Chapter 33
Ford
Ivy spends the night at the hospital as a precautionary measure. Neither Joe nor I am too happy about it, but we know better than to argue with her doctor.
After Ivy calls us mother hens and kicks us out of the hospital room, I send a quick text to the group chat I share with my brothers. Not even five minutes later, I’ve gotten the answers I wanted.
“Hey, Joe?” I call out as we hop into my car.
“Mm.”
“Got any plans tonight?”
He sends me a curious look from the passenger seat. “No, why?”
“My brothers and I are going to mine to watch hockey. It’s a recording from today’s game. Want to join us?”
“Nash and Rhys are coming?” he asks, concealed enthusiasm in his voice.
“Yeah. I’m not much of a hockey fan, but Rhys and Nash are, so we get together to watch the games sometimes.”
He hesitates. “I don’t want to intrude if that’s your thing.”
“It’s like a family tradition,” I tell him. “Which is why you’re invited.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long before he drops it to his lap, where he’s playing with his fingers. “Ford?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly. “I like you already. You know you have my blessing to date my sister and marry her or whatever.”
I shift in my seat to take a better look at him. “You think I’m trying to buy your blessing?”
“No, but….”
“Joe.”
His eyes meet mine. They look so much like Ivy’s—the same shade of blue, yes, but they also hold the weight of having grown up too fast, of having experienced things he shouldn’t have.
“I don’t think it’ll catch you off guard if I say I’m in love with your sister.”
“Yeah, I’m not blind.”
“And I want you to know that we’re in a relationship now.”
“About time.”
“So,” I continue, fighting a smile, “I’m not doing this because I’m trying to buy your blessing. I’m asking you to hang out with me and my brothers because that’s what I consider you—a brother. Okay?”
He blinks, then blinks again before turning his head to glance at the dark parking lot outside.
“Joe?” I ask when he says nothing. Did I say the wrong thing?
I think I hear him sniffling. “I’m fine. You can drive.”
“All right.”
“And hockey sounds good.”
“Okay.”
I start the drive to my house with only rock music to fill the silence, stealing glances at the teenager in the passenger seat every now and then. He doesn’t say a thing.
A while later, Joe is nursing a soda on my couch, sitting between Nash and Rhys, eyes glued to the TV, when he announces, “I tried, but I have no idea how hockey works.”
Nash finishes his beer before rubbing his hands together. “This is my time to shine.”
Joe sends me a questioning glance, but I only have time to shake my head in amusement before Rhys explains, “I taught him about hockey, and since Ford isn’t interested, he’s been desperate to pass on his knowledge.”
“What is it that you don’t understand about the game?” Nash asks Joe, ignoring our eldest brother.
He points to the TV with his free hand. “I don’t get why they’re fighting. Isn’t it supposed to be a sport?”
“That’s hockey for you. Think of fighting as an unofficial part of it.”
Joe frowns, unconvinced. “They’re allowed to punch each other?”
It’s Rhys who says, “It’s not allowed, but it’s tolerated. The refs then give them a time-out in the penalty box.”
“That’s weird,” Joe muses before taking a sip of his soda. “Okay, so why did they just blow a whistle if nobody scored?”
“That’s an offside,” Nash explains animatedly. He’s seriously been dying for someone to ask him about hockey. “You can’t just camp out near the goal and wait for the puck. The puck has to cross the blue line before the attacking players do.”
“It’s like… you can’t cheat at tag by standing at base the entire time?” Joe guesses.
“You got it, dude. Only here, if you cheat, you get sent to the sin bin.”
“That’s a funny name,” Joe comments.
“Yeah. Players sit there for two minutes when they do bad things.”
“Like hockey jail.”
“Exactly.”
Joe grins. “No offense, but this sounds like a circus rather than a sport.”
Rhys chuckles, catching me off guard. I can’t remember the last time I heard him laugh. And by the look Nash is sending him, he can’t either.
“That’s why we love it,” Rhys says. “It’s fun chaos.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Joe mutters distractedly as he keeps his attention on the game as if trying to process everything Nash has just explained.
I smile to myself as I watch the three of them together. They’re so immersed in the game, they remind me of Lexi when she watches her favorite cartoons.
I can’t help but think how right it feels to have Joe here with us. He isn’t an outsider at all, and I hope he doesn’t see himself as one.
Once I finish my beer, I ask, “Pizza, anyone? I’ve got some in the freezer.”
“I could use some,” Nash agrees without glancing away from the screen.
“Sure,” Rhys echoes.
“Yeah, thanks,” Joe says.
Since I’m the only one who doesn’t care about hockey, I grab the empty bowls of popcorn and chips and head to the kitchen to make dinner.
I also check my phone—Ivy hasn’t replied to my text telling her about Joe being here, but she was tired when we left, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was fast asleep.
What I wouldn’t give to be with her right now, just holding her hand.
I’m preheating the oven when a voice behind me says, “Hey, Ford.”
Peering over my shoulder, I spot Joe at the door.
“Did Nash bombard you with more not-fun hockey facts?”
He smirks. “Not really. It’s actually a cool sport. I might ask my friends to go to the ice rink sometime.”
“Sounds like a plan. Do you like pepperoni pizza? What about BBQ?”
“As long as there’s no pineapple, I’m fine with whatever.”
“Ah. I see you’re a man of taste.”
He chuckles, then points to the fridge with his chin. “Can I grab another soda?”
“Go ahead. My fridge, your fridge.”
I check the temperature on the oven and grab the pizzas from the freezer; I have just enough for the four of us.
“Ford?”
“Yeah?”
“Just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re my brother now.”
My chest constricts at his words, and I immediately stop what I’m doing to look at him. Before I can say anything, Joe goes and stuns me again.
“I love Ivy. She’s an amazing sister, but I never…. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I haven’t had great male figures in my life, but now I have you. And your brothers. So, thank you.”
How many times can a man cry in a day? I guess I’m about to find out.
“It’s an honor to be your brother, buddy,” I tell him, somehow without bursting into fucking tears.
“Agreed,” says another voice.
Joe and I turn to see a smiling Nash and a smirking Rhys by the door, empty cans of beer in hand.
It’s Nash who says, “Welcome to the family, Joe.”