9. Drake
CHAPTER 9
DRAKE
In the guest room, I stared at my phone. I’d already put the moment off by getting showered and putting on jeans, and a turtleneck I thought clung to my body nicely. It wasn’t nightclub clothes, per se. A trip to the bar during the day wasn’t anything to get dressed up for, but I wanted to look good for Jon.
I wanted Jon. Wanted to hold and touch him. Share this space with him. Be on the ice. Ride on his bike. Anything. Everything.
I was very, very infatuated, and I knew it. But there was something deeper there, too. He talked about not knowing what this was—and I wasn’t sure either—except that it was unlike any other relationship I’d been in, ever.
I sighed and turned my phone over. Probably needed to tell mom about that, as well. I sucked in a breath and hit the call button.
A couple rings on the other end, and then my mom picked up. “Hi, honey! Congratulations on the goals last night.”
Wait, what? I knew my mom always watched my NAPH games, but this was the… “Mom, did you get a subscription to the PHL streaming site?”
“Yes?” she said in a tone her generation used when people were being foolish. “Of course I did. I’ve been watching your games since you were five. I’m not stopping now.”
“Technically, I didn’t play games at five. At six, yeah, but not four.” I’d learned to skate but hadn’t picked up a stick yet.
“Haha, don’t get smart with me.” But she was laughing, so I knew it was fine.
“Thanks. Yeah, it was a good game. Nice to get on the road with the guys. Bus trip—took me back.”
“I’m glad you’re settling in. Getting your stride.”
I was. I wondered if she could see that on the ice. She’d watched me longer than any coach had—always been there for me. “Hey Mom, could you tell ? That I was doing better?”
There was quiet on the other end of the line, then an exhale. “Yes. When you came out for your first shift, you moved so much better. You have this little hop when you’re taking off, and that wasn’t there for a while. And when you got the puck, you just—moved like you knew you had it. Rather than like you were worried that you wouldn’t keep it. If that makes sense.”
It did. I was nodding along, even if she couldn’t see me. (She hated video calls.) “No, I understand.” I thought about Jon and the questions he’d asked and what unfolded in my head and my therapist…
“I called up that sports psychologist I used to see. I realized I’d bottled something up, and it was affecting me. And I didn’t tell you about it, and I probably should’ve.”
“Oh honey, are you okay?” There was an edge of panic in her voice. “Did something happen on the Lions? Or… or before?”
I knew where her mind had gone. All those stories of abuse. “No no, it’s not that. The Lions were fine. No one’s hurt me. This was…” I sighed. “So I got some weird messages this summer from a guy claiming he was my father…”
“Oh, he did not .” Mom’s voice dropped into that register that meant she was rolling up her sleeves and curling her hands into fists.
“Yeah,” I said, “He did.”
I recounted what had happened and my talk with Kara. Everything.
“Fucking money-grubbing asshole,” she said, then added. “Sorry, I shouldn’t curse, but he makes me so mad .”
“I hear that word every day, Mom, and more. I’m a hockey player. Cursing’s like breathing.”
“Yeah, but there are some things you shouldn’t hear from your mother.”
True. “I didn’t want to tell you about him because I didn’t want to bring all that up again. I know he was a jerk—and he proved he was a jerk—so why bother you? But?—”
“But you should’ve. Drake, sweetie, the only good thing that ever came from knowing him was you, and I wouldn’t change having you for anything in the world. You’re the best things that ever happened to me. I’m just sorry you had to deal with his selfishness. That he couldn’t even be a good person—trying to use you as an ATM rather than being proud . Fuck that noise.” She paused again. “Sorry.”
I had to laugh. “I feel a lot better about it—I mean, not great that it happened—but like I can deal with it. I guess that and getting sent down. It made me think that no one wanted me. ”
“Oh sweetie, you know that’s not true.”
I thought about Jon downstairs making breakfast. About the coffee he’d made me, and about being with him last night. “I do, yeah.” My turn to pause. “Um… I also met someone here.”
“Did you?”
Oh, that was the interested mom tone. “Yeah. I went to a queer bar when I got to town, and met this guy. Nothing came of it then, which was probably good, since he’s the captain of the Otters.”
“Wait, the one that looks like a sexy pirate? Dark hair. Goatee?”
Well, that was one way to describe Jon, I guess. “Mom, ew. But yes.”
“Drake, I’m old, not dead, and he’s a nice-looking man.”
“Again, ew. Stop. But yes, he is. I’m staying with him rather than in a hotel.”
“ Oh ,” she said, in a knowing way.
“Mom.” Ew ew ew.
“Sorry. I’m glad you’ve met someone you get along with.” She sounded like she was trying hard not to laugh.
I gripped my hair with my free hand. “Anyway, I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere, but he’s a really nice guy. I figured I should tell you about my life from time to time, you know?”
“I do appreciate it.” The humor was still there, but it fell away. “Especially if it’s something I can help you with.”
“I’m not sure you can help me with the asshole sperm donor.”
She snorted. “Oh, I still have connections. If he gives you any more trouble…”
“Mom,” I warned .
“I’m not doing anything. You sound like you have it handled. But if he does something…”
I sighed. “Okay.” Then added, “Look, I should go. Jon’s making breakfast.”
“Okay, sweetie. Good luck with your games, and your boyfriend, too.”
God. Boyfriend. I wasn’t even sure Jon and I were dating. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
We ended the call, and I tossed the phone onto the bed, scrubbed my face with my hands, then sighed.
Mothers. I loved mine, but boy, they were weird.
Downstairs, I found Jon dancing around the kitchen to music. Sounded like it might be a current-hits mix of some sort, or satellite radio. His face lit up when he saw me, and he told his system to turn itself down. “Just about done.”
He’d made…pancakes? Crepes? I couldn’t actually tell which. Also eggs, and had put out fresh fruit.
“What are these? I asked, poking at the pancake, then trying a bite, and oh my god. “Shit, these are good.”
“Swedish pancakes,” he said, the pushed the cut berries over to me. “Put fruit on them.”
I did, and I swear I never wanted to leave this house. “It’s unfair that you cook this well.”
“Is it?” He grinned, then sobered. “How’d your call go?”
“Good. Mom was pissed at jerkface, but not as upset as I thought she might be. More mad that he was bothering me.”
Jon nodded.
“And I kind of told her we have a thing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A thing, eh?”
“Yeah, I mean—we do.”
He nodded. “I think so, yeah.” After eating a little more, his smile blossomed more, and he muttered, as if to himself, “A thing!” in a positively gleeful voice.
My heart tumbled in my chest, so I grabbed my coffee cup. A thing , indeed.
Being on a motorcycle was exhilarating. Having a Harley rumbling underneath me while pressed against Jon’s back with my arms wrapped around him? Oh my God. Was almost as good as being on the ice, except I wasn’t in control. I’d had to give up my control to Jon, molding my body to him and shifting my weight when he did as we rode.
I fucking loved it.
We were decked out in leather riding gear, and I had on Jon’s spare helmet. We weren’t going horribly fast or anything, but I was still ginning ear to ear when we arrived at the Hideaway. I took off the helmet.
“Oh,” Jon said. “You liked that.”
I didn’t reply, just clapped him on the shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and ushered me into the bar—where we were greeted by a long whistle from one of the bikers. “Nice, Jonny.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “He wanted to ride on my bike.”
“Is that what the kids are calling these days,” Ella quipped.
I laughed. “That was last night.”
That got a chorus of Ooooh and had Jon rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s leave that alone for now.” He turned to me, still smiling. “I need to check on some paperwork. You going to be okay alone for a bit?”
“Sure. How much trouble can I get into here? ”
The biker who had teased Jon laughed. “We’ll take care of your old man, Jonny.”
Jon sighed. “He’s younger than me, Red Dog.”
“Still your old man,” he said.
I was lost. Kind of. “Wait, is that like someone’s old woman being their partner?”
“You got it, kiddo,” Ella said. To Jon, she said, “Go do your paperwork. He’ll be fine.”
Jon waved the words away as he headed to his office. “It’s not him I’m worried about.” He vanished behind a door on the far side of the bar.
The biker, a burly man with red curly hair all over his head and face, patted the stool next to him. “Come on. Sit down and have a beer.”
He and his friend, a man with weathered brown skin and black hair, were both older—maybe in their fifties judging by the gray in both their beards and hair—but looked fit and tough. I took the offered seat, and Ella put a pilsner of some kind in front of me. Light enough, but it had a good flavor. “I’m Drake,” I said.
“Red Dog,” the man said, then indicated to his companion, “And this is Merrick, my deputy.”
“Deputy?” Suddenly I was a fish out of water.
Red Dog chuckled. “You don’t know much about bikes and bikers.”
I shook my head. “Only how to be a passenger, basically.”
He grunted. “Jonny’ll teach you.”
Ella flipped a towel onto her shoulder. “Red Dog here is the president of the Night Bones, his motorcycle club.”
That explained the jackets with their rockers. “Is Jonny—Jon—in the club?”
“Nah,” Merrick chimed in. “He’s got too much on his plate. Besides, he never rides on the highways if he can help it.”
“Hockey,” Red Dog said, as if that explained everything. Which it did. “By the way,” he added, “nice goals last night. Bet that felt good to get it behind you.”
Oh shit. They knew hockey, too. At least this was a subject I could chat about forever. “Yeah, it did. I was strung out about it before. It’s true what they say about gripping your stick too tight and all that.”
Both he and Merrick nodded. “Otters are a good team for getting players on track,” Merrick said. “Though looks like you didn’t need that much to get back to it.” He glanced at the office door.
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Then I sipped my beer and grinned. “He’s a good man.”
They both seemed to agree with that.
“So,” Red Dog said, “What do you think is going on with Washington? Their goalie was so damn hot, but they just lost nine to one.”
I’d caught that in the news, but hadn’t looked into it. “I’d have to see the video to know for sure, but sometimes everyone on the team has the worst day on the ice at the same time, and it snowballs out of control. One goal against becomes three, becomes six and it just sucks if you’re the losing team.” I shook my head. “Those are the games you absolutely have to forget. Like, move on. It’s worse for the goalies because a lot of times, it’s not their fault, you know? Gotta play well in front of them. But they take the blame and the stats hit.”
By the time Jon came back, we were deep into a discussion about how you flush a bad game, how you make it up to a goaltender, and some of the psychology behind momentum swings .
Jon raised an eyebrow when he took a seat. “I go away for a half hour, and you’re talking this with them ?” He shook his head in mock disgust. “Honestly.”
Merrick slapped Jon on the back. “Kid’s smart. Like you.”
Red Dog nodded slowly. “Good choice.”
I think both of us went a little flush. “For him or me?” Jon asked.
“Yes,” Red Dog said.
I probably shouldn’t have felt as happy about that proclamation as I did, but there it was. Jon and me—we were something good. And more and more, that something looked like a couple.