Chapter 45 Packy
packy
After weeks of parades and appearances, we finally had nowhere to be. I took a sip of coffee and leaned back against the counter, letting that thought settle.
Nix padded into the kitchen in socks and one of my old T-shirts, hair sticking up at impossible angles. He blinked at the sunlight, then at me. “Morning.”
“Hey,” I said. “You hungry?”
He squinted at the coffeemaker. “Coffee or motor oil?”
“Rude,” I said. “It’s morning fuel.”
He snorted and shuffled closer, hugging me and pressing his face against my shoulder. I bent my head and kissed the top of his hair.
He tilted his face up. “Sleep okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Like the dead.” He gave me a pointed look. “You wore me out last night.”
I gave a small laugh. “Wait till you see what I’ve got in mind for today.”
We remained still, holding each other while the birds sang outside. I was in no hurry.
Eventually, he pulled away and found a mug. “I was thinking maybe we could walk down to the park later? It’s cooler by the stream.”
“Big plans,” I said.
“Yeah. Try to keep up.”
He moved around the kitchen as if he’d always lived there, sipping his coffee and dropping bread into the ancient toaster. My man. It still felt unreal.
Nix caught my expression and frowned. “Hey, where’d you go?”
I shook my head. “Been right here watching you.”
“Good. Because there’s no being weird this summer.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t miss my brooding?”
“Not at all. I prefer happy Pack. Better coffee, less emotional spiraling.”
I gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I prefer being happy Pack.”
The toast popped up, and he busied himself spreading butter on two burnt pieces and getting jam out of the fridge. When he had everything together, we sat on barstools at the counter.
He looked up and smiled. “We’re really doing this. I love you, babe.”
I nodded and bumped his knee with mine. “Love you too.”
We didn’t hurry through breakfast. When we were tired of sitting, we pulled on shorts and tank tops and headed for the park.
The trail was quiet, nothing but the sound of the stream bubbling nearby and our shoes against the packed dirt. The woods were bright green with scattered patches of red and yellow wildflowers providing jolts of color.
“Look,” Nix said, pointing at some flowers beside the trail. “This one’s got blue flowers too.”
“Wow, nature’s getting bold.” A minute later, I pointed across the trail. “Purple and pink.”
“Want to dye your hair purple?” he asked. “Might get people’s minds off Packo.”
“Or make it all worse.”
We laughed and kept walking. Most of my life had been about the next shift, the next game, the next mistake. Now I was noticing colors.
The trail widened, letting in more sun. It baked the tops of my shoulders through my shirt.
Nix brought us to a stop. “Too fucking hot. I’m taking off my shirt.”
He stripped it over his head, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off the dip at the base of his throat, or the strong shoulders tapering into pecs to die for.
“Take yours off too. I could use some eye candy.” He arched an eyebrow, giving me a look usually reserved for the bedroom.
I moved slowly, like I was doing a striptease. When I was bare-chested, I held my arms out by my sides, and the slow graze of his eyes down my body had my pulse ticking up.
He grinned. “Love your abs. And that happy trail. Damn.”
“Why, Nix, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to go home.”
“Or look for a hidden spot near the trail.”
We laughed again. When we quieted, footsteps were approaching, accompanied by an odd tapping sound. A small black dachshund trotted up, its nails clicking against the packed dirt.
“Leave him alone, Otto.”
Brody and Gabe walked up, both shirtless as well.
Gabe nodded in greeting. “Look who’s here. Nice day for a walk.”
Brody rolled his eyes. “Too fucking hot.”
“Fuck off,” Gabe said, elbowing Brody in the ribs. “You’re the one who wanted to come to the park.”
Ignoring him, Brody looked at Nix, then at me. “Which one of you wanted to come out here on a day like this?”
“That would be Nix,” I said. “This was his idea.”
Nix smirked at me. “Didn’t have any trouble getting you to come.”
Gabe snorted, and Brody put a hand over his mouth.
After we made small talk for a few minutes, two joggers came around the bend. They were college-age men, and we moved aside to let them pass.
They slowed to stare, not even trying to be subtle.
“Go Warriors,” one said.
“Yeah,” said the other. “Go home with us.”
Laughing, they picked up their pace again and were soon out of sight.
Gabe shook his head. “Kids today. What are you gonna do?”
While we chuckled, Brody glanced at his watch, then at Gabe. “We need to get a move on, sweetie. Haircuts at three.”
We said our goodbyes, which Otto apparently understood. He took off, and Gabe ran after him while Brody laughed and brought up the rear.
“Nice guys,” Nix said. “You know, not a single Warrior has given me a sideways look since the day the teams wore those T-shirts.”
“They never will. They’re my guys, which means they’re yours too.”
Nix smiled, bumping his shoulder against mine. “The Condors too. You’ll see.”
“Let me help.” I crowded in beside Nix, who was chopping vegetables. “I can use a knife too.”
He flicked his hand at me without looking up. “Sit down and talk to me. If you help, it won’t be me cooking for you. It’ll be us cooking together.”
I slid onto a barstool next to him and watched him work. “This is nice of you, babe. Not many people have cooked for me before.”
“Not even your wife?” He looked over and grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Ex-wife.” I shrugged. “She didn’t spend much time in the kitchen.”
He scraped the chopped onion into a bowl and picked up a carrot. “You deserved better.”
I didn’t answer right away. He said it so plainly, like it was obvious.
He placed a hand over mine and squeezed. “Now you’ve got me.”
“Yeah,” I said, softer than I intended. “I do.”
He set the knife down and kissed me before getting back to work. “Want to open some wine?” he asked.
I found a Chardonnay we liked and poured two glasses. Two. I handed one to him, and we locked eyes while we took our first sips.
We hadn’t talked about next season yet. Training camp would start before we knew it, and then the season after it. Flights, road trips, and different cities.
I took another sip and watched him pour olive oil into a pan. Nine months apart wasn’t going to cut it. I needed to find a way to make sure it didn’t happen.