Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dawson checked his phone between jobs, standing behind a Tahoe where Ethan couldn’t see the screen. He’d gotten good at this. Angle the body, cup the phone low, read fast. Put it away before his nosy ass brothers asked who he was talking to.
The current thread had started last night, after the Stags’ game in Duluth, a four-to-two win that Dawson knew about because he’d been tracking the score at The Penalty Box, his book open on the bar untouched for two periods.
Leo
Pretty sure the heat’s not working in this room. If I freeze to death, it’s been nice knowing you.
You’re not going to freeze to death. I still don’t understand how a hockey player can be such a wimp about the cold.
Ice is different. Ice, I’m prepared for. This is betrayal from a Holiday Inn.
Ask for another blanket.
I asked for two. They sent one. This is how I go out.
You’re in Duluth, not Antarctica.
Feels the same. Tell my teammates I was brave.
Dawson had fallen asleep smiling at that one. He wasn’t going to think too hard about the fact he talked more to Leo than he did anyone else, including Justin.
And this morning they’d started up again as soon as Leo woke up. Dawson was surprised they hadn’t let the team sleep in, but he supposed they had to get on the road to Grand Rapids.
Thursday, we’ve only got a morning skate. Free by 11. Any chance you can take the day off?
Dawson pulled up the shop schedule. Thursday was light so far. A tire rotation, an oil change, and a couple other little jobs Ethan could handle alone.
Should be able to swing it. What do you have in mind?
Not telling you. Pick you up after practice?
Leo picking him up meant Leo pulling into a driveway or a parking lot where someone might see Dawson getting into a car that wasn’t his, in the middle of the day, with a guy half the town was already talking about.
I’ll come to you. You aren’t going to give me a hint?
Nope. It’s a surprise.
I don’t like surprises.
You’ll like this one. It might even be better than a meat raffle.
Dawson pocketed the phone and went back to tuning up the snowblower on his bench.
They’d be getting more of them as the season turned, and he wanted to stay ahead of it.
The carburetor on this one was gummed up from sitting all summer with old fuel in it.
He pulled it apart and started cleaning jets, and the detail work quieted his head the way it always did.
His phone buzzed again ten minutes later. He ignored it. Then ignored it again. On the third buzz, he set down the carb cleaner and checked.
He didn’t let himself dwell on how disappointed he was that the message wasn’t from Leo.
Justin
You coming out to the barn this weekend? Need you to look at the fuel pump before the next run.
Dawson wiped his thumb on his jeans. He pulled up the Stags’ schedule on the team website before he could stop himself. Sunday was a home game against Madison.
He stared at the screen for a second, irritated that he’d checked.
Was he actually thinking about driving down to voluntarily watch hockey in person?
Unlike Leo, sitting in a chilly rink wasn’t his idea of a good time.
If he was going to be cold, he’d much rather be on the snowmobile, racing down groomed trails in the country.
Saturday work?
Yep. Bring beer and I’ll throw steaks on the grill.
The smile from Leo’s texts was still on his face when he pocketed the phone. He hadn’t reset it. And when Ethan walked past the bench and said, “Who’s that?”
Dawson didn’t hesitate, and he was grateful that his friend had texted so he didn’t have to come up with a lie. “Justin.”
Ethan nodded and kept walking. Dawson picked up where he’d left off. The carburetor was worse than he’d thought.
Wyatt came through the bay at eleven with Becca beside him, one hand on her lower back, the other holding a paper bag from the bakery on Main Street.
She was six months along now, showing enough that she moved carefully on the uneven shop floor, one arm hooked through Wyatt’s like she was steering him instead of the other way around.
“Brought you guys rolls,” she said, setting the bag on the workbench. “Cheddar jalapeno, fresh out of the oven this morning.”
Ethan appeared from the office like he’d been summoned by smell. “You’re an angel.”
“She’s not an angel. She woke me up at four in the morning to discuss paint colors.
” Wyatt pulled a stool over to the bench for her, and she sat, adjusting until she found a position that worked.
The stool was too tall for the bench, and she had to lean forward with her elbows on her knees, which made Wyatt frown and look around for something better.
“I’m fine,” Becca said. “Stop hovering.”
“I’m not hovering.”
“You have been since the moment I peed on a stick.”
“That’s not hovering. That’s reasonable concern.”
Becca looked at Dawson. He kept his face blank and took a roll from the bag.
“We’re thinking about names,” Becca said, tearing off a piece of roll. “If you have opinions.”
“No opinions,” Dawson said. He knew better than to say a word about what they might be considering naming their kid.
“Everyone has opinions about baby names.”
“I don’t.”
“Wyatt wants to name him Eugene,” Becca said.
Ethan stopped chewing. “Eugene. Do you want him getting beat up in preschool?”
“It’s a family name,” Wyatt said.
Okay, so in this case, Dawson owed it to his unborn nephew to veto that choice immediately. “It’s an old man name. The kid’s going to be born in the twenty-first century, Wyatt.”
“What’s wrong with Eugene?”
“Everything.” Ethan grabbed a second roll. “That kid would get destroyed on the playground. Every day. And he’ll never get laid.”
“Kids don’t care about names,” Wyatt scoffed. “And if it becomes an issue, we could give him a kick-ass nickname.”
“Kids absolutely care about names. That’s all kids care about.” Ethan wadded up the shop rag in his hand and whipped it at Wyatt’s head. “Not to mention teachers call out everyone’s given name on the first day of school. I refuse to let you do that to him.”
Becca watched Dawson while the other two argued. Dawson chewed his roll and looked at the snowblower.
“You look good,” Becca said. “Something’s different about you lately.”
Dawson swallowed. “Same as always.”
“Nope.” She popped the P. “Something’s different. Can’t put my finger on it.” She tilted her head, studying him with that direct, unblinking look that made Wyatt nervous and made Dawson feel like he was standing under a floodlight. “You’re lighter.”
Dawson’s hands went still at his sides.
“I’m the same weight I was in August,” he said.
Becca laughed and threw a piece of roll at him. “Not what I meant, dummy.”
Wyatt’s hand settled on the back of Becca’s neck, thumb moving in an absent circle.
He wasn’t even looking at her. His attention was on Ethan, still making his case against Eugene, but his hand knew where she was.
Automatic. Like it had never occurred to him that he couldn’t just reach for her whenever he wanted.
“There’s no way we’re naming this baby Eugene,” Becca said. “And he knows it. He just likes watching you two get worked up.”
Wyatt didn’t deny it.
Dawson finished his roll and went back to the snowblower.
Becca stayed for another twenty minutes, talking nursery plans while Ethan and Wyatt drifted back to work.
The baby was due in February. Wyatt was building the crib at home from a plan he’d found online and modified because Wyatt couldn’t follow someone else’s plan for anything.
Their lives were expanding. New room, new name, new person.
After they left, Dawson stood at the workbench, eating the last roll. The shop was quiet except for the compressor cycling and Ethan’s radio in the next bay.
Leo wouldn’t tell him where they were going. He just gave directions. South on 43, keep driving.
“You have to tell me at some point,” Dawson said.
“No, I don’t. That’s the whole point of a surprise.
” Leo had his feet on the dashboard again.
If it was anyone else, Dawson would have told them to put their damned feet down.
He tapped at his screen a few times, turning it away before Dawson was able to glance at the map.
“Take the 794 split when you get there.”
“You missed a good one Friday,” Leo said. “We put up six on Iron Bay.”
“I heard.”
“You heard, or you watched?”
“I heard.” He had watched. Hadn’t meant to.
He’d been at The Penalty Box with his book, same as any other Friday, and the game was on the TV above the bar.
He’d caught Leo’s number out of the corner of his eye during the first period, and that was it—the book stayed open, but his eyes kept drifting up.
By the third period, he’d given up pretending and just watched.
Gunnar had noticed but hadn’t said anything.
Dawson wasn’t about to admit to Leo that he now had a copy of the Stags’ schedule tucked into his wallet. If anyone did notice, he could easily play it off as taking one from the youth team who was handing them out at the grocery store the first week of the season.
Leo grinned and turned the heat down. “Liar.”
“Believe what you want.”
“I want to believe the guy I’m seeing watched my game.”
Seeing. Dawson’s hands tightened on the wheel. Leo had said it without slowing down, without checking if it was okay, like it was a settled fact and Dawson was the last one to find out. His throat went tight.
“Fine, I watched,” he said. “Are you happy now?”
Leo’s grin went wider.”Yep.”
He parked in the Third Ward and killed the engine.
Leo was already opening his door, and the shift was immediate.
City-Leo was a different animal. He moved faster, stood taller, his whole body looser than Dawson had ever seen it in Port Haven.
He looked comfortable here in a way he never had back home.