Chapter 19
NINETEEN
HARLAN
MARCH
“Mom, my car won’t start.”
Mom?
I cracked my eyes open and tried to orient myself. I was in a warm, cozy bed in a pitch-black room. Naked. A warm body with a dreamy scent was pressed into my side.
I knew that scent.
Emma.
It shocked me that she invited me to stay after we got out of the hot tub, and I would’ve felt like an asshole saying no.
Plus, I didn’t want to say no. And what was that about?
“Mom?”
Shit, where were my underwear? Hanging to dry in her bathroom. How many more seconds did I have until this kid barged into this room and got an eyeful?
The bedroom door swung open and light streamed in from the hallway. I sat up, because I couldn’t decide between wanting to hide and wanting to just fix the problem so Emma could keep sleeping.
“She’s asleep, man, but—”
“What the fuck?!” Liam jumped back like I was a rattlesnake snapping at him. “You’re fucking my mom?”
I turned my back and jumped into my sweats, thankfully placed right next to the bed.
“Ew! I don’t need to see your ass!”
Well, kid, probably better my ass than you finding out your mom likes my piercings. I had the sense not to say that part out loud.
“Liam?” Emma sat up, thankfully wearing full pajamas. I was already halfway to the bedroom door and Liam had a hand over his mouth like he was going to be sick.
“I thought you were her student!”
“I am,” I shrugged, heading his way with pants on and pulling my shirt from the night before over my head.
“What’s going on?” Emma asked, scurrying to catch up to Liam and me.
Liam turned on his heel and poked his hands into my chest. I never got in hockey fights and wondered if this was what it felt like. “Then why are you fucking my mom?”
“I did not fuck your mom!”
“Well,” Emma mumbled just so I could hear her, like a point could be made to the contrary.
I shot her a horrified look. Did she really not care if her son found out what we did, or did I really satisfy her that well that she just couldn’t help herself?
I assumed the latter and it put a little extra pep in my step.
“Then why are you naked?” Liam ranted at me.
“I mean, I’m not now,” I tried. Liam looked to the ceiling in a way that his mom did when she was upset with me. Aw. Genetics.
“She could lose her job!” Liam shrieked. “You guys aren’t supposed to be doing that stuff! Mom, come on. It was my birthday!”
Emma huffed. “And it was my birthing day!”
Liam screwed up his whole face, and once again, that’s a look I’d seen on Emma countless times. “The one with the porn stache, Mom? He’s like my age!”
“Liam,” Emma chided him, and I stroked my fingers over my mustache. He could hate all he wanted. I knew I had a masterpiece on my hands.
“What’s wrong with your car?” I asked, cutting through some of his rage. We’d made it to the front door, the three of us parading out into the morning’s chill.
“It just won’t start! I don’t fucking know.”
“I can probably figure it out,” I offered, but that only made him angrier. His voice dropped to probably the lowest it could at his age. He got chest to chest with me, and though I was taller, I didn’t pull to my full height. I’d let him have the power here.
“Just because you do whatever with her does not make you my dad. We’re not going to do some father-son mechanic bonding time where you teach me valuable life lessons. I have practice in fifteen minutes and a test in my first class!”
Damn, he got his mom’s quick wit. I’d have to compliment Emma later. That wasn’t going to help in the moment. I put my hands up and grimaced. “I know. I know. Not trying to do that. I can fix your car. Or I can take you to practice. Or both.”
“I’ll just call a tow, Harlan,” Emma said from behind me.
Liam screwed up his face and leaned around me to address his mom. “Oh, he’s Harlan now? Not Royce?”
I was not about to point out that the night before, she was calling me Daddy. Voluntarily. Of her own accord. Again, not helpful right now.
“I can fix it, Em. You don’t need to call a tow.”
Emma shot me a pained look before closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her forehead. “That’s very kind, but we got it.” She popped her head inside the front door and grabbed a set of keys. “I’ll drive you, Liam.”
“Just leave me the keys and I’ll figure out his car.”
“I can barely look at you right now,” Liam spat at her, flinging his keys her way.
“Hey,” I warned, but Emma put up a hand to silence me after she caught the keys.
“Liam, enough. I am an adult, and I can and will decide who I spend time with. I’m sorry this is upsetting for you, but this is my business.”
“I just had to see his ass!” Liam hissed, trying to keep his voice down since we were outside and it was 6 a.m.
“Sorry, man.”
“I’m sorry you had to see Harlan’s ass. Now let’s go.”
Emma didn’t make eye contact with me as she got in her car, and Liam looked back at me with an evil eye that rivaled his mother’s before throwing his hockey bag in the backseat.
And I felt the sharp sting of rejection from them both.
Where could we go from here? Liam hated me with every fiber of his teenage being, and Emma brushed off my offers for help. Would she want to talk when she got back? Did I want to be here when she got back?
The worst part was, Liam wasn’t entirely wrong. It probably was a bad idea for us to do whatever we were doing. We’d definitely crossed the professional line. Privates were grinded. Ground? Piercings were counted. Daddy was called. Faces were ridden.
But not a single kiss was exchanged. That felt intentional.
I knew Emma could call a tow. I knew she was right to want to smooth things over with Liam, and it was fine for him to not want to see me right then.
But it hurt.
I could man up, though. Harlan 2.0 was going to be 30% less petty. I headed back into the house to look for a toolbox.
Nothing like having a woman sit on your face for the first time and then having her meet your mom the next day. But that was the situation presented to me, and I had to accept it.
After a nap and a shower, I was there to pick my mom up for the team’s special road trip. NHL teams rotated which guests joined the team on a weekend trip each year. Sometimes it was siblings, dads and mentors, or for this year, moms.
I knocked before trying the handle at my parents’ house in Upper Arlington.
The door caught on a massive duffle and a rolling suitcase sitting by the door.
My parents’ house was a lot to take in, built with the kind of suburban opulence that was hot in the 2000s.
A grand wooden staircase, beveled glass in the door, and a black and white tiled floor that was less diner and more ballroom.
My dad was an investment banker and my mom was an interior designer, which was really more of a hobby where she got to tell her friends that their decor sucked.
Meanwhile, this was our gaudy-ass entry.
Not that my mom was lazy or anything. She was always in motion, and my sister and I could count on her to shuttle us to every practice and be at every game in her St. James High gear.
That all changed when I left my junior year of high school to play hockey in Minnesota.
At the same time, my sister moved to California for college.
Neither of us moved back home and I had no clue how she spent her days now.
My mom’s Pomeranian, Gucci, yapped at me upon entry.
“Be there in a sec!” came Mom’s call from the kitchen.
I crouched to pet Gucci, who immediately sank her ridiculous needle teeth into my finger. “Ow, you little shit! Did you miss me or something?”
“Don’t cuss at my angel!” Mom said, breezing into the entryway.
I pointed at Gucci, who was now rolling on her back and snarling, trying to get me to give her more delicious fingers to gnaw on. “Tell her that! I was just trying to pet her and she used my finger like a Milk-Bone.”
Mom sniffed. “She must not have forgotten the time you were an hour late to feed her when your father and I were out of town.”
I rolled my eyes and stood. “She wasn’t about to die of starvation. She would have lived through the night.”
“Tell her that,” my mom teased in my voice. “She was famished! Practically withering away!”
“Her brain is the size of a walnut. There’s no way she’s holding a grudge up there,” I argued.
Mom bent to scoop the dog up and deliver copious kisses to her fluffy face. “Gucci knows grudges are like lovers. You gotta hold ‘em close, don’t you, my puppy queen?”
Gucci responded with a long slurp to the side of Mom’s face.
I laughed and shook my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Mom returned Gucci to the floor and opened her arms to me. “How’s my big boy?”
I chuckled as I hugged her. “Good. You really need all these bags for one weekend?”
Mom squinted at me. “Harlan Jeremy, I raised you to never question a woman’s packing needs.”
“It’s a small plane, Mom. I don’t want it falling out of the sky because you need dinner shoes that differ from your lunch shoes.”
She popped my arm with the back of her hand. “What’s gotten into you? Respect your elders, young man.”
My insides squeezed at the thought that, just the night before, I was deeply respecting a woman twelve years my elder.
Treated her like a queen, even. Or my princess.
Was the age gap weird to me? Not really.
I was a firm believer that age was just a number.
Good energy transcends years, and Emma had it in spades.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Working.” Mom put air quotes around the word.
“So, golfing?”
“You know him well,” she sighed.
Together, we parroted the phrase my dad used so much, it was almost his catchphrase. “Business is done on the golf course.”
“Come on. We’ll be late,” I said, bending to pick up Mom’s bags and head for my car.