Chapter 25
Landon
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
Callan laughs and keeps eating my wholegrain Cheerios like he didn’t just give me a heart attack. “Morning, bro. Hey Mom! He’s home!”
I look down the hall as my mom pops her head out of the kitchen. “Hi, baby? Were you out for an early morning workout? Or a walk to clear your head? A yoga class? Do you still do those like you used to in California?”
“I… no. I mean, I haven’t found a… I was…”
Callan smirks over a spoonful of cereal. “She knows exactly where you were. She’s giving you the lies you can both live with, dude, so she doesn’t have to picture your antics with a puck bunny.”
“What are you guys doing here? Did I forget you were coming?”
I take off my coat and hang it up, and then side step into my bedroom, leaving the door open so I can hear her response as I start to quickly peel out of my rumpled suit. “We went to see Callan’s game. He was playing in Boston, and then we decided to swing by and check on you. We’ve been worried.”
“I won, by the way,” Callan says, and he squeezes his eyes shut because he can see me, naked, pulling on my tracksuit. “Dude, you have a hickey on your ass cheek.”
“I got hit by the puck in practice, moron,” I explain. I mean… I think that’s why I have a bruise there. It’s not because of Grady’s mouth… I don’t think. Although we did fuck around a little in the shower and he may have—
“You’re bruised?” My mom appears in my doorway, wheat blond brows furrowed. Thankfully, I’m fully clothed now. “Are you okay?”
I was bruising from things as simple as a firm handshake right before I was diagnosed with leukemia, so bruising is a trigger word for her. It was one of the signs I ignored. I look down at her and smile reassuringly. “I’m perfectly fine. I swear it was a puck.”
Or my teammate’s mouth. Either way, not leukemia. She smiles, relieved, and reaches out and hands me a cup of tea. Mint ginger from the smell. She’s holding two. “I made you one since you clearly didn’t make any yourself before your morning… walk?”
“Sure, let’s go with walk,” Callan says, and I glare at him.
“Did you say Dad is here too?”
My mom nods, her short blonde bob dancing around her jawline.
My mom has always reminded me of a fairy or a sprite.
She’s the tiniest person in our entire extended family, but she’s got the biggest heart, hands down, of anyone I’ve ever known.
“He is. Slept the whole ride over here from U Maine. Lazy bum. I sent him out for cinnamon rolls.”
“None for me.”
“I’ll eat yours,” Callan says. I’m almost jealous of his metabolism.
I step out of the bedroom and walk over to the chair across from the couch. Mom smacks Callan’s feet until he shifts them off the couch and onto the coffee table, and then she takes the empty space. She holds her mug in two hands and stares at me over the rim. “So… you’re doing okay?”
I nod. “I am.”
“You’re sure? Because you look tired. Must be all that early morning walking.” Callan snorts.
Without even looking at him, Mom smacks him flat in the chest. “Don’t make me regret bringing you.”
Callan scoffs at Mom’s idle threat. “He’s gonna be fine. He’s moved past the heartbreak, probably past the anger, too. I think we’re on to the revenge fucking stage. So next is acceptance, and then he’ll find someone new he actually likes.”
“Thank you for that in-depth analysis. How you’re not a psychology major, I’ll never know.” Mom rolls her eyes.
Callan grins.
“I’m not revenge… that’s not what I’m doing.”
“So you’ve fast-forwarded to the someone new part?” Mom asks, and the hope in her tone is undeniable.
“Mom, please don’t pressure me. I’ve worked through my feelings around the Angela thing. I’m finally finding my way to a good place, I think. And I have the team to concentrate on anyway. Just don’t bug me, okay.”
She nods, but she’s fighting a frown. “I’m sorry. I worry. But okay. No questions about your… morning walk or how often you’ve been walking or with who or where.”
“Double entendres are lame,” Callan remarks.
The door to the porch slams shut, and my father appears in the living room holding a large paper bag. “Success!”
He looks at me and smiles. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just wish you guys would give me a heads up before showing up,” I say, sounding like a grumpy teenager.
Dad hands the bag to Mom and walks over and pulls me into a hug.
He’s always been an expressive dad. None of that stiff upper lip shit from him.
He laughs and cries with us. He hugs us and tells us he loves us.
“Sorry, kid. Promise we won’t do this again…
very often. Your mom has just been worried about you, and I like to give the little Tasmanian devil whatever she wants. ”
Mom smacks his ass as she walks by. He jumps, more for show than shock.
Callan groans at their antics, and I fight a smile.
At least now I’m distracted and don’t have time to freak out about the fact I woke up alone in Grady’s house and have no idea what happens next between us. Is there even an us?
After my family devours six cinnamon buns between them and I make and eat an egg white omelet with a protein smoothie, Dad does the dishes, and Mom sits on the countertop and dries them. Callan dozes on the couch.
“Grady isn’t here? Did he leave for practice early?” Mom asks as she dries a coffee mug.
“Grady moved out a while ago. Almost right after Angie left.”
Both my parents stare at me. I shrug self-consciously and run a hand through my hair, which I’m sure is all over the place.
“It’s fine. I haven’t exactly been the easiest person to get along with.
He’s got a great place a few streets over in the giant waterfront Victorian they made into apartments. ”
Mom nods and goes back to wiping dishes, only after another coffee mug, she has to nudge Dad because he’s stopped washing. “Eli, get on with it.”
“Right.” Dad wrenches his eyes from me and keeps washing. “Dix, let Landy dry. You go to the beach. I know you wanna sit on your dad’s bench and the sun is shining and it’s low tide.”
Mom’s light eyes twinkle. She hands me the dishcloth and leans up to kiss Dad on the cheek, but she’s so short and he doesn’t bend, so she ends up kissing his neck right next to the faint line that’s a constant reminder I almost didn’t exist because Dad had his jugular cut by a skate before they even met.
“Good idea. I’ll take Callan.” She turns and cups my face in her tiny hands, the finest lines creasing her face by her big blue eyes as she smiles up at me. “I love you, my firstborn. Please take care of yourself and lean on us if you need to.”
I kiss her forehead. “I’m fine, Mom. Promise.”
I hear the front door open and close as Dad hands me the dish he had piled all the cinnamon buns on.
He doesn’t say anything at first, but I know something is coming.
He wants father-son time, which is why he suggested Mom go to her dad’s memorial bench.
So I dry dishes and wait. We make small talk about the season so far, but finally, when there’s one dish left in the soapy water, he says, “So you really are over Angie?”
“Is there residual emotional damage? Yeah,” I say as a water droplet escapes the dish and crashes to the floor between us. “But I’m letting her go. I’m moving on, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”
I place the last plate in the cupboard and hang the dish towel on the door of the oven. When I turn around, Dad is wiping his wet hands on his jeans. “Are you dating?”
I don’t reply. I just stare. He smiles sheepishly. “Look, I don’t care either way who you date or if you date, as long as you’re safe and happy.”
I visibly cringe. “We had this convo when I was sixteen.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t been single in a long time, so I’m just giving you a refresher.
” Dad squeezes my shoulder. “I know how focused you’ve always been and how restrained.
I can tell you’ve been happy before, but if your idea of happy has changed.
If you’re feeling compelled to be different, then be different.
Make different choices. We have always got your back. Just be smart and careful.”
“You know I was out all night, don’t you?
” He nods, and I try not to blush. It’s fine.
I’m sure he had one-night stands before my mom.
I’m sure my mom did too. Not that I want to think of any of that in any detail.
“I’ll be careful, not that it matters much because the doctor said there’s a chance I’m sterile now anyway. ”
“There was a chance I would die from a skate to the neck, but I didn’t,” he reminds me. “Casco men defy odds so don’t assume anything if you haven’t had your swimmers checked. And also, condoms stop other things, not just pregnancy. Use them.”
There’s a knock on the front door before I can remind him that’s more of the same conversation we had when I was sixteen.
We both make our way to the porch, where Grady is standing on the other side of the screen door.
He’s dressed in a tracksuit like me and has a shocked expression on his face.
“Oh. Hey. I didn’t know your family was here. ”
“Neither did I.” I smile and actually have to remind myself to tone it down. Seeing him makes me want to grin way too big. “Dad, you remember Grady Garrison?”
I hold open the door, and Grady steps onto the porch and shakes my dad’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
“Always a pleasure to shake the hand of the best goalie the league has known in decades,” Grady tells my dad, and I roll my eyes. He’s made it no secret that my dad was his idol growing up.
“Are you here to fangirl over my dad or…”
Grady smiles at me. “I was hoping we could Uber it back to the rink together. For practice.”
“I left the truck there and Grady left his SUV because we went out with his family after the game,” I explain to my dad, who nods. I turn back to Grady. “Yeah. Cool. I’ll grab my wallet.”
“Say hi to Larue for me,” Dad offers. “And I’ll say goodbye to Callan and Mom for you.”
“Thanks.” I hug my dad. He holds on a little longer than normal and gives me a big squeeze. “Will you guys be here when I get back?”
He shakes his head. “We gotta get Callan back to campus and take Lola out to dinner. Her demand for spending all our time with the rink rats. Her words.”
I smile. “Ah, yes, the poor neglected non-hockey-playing sibling.”
I head into the living room and fish my wallet out of the dress coat I was wearing last night, and then I grab my keys and throw on a puffer jacket and head back onto the porch. Dad and Grady are talking goalie things. Something about a kind of lighter pads.
“We’ll see you in a couple of days on your West Coast road trip.”
I nod, and Grady and I head out the door.
He had already ordered the Uber, and it’s pulling up as our feet hit the icy sidewalk.
We wave to my dad and get in, and we don’t speak until the driver turns onto the turnpike.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just worried because I left you and… I thought you might be freaking out.”
I watch him nervously scratch at his thick beard and resist the urge to reach up and touch it. It was so soft against my thighs last night. Instead, I press my hand into the seat between us and ask, “What about you? Everything alright with Harlow? Your note said she needed help?”
“She’s worried about her brother. Theo likes to party, maybe a little too hard,” Grady replies. “She never asks anything of me, or anyone, so I had to meet her. I promised I’d watch Theo and figure out if she’s overreacting or he really is off the rails.”
This sounds serious, but Grady doesn’t look overly worried.
I have heard of Theo Richard’s partying antics.
He’s slightly notorious in the league, but I thought it was all just good fun.
I don’t know much about him except that when he’s on his game, he’s a bitch to play against. One of the best defensemen in the league when he’s not just trying to get you to punch him.
His eyes move to the driver and then back to me as he subtly slides his hand over to rest with the tips of his fingers on mine. My heart flutters again. I stare at our hands. “You’re fine?”
“I’m good,” I promise.
Am I too good? I ask myself. This was just a good time, right? No need to get all fluttery and shit. I move my hand but smile at him. He smiles back. “I would like a do-over, though. One that doesn’t include the walk of shame.”
I whispered that last part, but both our eyes dart to the driver.
He’s whistling along with the radio, which is playing “ManChild” by Sarina Carpenter.
Funny because I kind of feel like one, saying something so stupid.
Until Grady winks at me, and then I feel fan-fucking-tastic.
“I think you’re owed that. I’m sure your one-night stand is up for a second night. Just ask… them.”
“I might have to do that.”
This time, my fingers brush his.