Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
HARRISON
Practice ends with August hip-checking Griffin into a pile of Gatorade bottles for shits and giggles and Griffin yelling something about “worker’s comp.”
Dumbass goofballs.
I’m just inside the locker room, sweat still dripping down my neck, when I hear my phone ding.
Reaching for it, I see Harper’s name flash on the screen.
My chest does that embarrassing squeezy thing it’s been doing lately whenever her name is mentioned or whenever I’m around her.
I clear my throat and answer, trying to sound casual and not like I’ve been thinking about her since spaghetti night.
“Hey.”
“Oh, thank God, Harrison.” Her voice is tight, breathless. Even a little stressed, and that wipes the smile right off my face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I—I’m stuck in a standstill on I-5. There’s an accident and traffic is barely moving. I usually meet Connor at the bus stop but there’s no way I’ll make it there in time.” She pauses, her breath shaky. “I’m so sorry. I would never ask you to, but…do you think you can—”
“I’m on my way. Text me where to meet the bus.”
“Oh, my God, thank you,” she exhales. “Seriously. I owe you so much—”
“Harper,” I cut in gently. “Just drive safe. I’ve got this.”
“Right. I will, thanks. I’ll text you.”
I hang up, grab my hoodie from my locker, and jog out of the arena like my life depends on it. Which…it doesn’t…but my sanity does.
Ten minutes later, Connor is standing at the bus stop with his backpack hanging open, hockey cards spilling out, and talking animatedly to another kid who looks like he regrets every life decision that led him here.
“Yo, bud!” I call out.
Connor whips around, his face lighting up. “Coach Harrison!” He barrels into me like a puck with legs. I catch him, chuckling at his excitement. Not going to lie, seeing him this happy to see me feels amazing.
“Your mom sent me,” I explain. “She’s stuck in a traffic jam so I thought I could walk with you and we could hang out for a bit. How’s that sound?”
“Are you kidding?” He beams, hooking his backpack, half-zipped and full of chaos, over his shoulder. “Heck yeah! Then I can show you my new hockey cards. I got a rookie Bodhi Roche one!”
I groan. “Great. More reason for him to brag.”
Connor snorts. “He would brag without it.”
The kid’s not wrong.
A few minutes later, we’re riding the elevator to Connor’s home, Connor leading the way once the doors open like I’ve never been here before.
But I have.
For spaghetti.
For bleeding fingers.
For memories that hit harder than one of Barrett Cunningham’s pissy moods.
He drops his backpack and immediately starts rummaging through the fridge for snacks. He grabs a couple of cheese sticks and two bottles of water and then turns toward the table to have a seat.
“Wonder what this is.” he says, gesturing to a pile of photos strewn across the table as he sits.
I swallow a few glugs of water and am lowering my bottle from my mouth when Connor freezes, a polaroid in his hand. His head cocks to the side and his eyes narrow. He glances up at me and then back at the picture.
“What is it?”
“Coach, why…” He lingers on the picture in his hand. “Why are you in a picture with my mom?” He turns the picture toward me, his eyes narrowing with intense child-level suspicion. I take one quick glance and know exactly what the photo is.
Spring break.
Beach day.
Harper in my hoodie.
Me kissing her cheek.
Her laughing with her whole face.
My heart stops and my throat closes.
Shiiiiiiit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Fuck!
Shit!
What am I…
What should I…
Shit!
What do I…
Every molecule in my body panics.
“I—uh—well—we…” I stutter like an idiot.
“She was probably a fan of mine from a long time ago and happened to run into me on the beach. Probably asked for a picture.” I take the picture from him and pretend to study it even though I don’t need to study it because I was fucking there.
I remember how she smelled that day. I remember telling her I was in love with her that day.
He flips through some of the other pictures. “You look younger here. Wait.” He pauses. “In this one you’re holding hands.” He shuffles to another photo, his eyes widening. “And in this one you’re—OH EW—you’re kissing!”
I choke. “Hey, hey—okay—relax. It was just—kid stuff. Sort of.”
Christ.
I’m going straight to hell.
“So, you knew her? You knew my mom?”
I ram my hand into my hair because fucking hell, what am I supposed to say to this kid? I have no idea how much he knows or doesn’t know, nor did I get any kind of instruction from Harper on what she wants me to say or not say.
“Okay, so um, yes.” I nod. “Your mom and I, uh…we knew each other. A long time ago.”
Connor squints. “How long?”
“Forever ago,” I say too quickly pulling my phone from my pocket like I’m about to calculate just how long it’s been. “College. We uh, we actually went to the same college. That’s all.”
He stares at me like he’s asking a math question with emotional consequences and then looks back at the photos just long enough for me to send out a quick string of texts.
Me
HELP!
Me
YOU LEFT PHOTOS ON THE TABLE!
Me
WHY THE HELL DID YOU NOT BURN THESE?
Me
HARPER, HE IS ASKING QUESTIONS THAT I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU WANT ME TO ANSWER!
Me
I AM 30 SECONDS FROM PASSING OUT.
“Did you love my mom?”
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.
Why don’t kids come with warning labels?
HARPER
Oh…shit…
Oh yeah. That’s real helpful. Thank you.
I shove my phone into my pocket and clear my throat, buying myself as much time as possible before I answer Connor.
“Well,” I say carefully, “uh, your mom was very special to me. We were…uh, friends.” I clear my throat. “We were friends.”
He tilts his head, eyeing me in that way that lets me know he’s either very confused or he straight up doesn’t believe any of the bullshit I’m throwing at him. “Special friends who kiss?”
Fuck, it’s hot in here.
I’m sweating.
I’m physically sweating.
“Hey,” I say gently, crouching to his height. “Sometimes people mean a lot to each other when they’re young. And life gets…complicated.”
He studies me for a long, too-perceptive moment and then out of nowhere asks, “Do you still like her?”
Do I still—
I flinch and pull my phone from my pocket again, pretending I just received a text.
“Ope! It’s my coach. Give me two seconds, bud.”
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!
I’m lying to my own kid because I don’t have the balls to answer his questions.
Me
HE’S ASKING IF I STILL LIKE YOU!
Me
TELL ME WHAT TO SAY!
Me
DO I FAKE A HEART ATTACK??
My phone immediately buzzes with an incoming text from Harper.
Harper
Do NOT fake a heart attack.
Harper
Just…don’t panic.
Harper
I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Too late, babe. Panic is my default setting.
I swallow hard and offer Connor a smile. “Connor, your mom is an amazing person,” I say honestly. “Anyone would be lucky to—”
“Were you guys like, boyfriend and girlfriend?” He waves a picture in the air. A picture of us sitting in the sand on the east coast, her leaning back on my chest, my arms around her holding her against me. “Cause this picture looks like you guys were boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Uh…”
There’s a sound at the door and then in strides a man I’ve never seen before, his dark skin contrasting with the light fabric of his Chinos and pink button-down shirt. His entire presence throws an unexpected wrench into my already derailing conversation and now I find myself in protection mode.
“Whoa. Hey man, who the hell are you?”
The dude merely smirks at me like he knows a secret I’m not privy to and then spits out words I don’t understand. “Celui qui est là pour vous sauver, apparemment.”
“Uh, I’m sorry. I think you’re in the wrong place, man. You need to—”
“?a va, mon garcon?” the man asks, turning his attention toward Connor.
Okay now this guy’s just pissing me off. “Hey pal, don’t talk to—”
“Oui, ca va, Antoni.” Connor chuckles as he waves with a photo in his hand and now I’m doing a double-take, glancing between Connor and this nicely dressed stranger.
What the hell?
Did my kid just speak another language?
What’s going on here?
“Hey, Antoni.” Connor steps toward the man and it’s taking everything in me not to hold him back because I still don’t know who the fuck this guy is. “Did you know Mom and Harrison…oh, this is Harrison Meers by the way,” he says, gesturing to me. “You know…of the Anaheim Stars?”
I nod to the guy who nods back silently and then Connor is showing him the photo he has in his hand. “Did you know they were boyfriend and girlfriend once? Like, a long time ago? Look!”
The man glances down at the picture and then raises an eyebrow as he brings a hand to his chest like he’s clutching his damn pearls.
“Scandaleux!”
“Scandaleux?” I echo in a piss poor attempt at a French accent. “What does that mean?”
I think I can guess.
And who the fuck is this guy?
Clearly Connor knows who he is but I’m still clueless.
Is he the cleaning guy?
Nah, too well dressed for that.
Does he own this building?
I suppose it’s a possibility…
Connor’s giggling at the guy as if he’s known him forever, which only adds to my growing list of questions.
“Right?” Connor giggles, showing him another photo in his hand. “Look at this one! They even kissed!”
Antoni pretends to vomit, which only irritates me more. “Okay, do I need to remind you that I’m standing right here?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest protectively. “Can we please dial back the crazy vibes for just a second? Connor, buddy, you want to tell me who this guy is?”
“Excusez-Moi! I’m Antoni. The husband,” the man says to me with a cocky wag of his brow as he offers me his hand.
Husband?
What the fuck?
“Wait. You speak English? Husband?” I push my hand through my hair, trying to think fast. “Harper has a husband? She’s…married?”
What the hell is happening here?
She said she wasn’t married.
When did this happen?
And for how long?