Chapter 20
Desmond
When Jack comes over on the Saturday following our beach picnic, I expect Parker to make a comment about him being my boyfriend.
He doesn’t. Instead, he falls into the now-familiar routine of shadowing Jack as he starts his washing, and then coercing him into playing video games.
I’d wondered, too, if Jack’s timid nature might resurface after our conversation on the beach, but he surprised me.
There wasn’t an ounce of nervous discomfort about him as he moved around the apartment.
Several times, when we passed one another, he touched my arm or hip in a way he’d never done in the past.
Letting myself into the hockey complex, I take a second to hope that my excellent weekend isn’t about to be torpedoed by Nico.
We’d seen one another both days for games, but the professional environment spared us from having to discuss anything beyond hockey.
This morning, however, will see me sitting next to him in the office without the buffer of the team between us.
Walking the halls, I do my deep-breathing exercises as I approach the office. Nico, as per usual, has beaten me, and has the door propped open in welcome. He’s still unpacking his bag when I walk in, eyes meeting mine when I murmur a greeting.
“Morning,” he replies, gaze on me as I take a seat at my desk. He holds out a to-go cup of coffee, frowning when I hesitate, surprised by the gesture. “This is for you,” he prompts.
“Thanks, Macca.” Taking a careful sip, I smile at the familiar taste of a long black. Relief, warmer than any coffee, floods my veins. I’ve never been handed a clearer olive branch than this.
“I talked to Micky on Friday,” Nico starts, not one to beat around the bush or avoid a conversation. “And I owe you an apology.”
“Nah, bud, you don’t. I would have been concerned if you didn’t react the way you did.”
He sighs. “Well, I probably didn’t need to threaten you, at any rate.”
“Mama bear,” I comment, voice low. He snorts, letting me know that he heard me, and that we’re already moving beyond the awkwardness of last week. Thank God, because my digestive health is not meant to handle that level of animosity.
“It’s a little concerning how often your words mirror Anthony’s,” Nico comments, eyeing me as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“He also said I owed you the benefit of the doubt, and that I wasn’t giving Micky enough credit.
I just…these boys wo rry me. I’m trying to do right by them, that’s all. Sometimes, the things they tell me…”
He trails off with a rueful shake of the head, eyes distant as he thinks.
“Really, Nico. It’s fine. I get it, and I would have done the same thing.”
He breathes out audibly through his nose, staring down at his coffee and tapping his fingers against the top of the desk.
“Any particular plan for today?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to move the conversation away from personal relationships and on to the altogether safer ground of work talk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his shoulders relax.
“Actually, yes. Nigel is coming to help out.”
“Yeah?” I perk up at that. Not having a background in physically playing the game, my coaching style lacks that aspect. Nico, with his endless supply of NHL players, easily fills that gap.
“Vas is going to be happy as a clam.”
Indeed, Vas’ face lights up so dramatically when he sees Nigel walk in, one would think it was his best friend in the whole world. He skates over to us, smiling widely. He nods politely to me, acknowledging my presence next to the man he’s really come to see.
“Bonjour, entra?neur Nigel. Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?”
Looking up from where he’d been adjusting the laces on his skates, Nigel St. James smiles at Vas.
“Bonjour, Henri. J'ai hate de jouer au hockey, ca fait trop longtemps.”
Resting a hip against the boards and crossing my arms around my clipboard, I settle in to listen.
I know Vas has an impressive array of languages in his arsenal, but he doesn’t often have the opportunity to use them.
At least, not where I can hear. Nigel coming to practice is a treat, not just for Vas—who very obviously enjoys the opportunity to speak French—but for the rest of us, because we get to listen.
After a few minutes of chatting, Vas skates back over to his teammates, cheeks pink with a pleased flush. I smirk at Nigel as he steps onto the ice.
“That boy is something special,” he comments.
“He is,” I agree. “I’m impressed you were able to convince him to use your first name.”
“Can’t seem to lose the ‘coach,’ though. Every time I’ve come to practice, he thanks me for talking to him,” Nigel says fondly. I nod, because that sounds like exactly the sort of thing Vas might thank somebody for. “Nico tells me he’s not very confident in his English.”
“He’s not, even though his English is perfect.” Thinking of Jack, I add, “I think sometimes there’s no good reason for what makes us self-conscious. Confidence isn’t guaranteed, no matter how much it might be warranted.”
Nate laughs suddenly, the sound echoing and drawing our attention. Ascertaining that he’s not engaged in anything dangerous, I turn back to Nigel.
“Anything specific in mind for today? How long do we have you? We’ve got them scheduled for a little conditioning, but I can bump that if you want more ice time.”
“I can work with whatever you have in mind. I miss playing, and it turns out the semi-permanent basis I was hired on isn’t permanent enough for my liking. My presence here is mainly selfishness.”
“Feel free to grace us with your selfish presence any time,” I comment mildly, skating backward so I’m not right next to him and blowing the whistle hanging around my neck, calling the team over.
“Can Jack come over tonight?” Parker asks, moodily pushing his dinner around his plate.
He’s been acting strange all week, following me around the apartment with a suspicious look on his face, as though expecting me to disappear if I’m out of his sight.
When I asked him if something was wrong with his computer, thinking that maybe the clinginess was a product of the video games not functioning, he’d tartly responded with, “Why, are you trying to get rid of me?”
Yesterday, he’d tried to fake being sick in order to get out of school, and then made a comment about how living with me was a prison when I didn’t fall for it.
Now, he’s barely taken two bites of dinner, even though I didn’t see him eat a snack after school either.
I know he’s hungry. He’s always hungry. My food tastes fine, which means something else is going on, but damned if I can figure out what it is.
“It’s Wednesday, bud,” I remind him gently, popping a bite of parmesan chicken into my mouth. Parker’s lips pinch together into a flat line, and he glares down at his plate.
“So? Why does that matter?” he pushes.
“Because it’s a school night. For both of you, in fact.” I grimace at that, feeling like I just made Jack sound like a school-age child.
“Just for a little bit,” he begs. I put my fork down, looking hard at him. He’s never pushed this much for Jack to come over outside of the usual Saturday visits. Even last week, when Jack did spend a weekday evening here, Parker hadn’t brought it up again.
“Parks, what’s going on? Did something happen at school?”
“No, geez ,” he says vehemently. “I just want Jack to come over, okay? Does everything have to be a big deal to you?”
“Hey,” I warn, “tone it down a little bit. You need to give me a better reason than ‘I just want it.’ I want Jack to come over all the time, but he’s busy and we’ve got stuff we need to get done tonight, too.”
“I just”—he squeezes his hand around his fork, gripping tightly enough for me to see the white of his knuckles—“miss him, that’s all. I want to play Minecraft with him.”
“You haven’t played all week,” I remind him, completely nonplussed.
“I want to play with Jack .” He widens his eyes at me, his expression adding on duh, idiot . I rub a hand over my face, wondering where the line should be drawn with capitulating and arguing. I settle on bartering.
“If you eat all of that”—a nod toward his plate—“and take a shower right after dinner, I’ll text Jack and ask him if he wants to come over.”
“Deal,” Parker agrees immediately, bending low over his plate and shoveling in a mouthful.
“The broccoli too, and I’ll check the rubbish bin,” I warn him, which earns me an eye roll. He eats it all, though, stuffing everything into his mouth and barely chewing before he swallows.
“Done!” he announces, carrying his plate to the dishwasher. “I’m going to go shower. You’re texting Jack, right?”
I hold up my phone in confirmation. He hovers at the mouth of the hallway, watching suspiciously as I send a quick message to Jack. When I look up and meet his eye, he drops his gaze to the floor and hustles down the hallway.
“What the hell is going on with him, Vic?” I ask my sister, who, for once, doesn’t have an answer for me.
Jack texts back in the affirmative, adding a string of smiley-face emojis that have me smiling in return.
Okay, so apparently I can invite him over during the week and expect a positive outcome.
The water is still running in Parker’s bathroom, so I continue picking at my dinner while heating up what I was going to save as leftovers for Jack.
“Is he coming?” Parker screams from the bedroom, seconds after the water turns off.
“Yeah, he’s on the way. You’ve got time,” I reply, loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough that the rest of the building doesn’t.
The tentative knock at our door comes quicker than I’d been expecting. We don’t live far from campus, but it usually takes him twenty minutes to walk over. It’s barely been ten.
“Hey, Jacko,” I greet him, opening the door. He beams, right hand reaching for me as he steps inside. I mimic the movement, thinking he’s going to hug me, but he pulls back and flushes before I can touch him.