Chapter 14
SUCH A BAD LIAR
LAKE
My dad’s already sound asleep when I get home.
But Gavin isn’t. He’s in the stables, checking that stall doors are closed for the night, and after he tells me that Dad went to bed, he asks, “You got any time in the morning before you go to practice? There’s a new owl box for the bird sanctuary. Can you hang it?”
“Course I can,” I say as he secures the stall door for Nutmeg, then pats her on the muzzle.
He brushes one hand against the other then tugs off his gloves. “Good. Just don’t fall, like you fell on the ice the other night.”
I flip him the bird. “Why don’t you try to do your job in skates? Also, the D-man slammed into me. I got back up like that,” I say with a snap of my fingers.
Gavin cracks up, bending over at the waist. “Oh, man, it’s so fun giving you hell. You’re so sensitive.”
“I am not sensitive,” I say, my brow narrowed.
He stops laughing, but keeps smiling as we head out of the barn. “Right, sure. But if you’re worried you don’t have the balance to do it, you can muck the stalls instead.”
“I said I would hang the owl box.”
“But if you can’t manage it, there’s horseshit to shovel,” he says as he yanks one big door closed.
I pull on the other one. “Why have enemies when you can have a brother?”
“Might as well have both. More fun for me,” he says with a wiggle of his brows as he strides across the grass, away from the home.
He stares at the property in the dark, then sighs, the satisfied sound of a job well done.
“You know—I’m happy to help around here,” I say seriously. “If you want me to do more.”
“I know,” he says, kind and full of understanding. “But the bird stuff is more than enough.”
Is it though? Sure, I know he and Mira like running Big Steps. A familiar pang of guilt twists inside me. Like I could help more. Or maybe it’s just a memory of how happy my dad was before things started breaking. When Heather used to stay with me at the ranch before we fell apart.
Back before Dad stood in the open door one day, then said quietly, “I don’t think I can go out.”
My heart aches thinking of that moment.
I pull myself out of those thoughts right as Gavin looks me up and down with skepticism. “Why do you look like you’re a frat boy?”
I’m wearing slacks and a white linen shirt. “I don’t look like a frat boy.”
“Country club guy. Same thing,” he says with a hint of derision since we are neither. We didn’t grow up with enough money for golf courses and tennis matches, and I never joined a frat, nor wanted to.
“I hate clubs.”
“Again, why are you dressed like you’re going to one?”
As we walk up the stone path to the house, I answer, “I had to go to a thing.”
“A thing? What kind of a thing?” he goads, reading me instantly. Brothers.
I grind my jaw. Am I telling Gavin I’m fake dating someone? No, that’d be a bad idea. He’d mock me in front of Dad, and the point of fake dating is, well, to fake it. If Remy could tell her boss, I can tell my brother. “I had to go to a picnic. With a woman,” I say.
Gavin’s eyebrows shoot to the moon. I brace for him to say you found someone who’d date you, but instead he just claps my back as we reach the porch. “Judging from the smile when you got out of your car, I’d say it went well.”
“I wasn’t smiling.”
“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and we go inside, where I set the puzzle on the kitchen table, as Remy’s pretty voice replays in my head saying, “I like the dogs-with-jobs one.”
I replay other things as I head upstairs alone, thinking of her.
* * *
I have just enough time before morning skate for food and for a certain asshole cat who likes his morning walks. When I head downstairs, the scent of scrambled eggs and buttery toast floats toward me, making my stomach growl. My dad’s at the stove, moving some eggs around in a pan.
“Morning,” I say, then ruffle his hair. “I’m going to take Thor out for a walk. Want to come with me when you’re done?”
It’s rote. I ask it every day I’m here.
Dad blows out a thoughtful breath, like he’s considering it. “I have some things I need to finish up in here. But thanks for the offer.”
My heart clenches. “Got it.”
“It’s pretty funny to watch him go for a walk though. A cat on a leash.”
“Yeah,” I say with a smile that hurts my chest.
“Why don’t you take a video for me?”
I swallow roughly, then nod. “I will.”
He waves the spatula at the pan. “Want some eggs? You need to eat before you work out.
“Sure,” I say, since he likes to be the dad and, well, I like to eat.
He tips his forehead to me as he turns down the heat. “I heard you were dressed up last night.”
“Word travels fast around here.”
“It sure does,” he says as he plates the food. “Dressing up—was it for the woman you’re into?”
I picture Remy last night on the street asking if I’d tell him. I can see the curiosity in her brown eyes. “Yep. You want to know where we went?”
His eyes sparkle, and it gives me so much dangerous hope.
Before we sit down to eat, I grab the granola too. In between bites, I tell him about the puzzle store and the coffee and the woman who loves to ask questions.
“She’s smart and curious, and she sent me a picture of a hummingbird in the hummingbird feeder, and she took me to get granola, and she’s…” I hold the spoon midair.
“Pretty?” Dad asks.
“The prettiest,” I say, then narrow my eyes. “And no, I’m not going to take a picture of her for you.”
He laughs, knowing it was a joke.
After I clean up my plate, I wrangle Thor into his harness, one white paw after another, but it’s not hard since he loves his outdoor time.
The little stinker walks beside me, sniffing the path through the meadow, past the creek, to the edge of the property where a blue heron lands by a small lake, and a big owl watches high above in a black oak tree.
A ladder rests against the fence, since it’s easier to keep one out here in the sanctuary.
I tie Thor’s leash to the fencepost so he’s safe. He lifts his furry face to the sun.
A portrait of contentment.
I snap a picture of him, stuff my phone in my pocket, then climb a tree and hang a new owl box.
When it’s good and secure, I take a moment and look around.
A stream snakes around the rolling hills on the property.
Trails crisscross those hills, dotted with a few horses with riders on them, and their equine therapists leading them along.
It’s peaceful, green, and lush. Nature at its best with humans caring for it with respect.
When I climb down, I snap a photo of the owl box, then I set the ladder against the fence.
Once we’re back at the house, I say goodbye to my dad, then open the thread with Remy on my way to the car.
There’s the picture of the hummingbird she captured the other day, wings a blur, beak dipped in the sugar water, the morning sun glinting off the glass.
What did she wear when she went out there?
Sleep shorts and a little button-down sleep shirt?
Leggings and a hoodie? Or was she all dressed up in those trim pants she wears that make her legs look incredible, checking on the feeder while looking like she’s about to slay the day?
I hit reply and drop in the photo of the cat, then the owl box.
Lake: Thor’s very interested in the owl box I installed today.
Her reply is instant.
Remy: Wait, wait, wait. You have a cat on a leash? You hang owl boxes? This is on top of your hidden sunshine side and your puzzle mastery? What other secret talents do you have?
Lake: What secret talents do you have?
Remy: I can cut hair, groom a dog, assemble any piece of furniture in under an hour, fix a router, hang a picture, and plan the best dates
Lake: Let’s go back to that haircut thing. Can you give a haircut because of the dog grooming?
Remy: Nope. I taught myself when I was younger since I was convinced I wanted to be a stylist for a while. It’s not the most useful skill since I don’t cut my own hair.
I want to know more, but I have to get to work. I put the phone down in the console, doing my best to ignore the thoughts of her as I head to Miller’s home to collect our goalie.
I pull into his driveway right as he’s tossing a basketball into the hoop above the open garage. The man never stops moving.
I honk the horn because we’re assholes like that.
Spinning around, Miller glowers at me, then trots into the garage, littered with his teenage brother’s band equipment, and deposits the ball on a shelf. He grabs his gym bag and hops into my car. “Did you know studies show people who honk horns are dickweasels?”
“Yes. I knew that,” I say as I back up, then flash an asshole grin to match the honk.
“But do you know the only thing that sucks about being a goalie?”
It’s a setup, but I wade into the shark-infested waters anyway as I pull onto the road. “What is it?”
“I didn’t get to give you a hard time on the bench the other night about finally, fucking finally, going out with your longtime crush.”
“Fuck off.”
Miller leans back in his seat, slides on a pair of shades, and just grins. “It’s hilarious.”
“What part?” I bark.
“The idea that she might like you.”
I bristle. Is it really that hilarious?
Oh shut up, brain. No need to think about that stuff. You know this has a beginning and an end.
But I might as well make the most of the middle. When we reach the arena, I fire off a text to her.
Lake: Are you working today? If you get a break, I want to steal you for a few minutes to go over what’s next for the wedding.
As I stride into the locker room, a reply lands.
Remy: You bet I am! I’m going with some of the guys who are serving coffee at a local shop in between morning skate and the pre-game warmups. I can meet with you after?
Suddenly, I change my tune about promo events.
Lake: Got room for one more?
* * *
“Florence, here’s your gingerbread nutmeg soy milk latte with—”
I stop trying to read off the list of what’s in it. Florence damn well knows. She ordered it.