Chapter 5
Chapter five
Shoving warmth into spaces I keep trying to leave cold
Reid
Gremlin’s already pissed off at the brunch spread on the counter.
She’s perched on the kitchen bench, glaring down at the paper bag of croissants I ordered in.
“Off,” I mutter, nudging her gently with one forearm. She lets out a low, throaty growl and slinks away, her tail flicking once.
“Don’t start,” I tell her, because talking to a cat is apparently my life now.
I move around the island with the careful irritation of someone who’s been told he’s “mobile.” Three weeks post op, and my knee is still stiff first thing in the morning.
The kind of stiffness that twinges when I shift my weight too fast, shooting up my leg quick enough to make me want to throw something.
Mostly at myself.
I rub my hand over my jaw and glance at the clock. They’ll be here soon.
Not that I need the noise. Or the mess. Or the goddamn endless parade of opinions about my recovery.
But I do need them.
So I line mugs up on the counter, even though I don’t need to yet.
Move the sugar bowl an inch to the left.
Straighten a napkin that isn’t crooked. I’ve done this three times already—rearranged things that don’t need rearranging—because it’s either this or sit on my couch and listen to the house be quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes every sound feel louder than it should—the coffee machine clicking off, the hum of the fridge, the faint drag in my knee when I shift my weight wrong.
I tell myself it’s because I like things tidy, but it’s not.
I miss the rink.
I miss my routine. Tape and pads. Gouging out my crease, and the smell of cold air and stale popcorn.
The way everything makes sense when I’m in the net, when my brain narrows to pucks and angles and instinct.
And I miss the noise of the boys chirping, sticks clacking, the low thrum of music in the tunnel.
And I… No. Not that. I don’t miss her.
I don’t think her name, and I definitely don’t catch myself glancing around the Moreno Clinic, wondering if I’ll see her. I’m not her patient anymore, I’m Heidi’s. And that woman has been putting me through my paces as though she has a point to prove.
And honestly, she did. Between those damn bright colors she wears, her glittery drink bottle, and her swishy ponytail, I thought I’d blast through my physio appointments with her.
But the first time she asked me to bend my knee entirely, I nearly cried like a little bitch, and she grinned like she knew it too.
Gremlin leaps back onto the counter and hooks a claw into the top of the croissant bag, dragging it closer like she’s about to perform a full burglary in broad daylight.
“Gremlin.” My voice is a warning.
She blinks at me with no remorse whatsoever, but is saved when the doorbell rings.
Once, then twice. Then repetitively.
A fist starts pounding on my front door
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, limping—but barely, because I refuse to call it that—to the front door and yanking it open.
The noise hits my house like a wave, with Meadow bursting through first. She’s yelling something about an injustice involving Theo eating the last banana, and she’s holding what appears to be a bedazzled walkie-talkie.
Noah’s next, sprinting across the hardwood on socked feet, and immediately wipes out when Dusty, Logan and Lulu’s golden retriever, barrels in next to him.
Jake’s carrying Theo on one hip, and Charlie’s behind him with a tray of cinnamon rolls.
“Hey, Hutchy!” Jake claps me on the shoulder and lets Theo slide down to the ground. He immediately toddles forward with laser focus, eyes locked on Gremlin.
“Cat,” he announces. “Cat! Cat!”
Gremlin’s ears flatten.
“Theo, honey, I don’t—” Charlie starts, but it’s too late. Sticky toddler fingers lunge directly into Gremlin’s fur.
To everyone’s surprise, Gremlin doesn’t scratch him.
She just stares at him like she’s making a list of people to kill later, and he’s now firmly at the top.
She lifts a paw, but it’s not to swat. It’s to gently place it on his forehead and keep him at a safe distance, and the kid accepts the boundary without complaint.
Theo giggles again. “Cat!”
“Unreal,” I mutter. “She tolerates the drool goblin but tried to murder a croissant.”
Lulu is in next, cooing as she takes in the scene and nudging Logan in his side. “Aww, she likes him! Look.”
“I don’t think you know what liking looks like,” I say, as I lean in and let her kiss my cheek in greeting.
“Agreed,” mutters Eli, clearly referring to his sister’s choice in partner, as he shuffles in with Tamara.
Gremlin, as if offended by my accusation, leans forward and sniffs Theo’s hair once. Theo squeals and throws himself into a hug that isn’t a hug so much as a full-body constriction.
I lurch down, barely bending my leg, and gently prise Gremlin out of his toddler grip. “Cats need to breathe, buddy.”
Theo coos a chuckle and places his sticky hand on my face. “Hut!”
I can’t help the smile, because what can I say? I’m a sucker for this kid. “Good to see you too, bud.”
Zoe and Chase enter last, and are already arguing about something. Or flirting. It’s honestly impossible to tell with those two.
I turn toward the kitchen, and everyone follows. Bags hit counters and bottles clink. Someone laughs too loudly, and Dusty barks at his own reflection in the window.
Zoe sets a tray down and immediately starts pouring mimosas with the confidence of a woman who has never once considered a consequence.
Chase leans over my shoulder, eyes scanning the counter. “Do we have champagne flutes?”
“No, we don’t,” I say. “I have stemless glasses.”
“Classy.”
Gremlin’s head snaps toward the mimosas being poured, and she hops onto the island again, tail twitching.
“She’s going for it,” Lulu whispers, delighted.
Gremlin inches closer to the nearest glass.
“Don’t,” I tell her.
Gremlin makes eye contact and deliberately lowers her head like she’s about to drink it anyway.
I slide the glass away at the last second. She follows. I slide it again, and she follows again.
Chase laughs. “This is like the pet version of edging!”
A silence follows, but not the good kind. The kind where little ears are definitely listening, and every adult brain has locked onto the same word at the same time.
Meadow tilts her head. “What’s edging?”
Jake chokes on his coffee while Charlie makes a sound like she’s swallowed a whistle. Zoe’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes lighting up with unhelpful glee.
“That’s—” Charlie starts, stops, then tries again. “That’s a… sports word.”
“It is not a sports word,” Tamara scoffs with a chuckle.
Logan opens his mouth, but Lulu slaps a hand over it.
“It’s when,” Jake splutters, “you—uh—you wait.”
“For what?” Meadow frowns, eyes darting between the adults.
“For… a big surprise!” Zoe jumps in.
“Like a gift,” Chase adds, grinning from ear to ear.
“Like patience,” Charlie finishes, her eyes boring into Chase’s.
Meadow considers this. “Why does the cat need patience for the juice?”
I take a slow sip of coffee while everyone’s eyes trail to Gremlin, who sits on the corner of the counter, glaring back.
“Because if she’s a really good girl, she’ll—ow, what!?” Chase holds his arm where Jake just thumped it.
“This,” I mutter, “is why I don’t let Chase talk in my house.”
“Love you too, caveman,” Chase replies sweetly.
It’s at that moment that Theo grabs Logan’s pant leg, pulls himself up, and regurgitates a chewed-up mouthful of apple all over his thigh.
“Oh my god,” Logan breathes, staring down in horror.
“That’s what you get for stealing his teether,” Lulu says, entirely unsympathetic.
“I thought it was a chew toy for Dusty!”
“It was a chew toy,” Tamara says dryly, passing him a paper towel. “For the baby.”
Eli’s hovering behind them, eyeing Logan and Lulu as though he’s trying to decide whether to throw a blanket over them or just remove them from the premises entirely. Every time Logan so much as touches Lulu’s back, Eli’s eye twitches.
Tamara catches him glaring and smacks his arm.
“They’re adults,” she whispers.
“He had his hand on her ass before.”
“They’re adults,” she repeats, through gritted teeth.
Somehow, Gremlin has made her way onto the high windowsill, where she now sits in judgment of us all. Especially Chase. Whenever he moves, her eyes follow him. And if it were me, I’d be mildly terrified.
“She hates you,” Zoe says, gleefully grinning over at Gremlin.
“I think she’s allergic to me,” Chase mutters. “Or cursed.”
“She knows you’re loud and annoying,” I say.
“Fuck you.”
“Not without dinner first.”
“Children are still present!” Charlie calls from the dining table.
My eyes sweep to the living room. There’s glitter on my rug, and Dusty’s licking Theo’s toes.
Someone’s juice has spilled on the polished floorboards, and there’s likely half a croissant wedged in my couch.
But laughter also echoes off the vaulted ceiling, and the house is full of people who matter to me.
It’s too loud, too bright, too much.
And somehow, it’s not enough.
I walk into my laundry to grab a cloth for the floor, and when I return, Chase is talking loud enough for the whole room to hear.
“—saying there’s no way he lasts more than three sessions.”
“What are you on about?” I ask, making my way over to wipe the spillage clean.
“You and your new physio.” Zoe grins. “Viktor said she’s hot, and we’ve got bets going.”
“I will not be part of your weird fantasy dating league.”
Zoe’s grin is wicked. “That’s not the bet.”
“It’s two sessions,” Logan says confidently. “Maybe three if she’s hot and mean.”
Lulu claps her hands once. “Hot and mean is Hutchy’s brand.”
“It is not my—”
“It absolutely is your brand,” Zoe cuts in. “And you rock it.”
Chase gestures to me, nodding in agreement. “You like pain. We’ve all seen you block shots for fun.”
“I don’t do it for fun,” I say. “I do it because it’s my job.”