to see the Rebels star center at Thanksgiving dinner,” Peter says. “My grandkids and I love watching you play whenever we go to Hollis U games.”
I spend the next few minutes talking hockey with them while holding Poppy’s hand. She’s smiling, looking so happy to see her dad’s friends welcome me.
A sharp throat-clear interrupts our conversation.
We all glance up at Sterling, who’s glaring at me. He dials it back when he looks at his friends. “We should sit down at the dining table. Lunch is almost ready.”
I can’t help the smug feeling coursing through me as we all head to the table. It must piss him off so much to see his friends talking to me, taking a general interest in me.
We all sit down. After Marla thanks everyone for coming, she tells us all to dig in.
“You cooked this from scratch, right, Marla?” a woman in a red dress says in a teasing tone.
Marla just laughs. “You don’t want me to cook for you, trust me. The whole kitchen would be engulfed in flames.”
Everyone chuckles.
“You should ask your accountant if this dinner counts as a tax write-off,” someone else says. “Most of your guests are your clients and work colleagues.”
Marla nods after taking a bite of turkey. “Oh, that’s an excellent idea.”
“Speaking of taxes, can you believe the changes they’ve made to the tax code for estate taxes? Just ridiculous,” someone else says.
“Almost as ridiculous as the capital gains taxes we had to pay last year. Beyond maddening,” some other guy says.