Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
BEWARE THE ROCKET
“You know they’re not bringing back turkey, don’t you?”
I throw myself onto the couch. “If we end up with anything other than forty bags of chips, I’ll take it as a win.”
When Peeks shuffles up next to me, I grab his arm and haul it around my shoulders. “Dancing with death here, D. Zach walks in, he’ll cut my arm off. I need it for hockey.”
“Nothing else?”
“Just the sport of the gods.”
I hoot. “He won’t amputate your arm. He’s not that bad.”
“Ha! You’re not blind. You know he’s possessive as fuck.”
“Kinda dig it.”
“You sure? I can talk to him about it—”
Touched, I turn into him. “You’re a good friend, Peeks.”
“Nah. I sucked last year,” is his sheepish rebuttal. “Didn’t even realize how I was veering more toward the team than you until Zach got here.”
“It’s—”
“Don’t say it’s fine. It’s not.”
“Neither of us were doing so well with him not being here and knowing Jo was ill… dying.” I swallow as he tightens his arm and draws me into a hug. “Last year sucked in general.”
“Can confirm. If he gets a bit much, though, tell me.”
“I will, but I can handle it. We’re talking about Jo some. About his temper.”
“You noticed?”
“How couldn’t I?” I tease. “Dyers deserves it so it’s hard to chide Zach for acting out. Especially when he keeps it off the ice. Last thing we need is him getting thrown out for gross misconduct—on his own team!”
“True. You happy with him?”
“Yeah.” I squirm. “Didn’t think it’d be like this.”
“Thought you were turning into a nun on me. Only thing that reassured me was the fact you’re more sinner than saint.”
“Can you imagine me in a convent?”
“The nuns would definitely excommunicate you.”
“100%. How are things with Hailey?” It’s the first chance I’ve had to talk about her with him. She’s spent the day with us, but she’s the only one not outright terrified of Rocket, Callan’s dog, so she took him outside to go pee.
“Fine. She works a lot of hours so I don’t get to see her as much as I’d like.”
“She’s on a scholarship, isn't she?”
“Still needs to eat. I stay at her place more so she’ll eat the food I bring home. But she’s too conscientious to quit.”
“You’re a hockey player, Pecan. She doesn’t know how long this’ll last.”
He grunts so I know he gets where I’m coming from.
Before he can answer, though, we both freeze and not because we’ve been caught talking about her.
“We’re back!” Hailey calls from the hall as the door slams closed.
The mini hell hound slouches out of the kitchen and into the living room. She peers around us, settles a distrustful glare at us both, then leaps onto the sofa. Both of us watch her because the little shit always bites Callan.
He says she’s a rescue. That she’s terrified of everything. Mostly, I know that everyone’s terrified of her. Rocket is a very fitting name.
“Think if we feed her, she’ll leave us alone?”
“She’s not that bad, Pecan,” Hailey says around a laugh.
She goes to stroke Rocket’s head then jumps when the little shit goes to bite her.
“Fuck! She’s Cujo, I swear.”
“Reincarnate, Peeks,” I confirm.
Hailey, a hand still pressed to her chest, asks, “Think it’s true that she stopped biting Callan last week?”
Knowing how soft Callan is with Beelzebub’s furry friend, I mutter, “Not on your life.”
When the boys come stumbling in, enough fried chicken to feed the five thousand, I shove Callan in the side. “Thought those slutty little glasses meant you’d be able to read better. What in Southern fried chicken looks like Butterball turkey? Not even the same letters, Callan.”
“They share vowels,” he grouses, toying with the glasses he recently picked up because he was getting headaches while studying.
“Shame they don’t share orders.” I poke at one of the containers. “Think if we feed one to Rocket, she’ll accept it as a sacrifice and leave us alone?”
Callan smirks as Rocket yips at Pecan, who immediately drops the breast in his hand. “Holy fuck, okay! Here! TAKE IT.”
Rocket, preening, snaps it up and trots off to only God knows where in the apartment.
“You should license her out as a bodyguard.” Zach eyes the departing dog like it really is a demon. “Either that or get her exorcised.”
“My sister-in-law and I tried that when we first got her—”
“How’d that work? You’re not a priest,” Hailey inquires, delving into the paper bags for some chicken.
“I got ordained online.”
That has us all blinking at him.
“You got ordained?” I sputter.
“Yup. Dead easy.” He pokes around for a wing too. “Didn’t work though.”
“Nah, wrong church. You’d need to go to seminary, Callan.”
“How do you know so much about Catholicism?”
“My grandma.” I shrug around a laugh as I preheat the air fryer. “Not like I know much more than that. Doesn’t make me a genius to know that priests go to seminary.”
“What you doing?”
“Don’t eat with your mouth open, Pecan,” Hailey and I chide simultaneously then crack up laughing.
Still snickering, I continue, “And you know I like mine extra crispy.” I dump a bunch into the drawer. “Heard from Logan and Paul, by the way.”
“What did they have to say?”
“Franella’s turned into a desperate housewife.”
Zach pauses before he can take a bite. “Do I want to know what that means?”
“Nesting,” Pecan explains.
“Makes sense with her due date coming up.”
I gag at Callan’s logic. “I’m so glad I’m not there.”
Zach hauls an arm around my neck. “Even if we’re only eating fried chicken?”
I kiss him on the cheek. “Definitely. Now, who’s making the waffles?”