Chapter 32
Pounding so heavily against the door, I may knock it down, kind of defeats the purpose of bypassing the front and sneaking to James’ basement entry, but do I stop? No.
There’s no cars in the drive so I’m not even sure if he’s home, but I just saw Faith in the library, so at least I know she’s not here. And for some reason, my brain memorized Dyl’s routine when I was over for dinner, so I know they should almost be sitting down to eat.
Despite the incessant pounding of my fists, there’s no sign of James.
Deciding to give it one more go then try the front like a normal person, I give three more hard knocks, the sigh of relief when the light flicks on.
One of the blinds is open, so I can see James’ bed, a book lying atop a pair of neatly folded pajamas sitting by his pillow, as does a teddy bear I definitely didn’t see on the grand tour.
Why that bear makes my chest squeeze so hard, I don’t know.
I do know James is going to be pissed, though. Me knocking his door down is diametrically opposed to his ’stay the fuck away from me’ request. I’m just about to try again when his adorable grumpy-ass face pops into the window.
“Cory? What the fuck?” He disappears again then the door is flung open, light spilling out into the garden.
Wearing Ugg boots on his feet, sweats, a Boston B’s jersey, and brandishing a hockey stick as a weapon, he places one hand on the opposite door jam, blocking the door with his massive frame.
It’s so fucking adorable I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“Hey, James. Sorry—”
“Hey James. Hey James? What the hell, Cory. You almost knock my door down in the middle of the night after I explicitly told you to stay away, then give me, Hey James.”
Not sure why he did my voice like the Fat Comptroller from Thomas the Tank Engine, but it’s best not to mention that now. Can’t seem to stop myself saying this, though. “The middle of the night? It’s not even seven.”
It’s quite possible this will be my last night on earth.
“Did you come here to give me shit, or is there something you want? You’ve got seconds to tell me or this stick is going to become very closely acquainted with your prostate and your tonsils.”
Protectively, my butt-hole clenches around itself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I do need to talk to you about something really intense, and I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Actually I did, but I wanted to talk to you.”
“Why me?”
Yeah, Cory. Why him? “The truth is I don’t know why. I just … I mean, I want to talk to you all the time.” James inhales, and tilts his head to the side, like a big, burly puppy. When he says nothing, I add, “But especially now.”
There’s every chance he’s going to step back and slam the door in my face, and I’m readying myself for that, while hoping to god that’s not how this goes. When he doesn’t, I inch closer.
“It’s the bank. They’ve foreclosed. They’re taking Mom’s house.” James’ eyes soften before my own.
“Dylan and I are making pancakes for dinner. You hungry?”
James’ gaze flicks back and forth between me and his plate.
Ignoring it, I shovel another fluffy into my mouth and smile.
His expression has been fixed since Dylan pulled out a seat and pushed me into it.
Obviously he’s not comfortable with me being here, but why ask me inside to eat if you’re just going to sit and glare at me?
We haven’t got to why I’m here yet, and despite the awkwardness, it’s a bit of a relief.
Staring or no staring, a semi-peaceful family meal is what I need right now.
I’m not family, of course, but still.
“These are great, Dyl. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
“There isn’t one,” James replies gruffly.
“He does it all from memory. I’ve tried to jot it down as he goes, but they taste like rubber whenever I’ve tried.
” Again he studies me, eyes narrowed and slightly twitching.
It’s unnerving to say the least. If he’s going to yell at me, I’d rather just get it done with.
Maybe I should just ask what the deal is. Clearing my throat, I do just that.
“Apart from the whole you not wanting me here thing, is there something wrong? You keep looking at me like I’ve shot your puppy.”
“That’s Dad’s chair.” Words explode from his chest in a gulp of air like he’s been held underwater. “He hasn’t let anyone sit there since Dad died. Not me. Not Faith. Not even Cleo.”
I almost tread on the aforementioned cat as I leap to my feet. “I’m so sorry. I’ll move.”
“No!” James reaches over the table and manages to snag the hem of my shirt and hold me in place.
“Please, you don’t have to. It’s just a shock.
He’s …” James pauses, eyes beading with tears, “for every meal for almost six months, he’s watched the chair like he’s waiting for Dad to walk in.
And the face thing, the touching. That’s always been reserved for me, Faith and Dad.
That’s it. Then here you come, meeting him what?
A couple of times, and he just lets you in.
He has the most pure, beautiful heart, and he trusts you. That means something to me, Cub.”
I gasp so loud it should be embarrassing. “You called me, Cub. You haven’t done that since—”
I don’t have the chance to finish that sentence.
James stands, fists more of my shirt and drags me onto his body.
“You mean something to me.” Trembling, he rests his forehead against mine.
With three deep, shattered breaths, I inhale his always fresh, clean, man scent that’s mixed with maple syrup and bacon to create the most heavenly thing any nostril has ever smelled.
“You came here to talk to me about your family. I’ve been rude.
I’m sorry. I was just … Will you stay? I just have to do Dyl’s routine, and then maybe we can talk. ”
“No,” I say way too quickly resulting in James’ pretty pout emerging.
“Oh. Sorry I—”
“No, no, I mean, yes. How about I stay, we do the routine together, and then we talk.”
Exhaling slowly, he smiles. “Yeah.” Then nods, before placing a kiss on my nose that feels so intimate I shiver. “Together. That sounds perfect.”
I’m essentially a professional athlete, but by the time Dylan is snoozing, I’m tempted to roll him out of bed and snuggle in the warm spot he leaves behind.
“Fuck, Jamie,” I say as we descend the first set of stairs, pass through the kitchen, then down again to the basement. “I’m starting to understand why you look so grumpy all the time. You’re not moody, you’re exhausted.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” Pulling me down with him, he flops onto the tiny sofa pushed up against the wall. There’s no lights on down here other than a tiny almost nightlight plugged in at the foot of the stairs, meaning like the nose kiss, it’s insanely intimate.
Trying to ignore the press of his thigh against mine, I focus on one of the points we need to talk through. “I’m really sorry for just turning up like this.”
“No you’re not.” He snorts.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not. But I am sorry for talking about you to Lucas and Sam.” James places his hand on my knee and squeezes. Prior to this moment, I’d not realized there was nerve running directly from kneecap to dick, but hey, you learn something new everyday.
“I know you are. Forget about that now. Tell me what’s happening with the house.”
The load just being in James and Dylan’s presence had lifted, returns tenfold.
“When Mom, or Grandpa actually, first told us about the mortgage problem, Mom made it sound like it was a new thing. But it’s been dragging on for almost a year. Legal proceedings had already begun, and yeah. There’s nothing we can do. The house will be sold at auction in two weeks.”
“Two weeks? That’s it? You have to just pack up your life and be gone in two weeks.”
“No, the auction is in two weeks. We have to be out in nine days.”
James flops against the back of the sofa.
“That’s … shit Cub that sucks. I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”
“Well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The plan was always for me to finish college and go straight into the NHL, but maybe they could play me in the AHL for a bit. I don’t really care, I just need money.”
“Cory. Please don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“Are you thinking I was thinking of asking my agent to reach out to Montreal if they would be interested in calling me up now?”
“Yeah, nah, that’s not happening. No fucking way am I letting that happen.”
“You’re not letting that happen?” I’m feigning insult but, damn, possessive Jamie is hot.
“Damn straight I’m not. You can’t just leave. What about m … school? What about … School?”
He was totally going to say me then, but I let it slide ‘cause his ‘stache is twitching so hard it may fall off.
“Fuck school. Mom has lost everything because of me and hockey. I have years to finish my degree once I retire, but Mom and Cherry and Billie need a roof over their heads now. If Montreal won’t take me, I’m quitting hockey and school and getting a job.”
James folds forward rubbing his hands over his face. “I get what you’re saying, but, wait.” In a flash he’s on his feet pacing the room before me. “It’s perfect. It’s just sitting there empty.”
“What’s empty?”
“My apartment, Cubby. That big fancy three bedder that I sucked you …” He blushes, “well, you know the one. It’s empty. You and your family can move into my apartment. You can stay as long as you need. You don’t have to leave me.”
A perfect solution, even if it’s temporary, is being handed to me on a silver platter. I should be calling Mom and Cherry, jumping for freaking joy. But I’m incapable of movement, my brain snagged on six words, you don’t have to leave me.
We’ve been sitting on the couch for potentially hours. Talking about nothing and everything, but especially comics, his ideas for the next chapter of Love Comes in Green. All in all, the last few hours have confirmed what I’ve long suspected.
I’m falling for him.
I’ve also been arguing with him. He won the battle over me calling off my agent, but this one I am determined to win.
“You can’t let us live in your apartment for nothing?”
“Why can’t I? It’s empty. May as well be … not empty.”
“It’s too generous. Mom will never go for it. We have to pay a fair rent and I think the only way for us to do that is for me to start playing in Canada or be working full time.”
Not for the first time, Jamie grumbles under his breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I never did tell you why I quit playing, did I?” That one sentence has his uncharacteristically relaxed body returning to its normally tense state.
“No, and you don’t have to, either, if it makes you uncomfortable.” I nod to his hands, both now clenching against his thighs.
“It does, but I think it will help you understand why this is important to me. Yes, I’m being selfish because I don’t want you to go, but I also don’t want you to have the same regrets I did.”
“Okay then. Tell me.”
He clears his throat maybe three times, then takes a deep, shaken breath that shifts both our bodies.
“I loved hockey, Cory. Like. I loved it. When I was a kid I never fit in. I was always on the outside. Always struggling to be accepted ‘cause I just didn’t know how to be like the others. I didn’t smile like they did.
I didn’t understand why they were smiling in the first place.
Dad was great, he taught me how to read expressions, and showed me that sometimes people did things that were the opposite of what they felt, like laughing when they are scared or intimidated, or crying when they are happy.
Anyway, when Mom died, and we moved back to the States, one of the first things he did was enroll me and Dyl in hockey.
Dylan was in an all abilities league and I was in peewee.
I was weird, the biggest and worst skater, so they shoved me in goals and kind of ignored me. ”
“Pfft. That’s mean. And dumb. Goalies are amazing skaters.”
“They are. And I became one, really quickly. For the first time ever I was good at something. I didn’t feel awkward or out of place. When I stopped a goal, I got head taps from the other kids and then at the end, I got the goalie cuddles and head taps. I loved it, Cubs.”
Fuck. His eyes are glistening with tears, and I want to hug him so badly. I can see on his face he needs to get this out, though, so instead of reaching out, I tuck my hands beneath my thighs and press them into the cushion. “So, what changed?”
“Money did. As you know, hockey is expensive. Having a child with disabilities is too, especially with our fucked up medical system. Then there was Faith the super brainiac, who was going to college when all her friends were Juniors. Her age meant it was hard for her to get more than a partial scholarship. I was fifteen, I knew things were tight but I didn’t know how tight, ‘til I heard Dad on the phone one day. He was talking to Mom’s sister, my Aunt Dianne, about selling his burial plot.
The one next to my mom. He was crying so heavily it was hard to make out everything he was saying but I heard Dylan, insurance, college and hockey.
Dylan needed to be cared for. Faith had to go to school. I didn’t need hockey.”
And that’s it. I can sit on my hands no more. I pull them free and proceed to flap them around my head in ridiculous outrage.
“So what, you just quit?”
“Yup. That night at dinner I had a meltdown that was essentially a tantrum. Told Dad I hated hockey, and was only playing to please him. To top it off, I sprinkled in a little of the homophobic taunts so casually tossed around the locker room. He wanted me to fight. To keep playing, but I convinced him quitting was what I wanted.”
“Jesus, Jamie. That really blows.”
He breaks in to an unexpected laugh then turns to face me.
“It really did, kid. But it had to be done. Regret, loving and missing something so wholeheartedly while simultaneously knowing it was the right thing to do, is a cruel kind of pain I never want you to experience. So, you will move in to my apartment. You will pay for whatever utilities you can. And you will finish school.”
“I will, will I?”
“Yes. You will.” He shifts closer, cupping my face in his strong hand and brushing his nose against mine. “And do you know what else you’ll do?”
“Does it have something to do with the way you’re touching me?”
“Yup.” He nods. “You’re going to kiss me.”