Chapter 28 Remi #2
"You're prettier than your photos." She walks past me into the apartment without waiting to be invited, sets her purse on the counter, and turns back to face me. "You're the one he talks about. The figure skater."
"Ex."
"I'm sorry. Crew told me how good you were. How lovely you are. He called me to make sure I watched you in the Olympics."
He called her before we became a thing.
My throat tightens. "Mrs. Banks—"
"Denise."
"Denise. He asked you to watch my Olympic performance?"
"Of course he did." She takes off her coat and folds it over the back of the chair.
"He's a good boy. He's always been a good boy.
He's called me every night since he left for college.
Hasn't missed a single one. Not when he was drafted, not when he moved here, not when his daddy's family tried to get back into his life after twenty years of nothing.
" She looks at me. "And two months ago the calls changed.
Less hockey, more Remi. I figured I better come see what caught my boy's attention. "
I don't know what to do with my hands. I don't know what to do with my face. I'm standing in the kitchen being evaluated by a five-foot-three woman in gold earrings and I've never been more nervous in my life, including the Olympics.
"Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Water?"
"Whatever you're having."
I make coffee. Though, I shouldn't drink anymore. My hands are jittery. She probably notices, because Denise Banks has the eyes of a woman who raised four children alone and nothing gets past her.
We sit at the kitchen table. She wraps both hands around the mug and looks at me over the rim.
"Three things," she says. "Does he eat? Because that boy will forget to eat if nobody reminds him, and he's been that way since he was nine."
"He eats. Both he and Steele cook."
She nods. "Good. Does he sleep? Because my boy has never slept properly a day in his life. Too busy making sure everyone else is comfortable first."
My throat tightens. "He sleeps. Better now than before."
She looks at me as she sips her coffee.
"And does he know he matters?"
I stare at her.
"That's not a hard question, sweetheart.
My boy has spent his whole life being the one who holds everyone else together.
Me. His siblings. He's the peacemaker. The protector.
The one who stays calm when the house is on fire.
And he's so good at it that nobody ever stops to ask if Crew is okay.
" Her eyes are bright. Crew's eyes. "Does he know he matters?
Not to the team. Not to the pack. But to you. "
"He matters to me more than anyone in the world," I say, and my voice breaks on the word.
She sets down her coffee.
"Then we're good," she says. "Now show me his room because I need to make sure he's not still sleeping on those flat pillows he's had since college."
I laugh.
The tears come with it. She squeezes my hand and doesn't let go.
Crew and Steele come through the door at five-thirty, still damp from their showers, smelling of deodorant and their scents. It clings to them like a second skin, two men who have been skating for hours in preparation for the most important series of their careers.
Crew sees his mother at the kitchen table, and his whole face changes. The careful composure drops away.
He crosses the apartment in four strides and wraps his arms around her and lifts her off the ground.
"Put me down, Crew Alain Banks."
"No."
"Crew."
"In a minute."
She's laughing as he holds her. Steele hangs back by the door, watching, and his expression is the one I've come to know so well. He has the same missing piece as me, the ache of a man whose own mother left, watching his best friend hold the mother who stayed.
I think Denise Banks is going to be big in our lives.
"Mom, you've met Steele," Crew says, setting her down.
Denise looks up at Steele. Way up. She reaches up, grabs his face, and pulls him down to her level. Studies him for three seconds.
"You feed my boy?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You keep him out of trouble?"
"Yes, ma'am. But that's a full-time job."
"Good boy," Denise tells Crew. Then she hugs Steele. He stands there with his arms at his sides for a moment before he hugs her back, and when he closes his eyes I look away because some things are private even in a room full of people.
Ten minutes later knuckles rap against the door. I know who it is before I open it.
I'd texted Knox. Told him Crew's mom was here. Told him he didn't have to come.
He came anyway, and I'm glad.
Dark shirt, dark pants, hands in his pockets and he looks shifty, like he's about to be arrested for a crime he did commit. On anyone else that's neutral. On Knox it's terrifying.
"You didn't have to come," I whisper.
"I wanted to meet her." And then, quieter: "She's his family. If I'm going to be in this pack, I need to see where he comes from."
My chest aches.
"Knox, this is Denise. Denise, this is Knox. He’s Steele's brother."
Denise looks at Knox. Knox looks at Denise. The height difference is absurd. He towers over her the way Steele did, but Knox doesn't have Steele's warmth, and Denise doesn't have anyone's patience.
"You're Steele's brother," she says.
"I am."
"The one who runs the clubs."
"Yes."
"The one my boy says is difficult."
I watch Knox process the word difficult. His jaw works. His eyes flicker to Crew, who is standing behind his mother looking like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.
"That's fair," Knox says.
Denise nods once. Walks up to him and looks up.
"Thank you for coming to meet me," she says. "Crew tells me you're trying. That means something."
Knox blinks. Just once, but I catch the tiny fracture in the control. An almost-invisible moment where Knox Olivetti is caught off guard by a five-foot-three woman who means exactly what she says and nothing more.
"I'm trying," he says.
"Good." She pats his arm. "You're very tall. Sit down before you hurt my neck."
Crew covers his mouth with his hand. Steele turns toward the kitchen. I press my lips together.
Knox sits down.
For one hour the apartment holds us all. Denise with her many questions. Crew when he is beside his mother seems softer and younger than I've ever seen him.
Steele is in the kitchen, cooking. Knox is at the table. He was stiff at first, then slowly answering questions about the clubs and the business and whether he's eaten dinner yet.
"You're too thin," Denise tells him.
"I'm really not," Knox says. "I'm lean. I just look thin because your son and Steele are built like bulls."
"Eat," she says, and pushes a plate toward him.
And I sit in the middle of all these people and I like it.The noise. The questions. I like the way Crew looks at his mother. And the way Steele watches them both from the kitchen. I like the way Knox sits at the table and answers questions as if he's trying to make a good impression.
I like it all. I like it so much it hurts.