Chapter 17 Brody
SEVENTEEN
brODY
The mall three weeks before Christmas is hell on earth, I decide.
A woman with her arms full of shopping bags hits me in the shin, and I scowl at her as she walks away.
“Do you think I should get Hannah a Christmas gift?” Olivia stands on her toes, looking at the jewelry counter in a department store.
I pull the brim of my hat low when a saleswoman eyes me like she recognizes me from somewhere and regret agreeing to accompany my daughter on her shopping trip. “Or would that be weird?”
“I don’t think a gift is necessary,” I answer, folding my arms over my chest. “What about a card? I’ll throw some money in there.”
“That’s not very personal.” Liv rolls her eyes. “It’s the holiday season, Dad. You have to show people you care about them. That you listen to them, and that doesn’t include shoving a wad of cash their way.”
“Why not? Everyone loves money.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Glad to know that early SAT prep course I signed you up for is working.”
“I’m asking because it’s been two months, and my technique is only getting better. Hannah is a big part of that, and I want her to know I appreciate all the work she’s putting in with me.” Liv sighs. “She’s so talented. I hope she’s able to come back to skating soon.”
“What about a friendship bracelet? You have a million at home. I bet she’d love to wear something you created.”
“Ugh. She’s cool, Dad, and has like, so many Instagram followers. She wouldn’t like a friendship bracelet.”
“I like mine.” I hold up my wrist so she can see the five I’m currently wearing. Different colors, different beads. Some bright pink and others light blue and red, matching the team colors. “Am I not cool?”
“No. You’re old, and not many things bring you joy.”
“You wound me, kid.” I laugh and ruffle her hair, ignoring her when she tries to swat my hand away. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Mom says I get my bluntness from you.” Liv grins. “You can only blame yourself.”
“I’ll say.”
“Are you getting Hannah a gift?”
“Why would I get her a gift?” I lead her away from the diamond bracelets she’s scoping out knowing I already bought her the one she wanted. “That also isn’t necessary.”
“I don’t know. You’re friends, aren’t you?” Her smile is anything but innocent. “Friends get each other gifts.”
“Yes, we are friends, but it’s not a gift-giving level of friendship.” I rub the back of my neck, bracing myself for an ambush. “We skate together. We spend Thanksgiving together. We don’t exchange presents.”
At least… I don’t think we do.
Have I seen her eight times in the last month?
Yeah, but does that mean I’m obligated to get her a gift?
Shit. Is she getting me a gift?
I can’t be the asshole who doesn’t get her a present.
What the fuck do you get for the girl you slept with once and can’t get out of your head?
Socks?
“You spent Thanksgiving together?” Liv gasps, yanking me out of my gift spiral, and what a terrible fucking idea that was. “Dad!”
“No. No. That’s not—she was at the team dinner. I was at the team dinner. We spent Thanksgiving with my players.” I almost knock over a display of perfume bottles as we wind our way through the store. “Not… not alone.”
“Interesting. Do you ever think you’ll date someone?” Liv asks, switching gears. I’m fucking flustered. “Some of the girls at school have single dads, and they’re on dating apps. You could be out meeting people.”
“Why the sudden interest in my personal life?”
“Call it curiosity.”
“I’m not out meeting people because I don’t want to meet people. I have everything I need: you. The guys on the team. Hockey every day of my life. What else could make me happy?”
“Someone who makes you laugh? You’re uptight, Dad.”
“Gee.” I shove my hands in my pockets. We pass a Dairy Queen and an Auntie Anne’s.
A kid wearing a Stars jersey and waiting in line to meet Santa tugs on his mom’s dress to get her attention when he spots me.
I give him the flash of a smile and he waves.
“You’re piling on the compliments today, Livvy. ”
“You know I don’t mean it like that.” She sighs in that exasperated way teenagers do. I’m the biggest pain in her ass. Why don’t I understand what she’s trying to say? “Are you ever lonely when I’m at Mom’s?”
“No.” A long beat before I decide she deserves more of an answer. “I prefer to keep to myself. I always have.”
“That’s sad.”
“I don’t think of it that way.”
“Well, if you ever do decide to date, I’d be okay with it.” Liv smiles. “I like Bryant. I’m sure I’d like whoever you started seeing. Especially if they’re a pretty figure skater who could keep coaching me.”
“Olivia Elliot. Knock it off.”
“This is when I wish I had a twin sister so we could plan some ‘Parent Trap’ level scheming.” She sighs, lighting up when she spots a photo booth. “Can we go in and take pictures?”
I’ve never denied her anything, so I cram into the tiny stall with a curtain that shows off my entire lower body.
Liv holds up a peace sign and I stick out my tongue.
I give the camera my best menacing face and she puts her hands under her chin, batting her eyelashes.
Two copies of the four snapshots print out, and I fold one up and stow it safely in my wallet.
“I’ll split a milkshake with you before I take you to your mother’s,” I say, my attention catching on a store with lava lamps in the window. I squint at the racks of clothes and art prints hanging on the wall, veering left so we can step inside. “We’re making a detour first.”
“What do you want in here?” Liv rifles through a stack of shirts. “Whoa. Look at these cool graphic tees! What does I survived Y2K mean?”
“Jesus. I feel ancient.” I scan the shop, smiling at the keychains on a back wall. “Bingo.”
With Liv distracted, I touch the metal trinkets Hannah told me she likes to collect. They’re not from halfway across the world or a memento commemorating one of her competitions, but they do make me chuckle. And, well, it’s better than showing up somewhere empty-handed.
I grab two off a hook—one that’s a jar of pickles with BIG DILL ENERGY written on it and another in the shape of a lemon with the words when life gets tough, squeeze me—and take them to the register.
The bored-looking guy behind the counter asks if I want a bag and I politely decline, slipping the tiny knickknacks in the pocket.
“Do they have any of these clothes in a museum somewhere?” Liv asks when I track her down. “Is this how our founding fathers dressed?”
“You’ve reached your age joke limit for the day. Let’s get you to your mom’s so you can make fun of her instead. I’m going to drown my old man sorrows with my assistant coaches tonight,” I say.
I walk slow so she can keep up with me, her stride impossibly short compared to mine.
Our stop for milkshakes takes double the amount of time it should after a group of teenage boys in CCM beanies and Georgetown Hockey sweatshirts notice me.
They ask for a photo and show me a video of their practices, asking for a couple of tips to improve their skills.
“Maybe you’ll coach one of them one day,” Liv tells me, handing over the cookies and cream milkshake.
“Maybe,” I say, the keychains pressing into my thigh on our walk to the car.
“No hockey talk,” Mikal says when he sets a pitcher of beer on our table. “This is our one night a month where we’re not obligated to talk about the sport we coach.”
“Great. I can stare at the wall instead.” I pour a cup for each of us, nudging the drinks to him and Parker. “That’s my favorite pastime.”
“I could talk about my kid,” Parker suggests, tapping his phone and showing off his son on the lock screen. “But Mikal is scared of babies and Brody hasn’t held an infant in years.”
“For fuck’s sake. I’m not scared of babies. They’re just… judgy.” Mikal shudders and brings his cup to his mouth. “When they stare at you, it’s like they’re staring into your soul.”
“It’s called a good judge of character.” I flip a coaster in the air, catching it between my thumb and pointer finger. “Babies and dogs. If they don’t trust you, I don’t trust you.”
“Did you see that guy from the San Diego Iguanas got cast on a reality dating show?” Parker asks, holding up his hands when Mikal shoots him a look. “I said guy, not ECHL player. It could’ve been anyone.”
“A reality dating show is my idea of hell.” My phone buzzes on the table with a text message, and I discard the coaster. “You’d have to drag me on camera.”
“I’d pay money to see that,” Mikal says.
They start talking about the other reality shows they watch, but I’m distracted by Hannah’s initials on my screen. I swipe my thumb across the notification, waiting for her text message to load.
H.E.
*Attachment: 1 link*
Buzzfeed ranked the hottest coaches in professional sports. Guess where you finished?
Me
At the bottom, I hope.
H.E.
Do you have any self-confidence? You were first!
Pretend I’m tossing streamers and confetti in the air.
Anything to say about this accomplishment, Brody?
I’m trying my damnedest to hold back a smile. It’s a losing battle.
Me
Is there nothing better to report on?
And who did I beat?
H.E.
The football coach for the DC Titans. Shawn Holmes? Do you know him?
Me
Yup. Good guy.
H.E.
There’s a coach for the Sacramento hockey team. He’s cute. What’s his deal?
Irritation prickles at the top of my spine. I don’t like that she’s calling that dickbag cute, and my fingers fly across the keyboard to give her an answer.
Me
He’s been divorced twice. Cheated on both wives.
H.E.
Darn. I knew he was too pretty to be true.
Me
They always are.
Three dots appear and disappear on her end of the text thread. I wait, wondering if she’s going to say anything else. Just when I’m about to turn my phone face down, a new message pops up.
H.E.
What are you up to tonight?
Me
Out with my assistant coaches at a bar.
H.E.
Such a social butterfly. I’m so proud of you!
Me
What are you doing?
H.E.