Chapter 10
Ten
It was about twenty degrees too warm in Jay and Leah’s kitchen in Montpelier.
Alex removed his pullover, leaving him in a vintage style T-shirt.
Returning to his post at the stove to stir the gravy, he caught Mitch eyeing him from across the room.
Mitch’s cheeks pinked and he looked away, focusing once more on the conversation he was having with Leah and Cody.
Something that involved a lot of squealing over turkey necks, from what Alex could tell.
Mitch had been doing that a lot lately, checking Alex out. Not that he hadn’t been doing it before, but whereas previously, he’d done it with an air of I’m-checking-you-out-because-you’re-hot, now when he sought Alex out, it was with more of an I’m-just-making-sure-you’re-still-in-the-room vibe.
Alex stirred the gravy absentmindedly and kept an eye on Mitch while the man was involved in a conversation with Jay about the Mountaineers’ win against Connecticut on Tuesday.
Dressed in black jeans and one of his many flannel shirts, this one a subdued blue and gray, Mitch’s shoulders were back, his smile easy, arms hanging loose at his sides.
He was animated and friendly, ready to celebrate Thanksgiving with friends.
But his laugh was too sharp, his hands were balled into fists, his eyes were bloodshot.
He faced Jay, and yet his feet pointed toward the back door.
Jay spoke with his hands, his words coming fast and loud, and Mitch mirrored his speech patterns and energy in a way that probably didn’t look forced to anyone except for Cody and Alex.
It was as if Mitch was trying to compensate for…
being tired? Sad? Cody stuck close to him and whenever Mitch rambled—which was completely unlike him—Cody jumped in and took the topic in another direction.
Sometimes the dynamic between them was more that of a big brother/little brother than best friends. Cody was Mitch’s grounding stone. Yet it seemed even Cody struggled with what to do when Mitch’s gaze strayed outside yet again.
“Alex, Jesus.” JP moved the gravy off the burner. “Any thicker and it’ll be mud.”
Oops. “Sorry?”
JP grunted and told Alex to wash the whisk in the sink and snap the ends off the asparagus so JP could steam them.
Minutes later, the asparagus were trimmed, the gravy was keeping warm, the mashed potatoes were ready, the stuffing was baking in the extra oven downstairs, the rolls were safely tucked in a bread basket, and the turkey only needed another twenty minutes in the oven.
There were also carrots drizzled with maple syrup, green beans, and cucumber salad.
It smelled like a five-star restaurant and there was enough food to feed an entire starving NHL team, which was pretty typical of American Thanksgiving, from what Alex had seen in the past few years he’d lived in the States.
Alex had flown home in October to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving for the first time since his college days. He and his mom had shared a small ham, mashed sweet potatoes, and roasted veggies. The whole going overboard thing that came with American holidays made no sense to him.
“Here.” Leah came out of nowhere and handed him the can of cranberry sauce, a can opener, and a blue serving bowl. “Make yourself useful.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” he grumbled under his breath.
It wasn’t like he’d been slacking off. He’d pulled his weight and had even brought the dessert he’d baked this morning, a French Canadian caramel pudding called pouding ch?meur his mom had taught him to make when he was—
Where was Mitch?
Distracted, Alex almost upended the can of cranberry sauce onto the counter, but managed to catch himself in time. JP and Jay were conversing over the thermometer stuck in the turkey, and Cody was helping Leah set the table.
Alex caught Cody’s eyes. Mitch? he mouthed.
Cody tilted his head toward the back door.
Alex finished what he was doing, then went to find his coat.
Outside, the air was still but cold, the first snap of winter hanging in the air.
The twilit sky was overcast, casting a gray sheen on a landscape already deadened by fall.
Alex found Mitch at the far end of the property, where the yellow grass ended abruptly at a small creek.
Mitch sat in one of the two Adirondack chairs, a beer bottle dangling from one hand.
Alex took the remaining chair and offered Mitch a roll he’d pilfered before heading out.
Mitch scowled at the roll as if it had personally offended him. “I don’t want that.”
“Eat it anyway.”
Grumbling under his breath, Mitch took the roll and ripped off a small piece. He chewed obnoxiously, as if he was angry with the bread, and turned his scowl on Alex. Happy now?
Alex smiled back serenely. Yes, thanks.
Mitch ate the roll, one piece at a time, taking small sips of beer in between bites. Other than the occasional voice reaching them from the house, it was quiet. And cold. Alex curled his toes in his boots and sandwiched his hands between his thighs to warm them up.
“When Grandpa Forest would come visit in the winter,” Alex said, mostly to distract Mitch from whatever was happening his head, “he’d take me to this outdoor skating rink.
There was a little shack with benches and coat racks and little slots to leave your shoes in.
And they sold this truly horrible hot chocolate, more water than chocolate really.
” Alex smiled at the memory. “Neither one of us liked it, but it was hot, so of course, we always had to have one.”
“Why didn’t you just bring your own?”
Alex winked at Mitch. “That would’ve messed with tradition.”
Mitch’s cheeks were already red from the cold, but Alex could’ve sworn they colored further under his gaze.
“What’s your favorite kind of hot chocolate?” Alex asked.
“The kind with chocolate in it?”
Alex laughed. “Mine’s peppermint hot chocolate.”
Mitch wrinkled his nose.
“Have you ever tried it?”
“Yes.” Mitch wiped crumbs off his pants. “Peppermint and chocolate should never go together.”
“What about peanut butter and chocolate?”
“Ew, gross. Even worse.”
“It’s official,” Alex said. “We can no longer be friends.”
He counted it a win when Mitch smiled. Mitch set his half full beer in the grass and went back to gazing at nothing. What was going on in that head of his?
“Want to talk about it?” Alex asked. “Whatever’s bothering you?”
Mitch shook his head. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“The beginning?”
Blowing out a hard breath, Mitch tilted his head up to the sky. “Okay.”
Wait, was Alex actually about to get another tiny tidbit of personal information from Mitch? Voluntarily? Well, fuck a duck. Alex stilled. If he moved, Mitch might remember he was here and stop talking.
“Up until, I don’t know, five years ago or so, my brother and I were really close.
” Mitch picked at a piece of wayward wood in the chair’s arm.
“He’s six years older, but he was always there for me.
Slept in my room during thunderstorms, took me to see R-rated movies, bought me my first condoms. He was always a steady presence.
And then things just…changed. No, that’s not right.
They stopped. I still don’t understand it.
He went off to college, Columbia. For business and accounting of all things, even though—” He shook his head again.
“Even though what?”
Mitch turned to Alex. “He wanted to be a woodworker. Build things. Little things. Like toys for kids, puzzles, other games.” His mouth curved up slightly. “He used to make these amazing sun catchers, flawless and smooth.”
“The one in your living room window?”
“Yeah.” The smile fell from Mitch’s face.
“I don’t know why I keep it. We kept in touch while he was at Columbia, but then one day, he told me to stop.
He wouldn’t answer my calls, my emails. If I was home, he didn’t visit.
” He ran a hand over his forehead. “Last time I emailed him, he told me not to. I called him last weekend just to…” He shrugged.
“I don’t know. Try and make amends? He won’t tell me what I did to upset him, so I don’t know how to fix things. ”
“Maybe you didn’t do anything.”
Mitch scoffed.
“I’m serious.” Alex rubbed Mitch’s arm through his coat. “Mitch, people don’t hold grudges for five years without telling the person who wronged them why they’re pissed. And if you can’t think of anything you might’ve done to upset him, I’d bet it has to do with something else.”
“My dad said something similar when we had dinner last month.” Mitch shifted in his seat and waved a hand. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Tell me something good.”
Something good? Alex said the first thing that popped into his head. “The purple penis comes off on Monday.”
Alex expected Mitch to laugh. Instead, Mitch got that faraway look in his eyes again. “That’s not something good.” His voice was so soft, Alex had to strain to hear him. “It means you’re leaving.”
“Yeah.”
Their Wednesday mornings together on the ice had been fun, and Alex had learned new tricks from Mitch that he couldn’t wait to use in a game.
Defensemen were supposed to be able to quickly transition from forward to backward and vice versa, and while Alex was good, his new foot skills would no doubt up his game.
But skating laps and learning figure skating moves wasn’t hockey.
They didn’t get his adrenaline pumping and his competitiveness revving.
But Coach wasn’t putting him back in the game until January and as much as he was looking forward to it, part of him wanted to stay right here in Glen Hill, with Mitch.
Over the course of the last few weeks, they’d developed a friendship that, for Alex, was on par with his friendship with JP and Jay.
Alex liked the sensible and hardworking yet sensitive and caring guy Mitch became when he dropped his mask.
Hell, he even liked the mask because now he saw it for what it was: a defense mechanism.
Was Mitch protecting himself from being hurt again?
Underneath Mitch’s cultivated veneer of assertiveness and arrogance was a nice guy who just wanted to play hockey and be surrounded by the people he loved.
A knot formed in Alex’s belly. He was used to leaving people behind while he played for Tampa. But the thought of getting on the plane on Monday and not knowing when he’d see Mitch again left a sour taste in his mouth.
“When are you coming to visit me?” Alex asked.
Mitch blinked up at a sky that had turned to dusk, turning the clouds an ominous indigo. “You were serious about that?”
“Of course. We’ll compare calendars, see what works. I’ll come visit you too.”
Swallowing roughly, Mitch held out a hand to Alex but aborted the movement halfway and crossed his arms over his chest. Giving in to the powerful need to touch, Alex reached out and took Mitch’s cold hand in his.
His skin prickled at the feel of skin on skin and his stomach fluttered with the wings of a million tiny butterflies.
Mitch clutched Alex’s hand in both of his. “Promise?”
“Promise.”