Chapter Twelve King
The sky is a perfect October sky—not the clear blue, crisp air I’ve come to associate with the mountains of rural New York, but the wild, cloudy, gusty skies of the Highlands before a storm.
I imagine Ingrid in a white blouse and tartan skirt (the Silverbow tartan, of course), standing on a hill, her arms out, her hair wild and blowing free as she beckons me to rush to her embrace.
“Are you going to look at the sky for the whole afternoon or come in with me?” Ingrid asks, standing next to the car, her dogs held on pink and orange leashes as they strain towards the door of Hilltop Home. “Mrs. Yerchenko—and her cane—are already inside.”
“Sorry. It’s just a perfect October sky. Gusty and dark...”
“Only if you like spooky thunderstorms,” she grouses, eyes turning heavenward as well. “Chip and Daisy hate them. I think it’ll be a shorter visit today. I’ll come back another time and let them stay for longer.”
I nod and steel myself for A) looking like an idiot with my leg in this immobilizer and B) the stench of the old people’s home.
I’ve never been in one. Even if Orcs live among humans in many cases now, they tend to return to their clan lands to die surrounded by family, or they remain in their homes and their loved ones come to them, as is the sacred duty of clan.
I don’t like to think about getting old. Never have. Who does?
As I cross the threshold (trying not to stare at Ingrid’s backside in her pink and black scrubs), I think I understand why.
Ever since I got into hockey and found out I was good at it (okay, not good, phenomenal), I’ve pictured cheering crowds, big trophies, signed jerseys, fancy mansions, fast cars... Ice bunnies.
The good life.
Not an Orc’s life, that’s for sure. Do Orcs like wealth, land, and treasures? Sure. Do they like knocking heads together? Absolutely, and that’s just one of the perks of hockey. But none of that matters without clan. Family.
My visions of the future always used to end in a glittery champagne fantasy—and always before I’ve gone gray.
Now? Suddenly, I see Ingrid and me, bundled up in jerseys and mittened hands, both going gray, cheering our lungs out while our kids play.
I see a big old house, with a bigger yard, and grandkids chasing the future generations of dogs.
I get to hold Ingrid’s hand as we sit outside in rockers or on a porch swing.
White haired and gray. Wrinkles around her eyes and the sunlight glinting in her hair.
God, she’ll be every bit as beautiful. No, more beautiful, because she looks so happy, and so loved.
I think I finally understand what they say when they refer to someone as “breathtaking.” I let out a gasp.
“I know, right? It’s not what you think of when you hear ‘senior living.’ I’d move here if I met the age requirements. You have to be sixty-two or older,” Ingrid whispers.
I blink and come back to the present. This place gives “expensive comfort” vibes, like a blend of ritzy hotel and sweet small town.
There’s a fancy granite concierge desk with a big vase of cala lilies on it, all sleek and shining blacks, whites, and grays—and there are tons of family photos lining the walls, and laughter and the sound of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy coming from a large living room (library? game room?) to the left.
“This is a nursing home?” I mutter.
“No. This is a senior apartment building. Everyone has their own room, kitchenette, and bathroom, and we have some B mine green, huge, and sweating. “Mind if I sit?” I ask.
“We’ve got air hockey!” Lester cries. “Up for a game, son? Can’t wait to tell my grandson King Silverbow came to visit.”
“I don’t know if I can balance... but I’ll try.”
“If we old bastards with hip replacements and knee replacements can do it, you can do it. That your nurse?” Steve points to Ingrid.
“No. She’s...” My girlfriend. My date. My friend. My mate. “She works at the physical therapy place and invited me to come over.”
Lester watches Ingrid swivel, down on her knees, booping Daisy’s nose.
His eyes are glued to her beautiful backside.
I let out a low growl. “Don’t think I won’t, Lester.”
For some reason, that makes Steve cackle, then Lester cackles. “Shoulda told me she was off the market! Just because the pencil don’t get sharpened as much these days, doesn’t mean it’s outta lead!”
My groans turn into laughter, and I leave the cuddle puddle of dogs, seniors, and so much pet hair, allowing myself to be dragged into an air hockey game.
Ingrid catches my eye before I go.
I think she heard Lester. And me.
And she smiles.
“We should have left sooner,” Ingrid looks through the streaming rain and bites her lip.
Thunder booms.
The dogs cower in the back, shaking, eyes huge and sad, huddled together. Daisy has her head on top of Chip’s, but when the next boom comes, she yelps and snuggles under his neck, and it’s his turn to be brave and put his head on top.
“I have to take them home first. If I don’t, they’re going to have an accident in my car,” Ingrid apologizes.
“I don’t mind. What helps them?” I reach back with my extra-long arms, easily reaching both and stroking them in turns. My heart is cracking, feeling them shaking. “It’s okay, guys. It’s okay,” I soothe. “It’s just a big noise.”
“Nothing helps them but me holding them and letting them be basket cases. I have those thunder vest things. They help a little if I’m not there.”
There’s silence in the car as Ingrid turns towards the other side of town, heading towards the townhouse development.
“Well... Why don’t you take me home after the storm? Or I could call a ride.”
“N—no.” Ingrid shakes her head. “You wanna stay for dinner? I mean, if the storm lasts that long?”
“I’d love to. And you know everyone is bringing me enough food to feed an army.
I could pay you back tomorrow night?” I hold my breath.
She could point out that I already had her over.
Ingrid could say this is her returning the invitation and that we shouldn’t keep things going.
Back and forth, her place, my place... Our place.
I try not to drift into fantasy, waiting for her answer.
Rain lashes the windshield, Chip lets out a shaking howl, and Ingrid says, “I don’t want to leave the dogs—”
“Oh, they’re always invited.”
“Oh. Then, yes.”