Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Moving Day
Deacon
After a pit stop, I pull into the Hen House, and the movers I arranged are already halfway done. The front door’s open, wind rattling through a space that used to be and still is the home he and his wife shared.
He’s sitting on the steps, a flannel shirt hanging loose on his shoulders, mug of coffee in one hand, watching his life get packed into boxes. I park beside the moving truck and walk up the steps.
“Didn’t think you’d let them do all the heavy lifting,” I joke.
Paul snorts. “If I had your back, I would. These guys get paid by the pound. Let them earn it,” he pauses and turns to me, eyebrow lifting. “What you paid them to do.”
“Koa did this.”
“Bullshit, kid,” he groans as he pulls himself up to stand with the iron railing. “Paid for the moving truck. The girls and I were supposed to load it up.”
Busted.
When I don’t say a thing, he chuckles, “You sneak around like a rookie trying to dodge suicides at practice. Not fooling anyone, but points for effort.”
I neither confirm nor deny his accusation.
He walks in and looks around. The walls are stripped bare, and for a second, I can almost see the ghost of everything that made this place his home with his wife, and then with friends who needed a place after she passed.
A truck stops behind us. The driver hops out, clipboard in hand. “Delivery for Paul.”
Paul frowns. “Didn’t order anything.”
The guy wheels a dolly toward us, stacked with three large, clear bins. The labels are neat, printed in all caps: PHOTO ALBUMS – ARCHIVAL STORAGE. HANDLE WITH CARE.
I crouch beside them, tapping one lid. “Looks like somebody wanted to make sure your memories don’t get lost in the shuffle.”
Paul leans forward, squinting, then shakes his head with a sigh. “Claudia.”
That catches me off guard. “Claudia?”
He nods. “She and Savannah came by this morning as I was looking through old albums.” He rubs a hand over his jaw, the gesture tired but fond.
“Guess she wanted them persevered,” I say, though he already knows it.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I like her paying for something I should’ve handled myself.”
I rest my hand on one of the bins. “Then don’t. I’ll make sure she gets it back.”
He gives me a long look, the kind that says he wants to argue but knows better. “You’ll insult her if you do it outright.”
“I won’t,” I tell him. “She’ll never know it came from me.”
That earns the faintest twitch of a smile. “A goalie with a soft spot.”
The movers start calling from the truck, asking which boxes go where. I grab one of the bins and motion for them to follow. “Let’s get those albums packed up and over to the Puck Pad. They’ll be safe there.”
“You sure you don’t mind helping an old man move?”
I glance over at him, a smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re not old, Paul. You’re legacy with a heartbeat.”
He chuckles and shakes his head as we head for the truck. “Legacy, huh? Damn, kid, you should put that on a plaque somewhere.”
“Maybe I will,” I say, loading the bins carefully onto the seat beside me. “Right next to your albums.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, but when I glance over, his hand’s resting on the lid of the nearest bin like he’s anchoring something only he can feel.
He nods once, “Let’s do this.”
A couple of hours later, I see Nalani, Claudia, and Savannah walking down the road toward the Brownstone, just as the movers are loading up the last of their things.
I spot them before they see me—two figures cutting through the late afternoon crowd like they belong to it already. Claudia’s hairs wind-tossed, and her cheeks flushed. Nalani’s beside her, sunglasses perched high on her head, talking with her hands like she’s telling her a story.
They look… alive. Not the careful kind of alive you fake for other people, but the messy, real kind that comes from just being in the city too long—sweaty, loud, overstimulated, and grinning about it.
“Those girls,” Paul huffs as he sits down on the stoop. “They did the bridge walk.”
“No shit?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
As they get closer, I notice Claudia keeps stretching her neck, that subtle roll of her shoulders that says she’s sore but proud of it. She’s holding a paper cup, and a little white bakery bag swings from her wrist like a victory flag.
They stop at the corner, waiting for the light, and the late sun hits them just right. Claudia laughs at something Nalani says—one of those deep, unguarded laughs she doesn’t often let slip. It catches me off guard. For a second, she doesn’t look tired. Or burdened. Or cautious. Just… young.
They smile when they see us, both with a post-walk glow.
“You two walked from the Brooklyn Bridge?” Paul asks.
Nalani grins, hands on her hips. “That was the plan, technically. The real plan was to stop here, pack up the truck, and pretend we have enough energy left to walk it back.”
Paul lets out a low laugh, the kind that sounds like gravel and amusement. “Pretend, huh? You’d have made it about halfway before flagging a cab and swearing it was part of the route.”
“Exactly,” Nalani says, dead serious. “It’s called strategic realism.”
Claudia looks at the truck, “I thought it wasn’t coming until later. We were going to help.”
“You showed up. Trucks packed up.” He states.
Claudia hands him the cup and bag. “Have you eaten?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to feed me.”
“You do have to eat,” Claudia replies, giving Nalani a strange look.
“Appreciate it, kid, but you’re off the clock, we’re moving out and—”
“Temporarily,” Claudia says and looks down at Savannah. “We’re going to be back in before you know it.”
“You may find a place better suited for you now that you’re a big shot sports shrink.”
She shields her eyes as she looks up at the building, “This is where I want to be.” She looks back at him. “Unless you don’t–”
“Only thing I don’t, is I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of an old man.”
“I’d like a lease,” she says, brow creeping up. “One year minimum.”
“Relocation bonus?” Nalani asks her.
“We’re not allowed to talk about such things.” She says, trying not to smile. “But let’s just say, I want a lease.”
Paul rolls his eyes, but there’s a softness to them. “I’ll see what I can come up with, but I’m not guessing we’ll be back in here too soon.”
“Taking the price of those boxes out of the rent.” He mumbles.
“I’d love to see the pictures,” Nalani says.
“Love to show you them, but they’re packed away.” He sighs.
“Koa’s got a safe the size of a bedroom. Would you like us to store them?” Nalani asks.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I state, and Paul looks at me. “World’s a different place now. We have to treat things we love like treasure.”
“Perfect,” Nalani says, “Then when you come over to watch the game with us tonight, we can look at them together.”
Paul looks at me, “Her man’s been out of town for less than a day, and she’s already trying to date me.”
The girls laugh as the driver walks over and asks, “Place at the Brooklyn waterfront first, and then the one on Player Ave?”
“Sounds right,” I tell him, then glance back at Nalani and Claudia. “Why don’t you two do a lap around the place and make sure nothing’s inside that should be out. Poppa Paul and I will watch the little one.”
They exchange a look—half amused, half exhausted—and then Claudia elbows Nalani who laughs, “Fine. We didn’t walk the bridge we drove to the Puck Pad and loaded the fridge up.”
Paul starts to give them hell, but they laugh as they head in.
I look down at Savannah, still strapped in her car seat, and swear she’s smiling at me like she knows I just volunteered for babysitting duty.
“They don’t need to feed me,” Paul huffs as he looks at me. “Did you just call me Poppa Paul?”
“Sure did,” I say, leaning in to unbuckle her. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
He grumbles, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “You keep that up, kid, and I’ll make you Uncle Deac.”
“Deal. It won’t happen again.” Because I’d rather be Daddy. Then I lift Savannah out and settle her against my chest. She curls her tiny hand around my shirt, warm and trusting, like she’s already decided I pass inspection.
Paul watches us for a second, shaking his head. “You’re a sucker, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’ve been called worse.”
She’s warm, solid, but somehow fragile in the way babies always are — like the whole world quiets down when they end up in your arms. Savannah tucks her head under my chin without hesitation, tiny fingers curling around the collar of my shirt.
Her hair smells faintly like baby shampoo and the warm vanilla scent off her mother. She’s got those half-sleepy eyes that flutter open and closed, studying me like she’s deciding if I’m safe. I don’t move, just shift her against my chest and sway a little, more out of instinct than anything.
“How the hell is something so small and defenseless feel like it would wreck you?” I ask out loud instead of keeping it in my damn head where it belongs. My chest tightens, not in a bad way, just full. Heavy with something that feels like peace wrapped in the most precious responsibility.
Paul’s quiet beside me. I can feel his gaze, but he doesn’t say a word, and that’s good because I’m not sure what I’d say back.
Savannah gives this tiny sigh, one of those soft baby sounds that feels louder than it should, then nestles in closer. Her little hand pats my chest, slow and clumsy.
I swear she smiles — not one of those random baby gas smiles either.
“For a guy who’s faced down six-foot defensemen and crowds screaming his name, it doesn’t seem right, but she’s got me too.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, barely above a whisper, “you’ve got us, little one.”
Paul silently chuckles, and I head over and sit down next to him. “A goalie wondering how something so small seems like the most important thing around.” He laughs out loud. “Little puck.”
“Absolutely not,” Nalani laughs, and I look over my shoulder and see her and Claudia, who is shaking her head.
I stand and give the movers a nod as I brush my lips over the soft curls on Savannah’s head and whisper, “See you soon, little one,” before handing her over.
When our fingers brush for that one, fleeting moment, it hits like a current — warm, sharp, a reminder of everything unsaid between us. She feels it too. Her eyes lift, startled, but not pulling away, like she’s trying to figure out what this means at the exact moment I figure it out.
Before either of us can say something, Nalani pipes up, cheerful as ever. “Home to unpack, Holloway.”
Claudia laughs softly. “Let’s do this.”
Nalani looks at Paul, “You have to come to dinner tonight.” She looks at me. “You’re welcome too.”
“Gonna chill after this, but thanks.”
Claudia turns back to me. “Are you sure you and Paul can handle the movers until we make it back?”
“An old man and a healing goalie?” I nod. “Dream team. Go enjoy your day.”
Paul grumbles behind me. “Old, huh?”
She smiles — the real kind — and heads off down the sidewalk with Nalani and the little one. I watch her go until they disappear. When I turn back, Paul’s already by the vehicle, and I hit the fob to unlock it. He gets in as I jog around the front and slide in.
His hand runs over the dashboard as he slides into the passenger seat. “Italian leather,” he mutters, impressed. “You traded your car?”
“Added to the collection.” I start the engine, and the Lamborghini Urus hums to life, quiet and strong.
Paul chuckles, tapping the dash. “Not even gonna ask what this thing costs.”
“It was a smart choice,” I answer as I ease into traffic.
He gives me a look that sees too much. “You sure you’re not rushing this?”
I glance over. “Rushing what?”
He just raises a brow.
I exhale, eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. “We met two summers ago. She was here for an internship,” I say finally. “She wasn’t someone I just stumbled into.”
His silence invites more, and before I can stop myself, my thoughts slip back.
Conversations that started decent and went sideways in the best way.
The kind of honesty you don’t usually give someone you’ve never met in person.
Photos. Videos. Words that got filthier the longer we went without seeing each other.
The kind of connection that gets under your skin and doesn’t fade, even when life makes you pretend it did.
Then my old man got sick. I missed the flight. Didn’t text. Didn’t know it was something I should have fought for.
Out loud, I clear my throat. “We lost contact for a bit. Then… she was with Kyle.”
Paul nods slowly, absorbing it. “You didn’t fight for her.”
“No,” I say quietly. “Didn’t think I had the right to.”
After a long moment, he says, “Maybe you do now.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. I hit speaker.
“Mr. Moretti? ” My lawyer’s voice fills the car, smooth and clipped. “Just letting you know Ms. Holloway sent her paperwork over to Everett she may need a friend.”
For the first time, I wish this concussion weren’t an issue. Hell, I’m pretty sure Costello had something to do with making it seem bigger than it was just to have something to hang over Dingy’s fucking head.
“Nalani should go. She’s a law student,” Paul says, clearly noticing my conflict. He leans in, as if he might see Liza if he gets closer to the screen. “You know anything about leases?”
“Liza, this is Paul Bronski,” I explain. “He owns—”
A sharp inhale. “Mr. Bronski?”
Paul smirks. “That’s me.”
“Oh my—sir, it’s not my specialty, but it would be an honor to draw something up for you.”
Paul grins, tapping the dash again. “See that, kid? Still got it.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m glad he has perked up. “Thanks, Liza. I’ll handle it.”
“Of course,” she says. “And Deacon? Don’t overthink this.”
The call ends, leaving the low hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the tires.
Paul shakes his head, smiling faintly. “See, even your lawyer knows you can’t keep driving past what’s in front of you.”
I stare ahead at the taillights of the moving truck. “Just until I’m sure I won’t crash it.”
He lets out a soft laugh, the kind that says he understands more than he’ll admit.