Chapter 2
Chapter Two
LYDIA
“Is this the last box?” Troy whines, dropping another box onto the dining room table. “I don’t know how many more trips for shoes I can manage.”
“Stop it.” I swat at him and check the side of the box. “This isn’t even shoes.”
“Then what is it? It’s fucking heavy.”
“Pots and pans.”
“Do you even cook that much?” he gripes, wiping the sweat from his brow.
I can’t blame him. It’s a warm day in Toronto, and with moving all my boxes and furniture, it’s not exactly cool inside.
“Yes. I’ll have you know I’m very good at it.”
“She’s the only one of our kids that can somehow manage not to burn water,” Derek states, setting his box down on the kitchen counter.
“I resent that,” Troy says. “I’m good at cooking.”
“Then why am I the chef in the house?” Angie quirks her brow at him, starting to unpack one of the boxes.
Seeing as how my sister-in-law is pregnant, Troy won’t let her lift a finger to help. Unpacking boxes is about all she can do.
“I really don’t like when you two gang up on me,” he complains.
My stepdad claps him on the shoulder. “Then come help me with Lyd’s mattress and we’ll be done.”
“Fucking finally.”
“It hasn’t been that bad!” I shout after them.
Since I’ll need my car in Toronto, I figured it would be easier to pack up and move myself by pulling a trailer filled with my belongings. My mom wouldn’t let me do it alone, so my family met me here to help. Sure, I could have hired movers, but it’s one thing I don’t like giving up control over.
“C’mon. Let’s start unpacking the kitchen.” Angie taps away on her phone. “I’m ordering the pizza and we’ll need this place ready when it gets here.”
“Works for me.”
The place I found is small. Not that the women’s professional hockey league brings in the big bucks, but as one of the stars, I make a good salary. One I still don’t want to blow entirely on a house when I don’t know where I’ll be in a few years’ time. Until then, apartment living is the way to go.
At least this place has a bedroom and is an upgrade from my studio in Boston. The living room is small with room for only one couch, but there’s a nice outdoor patio. It’s the one thing I love.
Getting to be outside in the city makes the tiny apartment feel less cramped.
“Are you excited to be here?” Angie asks, tucking a lock of long brown hair behind her ear.
I waggle my head back and forth. “Yeah, but I’m nervous. It’s been a while since I moved, so it’s like that first day of school feeling.”
“Wondering if all the kids are going to like you?” Angie asks.
“Why wouldn’t they like you?” Mom asks, handing over a stack of plates. “You were the highest scoring player in the league last year. Toronto clearly wanted you, otherwise they wouldn’t have shelled out the big bucks to get you.”
That pulls a smile to my face. “I don’t know if that will still be the case this year. There are a lot of talented people on the Rosebuds.”
With restructuring the league to expand to ten teams instead of six, players from all the teams were moved around.
There were logistic issues getting the team started in Toronto from the initiation of the league, but now, it seems, with so much talent being shifted, it’s anyone’s guess as to which team will come out on top.
“None as talented as you,” Mom points out.
Leave it to her to be my biggest fan.
“Thanks. I’m just ready to get started.”
It’s that time in the offseason where I’m getting antsy. I’m working out almost every day to get in season-ready shape. I’m on the ice a few days a week, but I want to train with my new teammates.
“Will the famous Bishop walk-in still be a thing here?” Angie asks.
“Duh,” I scoff. “I’ll do that no matter what team I’m playing for.”
It’s one of the things I love about the game.
The pregame walk-ins. Fashion has always been my thing—hence my brother griping about carrying my shoes up to my apartment.
I love making an appearance when I come to the game.
Getting free clothes to model from top designers by wearing them to the game?
I love it. I work hard for my body, so why can’t I show it off?
“Good. You know I’ll be jealous of everything I can’t wear that you can.”
I smile at her as her hand rests on her burgeoning belly. “Clothes that I will gladly send your way after my niece is born.”
“As long as you hand deliver them so you can meet her.”
“I can’t wait to spoil her. You’ll start to get sick of me being there visiting.”
“Start to?” my brother huffs out, backing his way through the front door. “Who says we’re not already sick of you?”
“Troy,” they all say in unison.
“Kidding.” He drops the mattress against the wall, shaking his arms out. “When is lunch getting here? I’m starving.”
“Should be here soon,” Angie tells him, walking over to give him a kiss.
The two of them are still disgustingly in love all these years later.
“How’s it going in here?” Derek asks, grabbing a glass that sits on the counter to fill it with water.
“Well, kitchen is almost done,” Mom starts, “so I guess we’ll need to get going on the living room and bedroom.”
“I can do my room,” I tell her. “Bed frame is already set up, so it shouldn’t be hard.”
“You know we’re here for a few days to help, right?” Derek asks. “We don’t mind helping. Even your brother doesn’t.”
“Really?” I laugh.
“He likes giving you shit.”
I grab the scissors and rip open another box. “Don’t you have practice starting soon?”
Derek shakes his head. “Not as important as getting you settled. My coaches can handle it while I’m gone.”
He’s been the head coach for the same high school football team since he and my mom started dating more than twenty-five years ago. Ever since he quit playing, he’s been coaching.
And based on the number of state championships they’ve brought home, he’s the best out there. He could have moved up to the college level, but he never wanted to. He liked the stability of being able to be there for his family during the offseason.
Something my real dad never did once Mom and Derek got married.
A buzzer shakes me from my thoughts.
“Thank God. I’m starving.” Troy bolts to the door and buzzes in whoever is on the other side.
“Did you even stop to check and make sure it was pizza?” Mom asks. “What if it was a serial killer?”
We all laugh.
“Sutton, do you really think a serial killer would buzz themselves in?” Derek asks.
“Nothing wrong with making sure she’s safe. Do you—”
“Have my pepper spray? Yes, in my purse,” I interrupt.
“Good.”
Garlic and marinara aromas permeate the small space. It takes everything in me not to point out to my mom that it wasn’t a serial killer.
Troy grabs the pizzas and passes them to Derek before fishing out some money for a tip. “Thanks.”
Plates, drinks, and pizza are passed around as we settle around the small kitchen table. It only has seating for four. Nothing else would fit in the space. I stand, letting everyone else sit since they’re helping me.
I tear off the tip of the pizza, hungrier than I thought. The feta, olive oil, and roasted red peppers are just what I needed today. Nothing like spending the morning moving to work up an appetite.
“Do you know any of your new teammates yet?” Angie asks.
I shrug a shoulder. “I’ve played against most of them, so hopefully that’ll help with the team gelling.”
“It’s always hard with new teammates,” Derek says. “Be the amazing person I know you are, and it’ll be an easy transition.”
I smile at him. “Thanks.”
In moments like this, I know why Derek still coaches.
He could have retired years ago, but he loves what he does.
He’s amazing at it. I think it’s why I started playing hockey to begin with.
He took us to the rink in the mornings when we were little to help us learn to skate.
It was what we did together—Derek, Troy, and me.
I loved it.
“Think you’ll win a championship?” Troy elbows me in the side, grabbing another slice of pizza.
“I have to. You can’t be the only one to win one.”
“Two,” he corrects. “Don’t forget, it’s two now.”
“I’m surprised your ego can fit in this apartment.” Angie rolls her eyes at her husband.
“What?” He looks at her. “She brings it out in me.”
I shrug. “I can’t help it if I’m the better hockey player.”
“And here I thought the two of them would have put this childish nonsense behind them when they hit adulthood.” Derek sighs.
“I don’t think that will ever happen,” Mom says.
“Never,” we answer together.
“I’m rethinking this having multiple children now.” Angie laughs.
“You’ll love them, Angie, even when they’re bickering,” Mom states before looking at both of us. “Well, most days.”
“I resent that.”
“Hey!”
We both guffaw.
“You started it,” I tell Troy.
“You did.”
“Okay,” Derek interrupts us. “Why don’t we finish setting up the furniture and then we can leave you to unpack your room, Lyd?”
“Works for me.”
I love that they all came to help, but I am ready to open a bottle of wine, blast some music, and get my room sorted. Not matter where I am, my room is what always feels like home.
Now? Toronto is home.