Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
APRIL
After the kissing, the love confession, and the showing up like a knight-in-shining armor right when me and my garage needed him the most, I thought I’d be seeing Chance every day.
But Chance and the Lucky Strikers leave town again for a series of away games and, just like that, he’s MIA for weeks.
I’m surprised by how much I miss his playful smiles and flirty banter.
And I really wish I asked him how he managed to tie my hair without it getting loose.
“Nurse,” dad’s croaking voice lifts me from my thoughts, “he called B-24.”
I place the sticker in a hurry and dad lifts his hand. “Bingo!”
Groans of disappointment sweep through the room, growing in direct response to dad’s excitement. Dad eagerly points to the front of the room where the bingo prizes are stacked, a silent command to wheel him there.
I wrap my fingers around the handles of his wheelchair and push him forward.
“This one.” Dad collects the package of FreshButtFit boxer briefs. “Chance McLanely wears these.”
I wouldn’t presume to know what underwear Chance prefers. I haven’t allowed myself to even imagine him in anything close to boxer briefs. But I’m pretty sure his tighty-whities wouldn’t have an ‘accident guarantee’ padding.
Dad smirks proudly. “I spoke to him, you know.”
I don’t correct my father. He’s been really excited since Chance’s visit. Which means his non-stop chatting about June reduced significantly.
“McLanely is playing the Southern Foxes this weekend.” Dad informs me.
“You’ve mentioned it,” I answer dryly.
Somehow, dad knows every detail of Chance’s itinerary. In his mind, he even knows what Chance eats for breakfast.
“Why are you suddenly so interested in Chance McLanely?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“The better question is why aren’t you interested in Chance McLanely?”
I humph. Dad sounds exactly like May.
A nurse smiles politely at us. “Mr. Brooks, it’s time for your checkup with Doctor Reese.”
Dad holds his bingo card to his chest. “I can’t go yet. This is another winning hand. I’m sure of it.”
“Dad, I mean, Mr. Brooks,” I clear my throat, “I’ll play this hand for you. You can take over when you get back.”
Dad surveys me with narrowed eyes. “Alright.” He gives in. “But don’t get up. Not even to use the bathroom. That’s how they get’cha.”
I offer him a wobbly smile and promise that I won’t get up even if my bladder’s about to explode.
Dad is wheeled away and I play the rest of the round.
After the game ends, dad still isn’t back yet, so I go in search of him.
I find his nurse tending to another patient and wait until she has a moment before asking, “Is my father still with the doctor?”
“Oh, he was tired after the check up so he retired to his room. I’m sorry. I should have informed you but I got caught up.”
“No worries.” I smile. “Everything’s okay with him?”
“The doctor’s very happy that his appetite improved.”
“That’s a relief. I was concerned that he would never get his appetite back.”
“He’s been eating every bite, three meals a day.” She leans in with a warm smile and says, “Your father claims if he doesn’t eat, Chance McLanely will nag him.”
How far has dad’s sickness progressed that he thinks Chance sincerely cares about what he eats? I want to ask her, but I’m afraid to.
“Thank you for taking such good care of him,” I say politely.
As I head to the lobby, the receptionist catches sight of me.
“Goodbye, April!” she waves. “See you next time!”
“See you too!” I wave back enthusiastically.
The receptionist freezes and keeps her stare on me all the way through the exits.
I bet she thinks I’m acting strangely, but in all truth, this is who I’ve always wanted to be. Someone who smiles at the receptionist. Someone who walks into the nursing home with her head held high, knowing her bills are paid.
Whoever said ‘money doesn’t buy happiness’ has never been in debt from staggering medical bills.
Humming under my breath, I saunter to my truck and climb in.
Just then, my phone lights up.
“Chance, hi.” I let the engine run so the air conditioner can cool me down.
He sounds tired. “Did I catch you at a good time?”
“Yeah, I was just leaving my dad.”
“Did you tell him hi for me?”
“I’m not sure if I should.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re dad’s new obsession. He mentions you all the time.” I check my watch. Chance is on the other side of the country so he’s several hours ahead of me. “Is the game over?”
“It is.” He answers in a strained voice.
“Oh no, did you lose?”
“We won… but I spent most of my time in the sin bin.”
“Really?”
His tone hardens. “It was my first time all season that I got two penalties in a row.”
I sink deeper into my seat. Although I don’t know much about hockey, I’ve heard the sports re-caps praising Chance for avoiding penalty calls. “What happened?”
“Their defender said something about you.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m not repeating it.”
“If you do, I’ll probably laugh.”
“It wasn’t something to laugh about.” Chance sounds about ready to throw a few more blows.
“Relax, Chance. I’ve been in garages my entire life. I know how guys talk.”
“ Boys talk like that. Men should mind their words. Especially when the woman they’re talking about is mine.”
“That sounds very possessive.”
“I said what I said.”
My lips twitch. “My point is, there is nothing those players can say about me that I haven’t heard before. I’m not a sensitive flower you have to protect. At least, not on the ice where it’s obvious they’re just mocking me to push your buttons.”
He says nothing, but I can imagine him glaring into the silence.
“It bothers me more that you let them use me to get to you. I want to be your strength, not your weakness.”
The pause, this time, is even longer.
“Chance, you still there?”
“April, you keep talking like that and I’m flying back tonight. Forget tomorrow’s game.”
I snort. “Max will drag you back by the collar before you get to the airport.”
“How do you know him so well?”
“Just focus on tomorrow’s game, Big Shot.”
“Big Shot?” His voice rumbles with satisfaction. “I like it.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“You gave me a pet name.”
“It was an insult.”
“I think you’re getting soft on me.”
“I am not .” I squirm when I catch my eyes in the rearview mirror and see a weird glint of interest. Prattling on, I say, “I mean it, Chance. Whether we like it or not, we’re publicly linked. As you can tell by all the testimonials people are leaving for the garage, I’m a very talented mechanic with a thriving shop. So at the very least, you shouldn’t embarrass me on the ice.”
Chance laughs loudly. “Oh, April. I miss you so much.”
My mouth clamps shut before I tell him the same thing.
“I’ll text you after the post-game celebrations,” Chance promises. “Call me before you go to sleep.”
“It’ll be like three am for you.”
“Call me,” he says firmly.
My heart tumbles like a turbine shaft in a storm. “Okay.”
We hang up and I press a hand to my chest. Why do I feel so warm inside? Is it because of that quick conversation with Chance or am I still giddy after paying off dad’s nursing home bill?
Hoping for a distraction, I search Chance’s name online and look for his latest game. I want to read more about the fight he mentioned.
Immediately, millions of hits pop up under his name. But instead of finding articles about the Lucky Striker’s latest win, I find a more appalling headline.
FINA SPOTTED AT STRIKERS VS FOXES GAME
McLANELY’S GLAMAROUS EX… BACK FOR A SECOND CHANCE!
Right beneath the articles are images of a leggy blonde with the most stunning cheekbones I’ve ever seen on a human being. Paparazzi pictures show her cheering at all of Chance’s games.
Instantly, my mood sours.
Dragging the stick shift into position, I drive to the garage in a hurry. There’s a fire burning in my chest and, though I tell myself it means nothing, it’s hard to convince myself that’s true.