Chapter 6
Grant
I finish my last set of deadlifts at exactly nine-thirty, the same time as always. This house came with a small home gym, but I expanded it so it takes up the entire basement. It’s one of the few spaces in the house that actually feels lived in, and it’s by far where I feel the most comfortable.
I’m in here five nights a week during the season for two hours of lifting, conditioning, and mobility work. No off-weeks. No exceptions.
My routine is the one thing I can always count on to stay constant, no matter what else is going on in my life.
From losing my parents to gaining two new roommates, I know that tomorrow I’ll be doing my normal morning skate, then team practice, PT, my evening workout, then some time to relax and decompress in the sauna.
Lights out by eleven. Just like yesterday and the day before. Just like tonight.
Except tonight, as I towel off the sweat and head upstairs, I have to remind myself that I’m not the only one here. I’m sharing my space with two other people. People who are probably trying to figure out their own routines in a house that’s totally different from their last place.
And since I invited them to stay here for as long as they want or need, I also have to remind myself to be flexible. My own routine doesn’t have to stop, of course. It doesn’t even have to suffer just because I’m making space for Heather and April.
But it might need to be slightly tweaked every once in a while, and that’s okay.
It is.
Even if I have to keep repeating it to myself until I’m fully convinced.
I can hear the faint sound of the living room TV as I get to the top of the stairs, and I have to catch myself before I start grinning like a fool.
It’s a kids’ show, by the sound of it, and it marks the first time a TV in this house has broadcast anything but sports since I moved in.
Just another small thing that’s been tweaked. Probably for the better, if I’m being honest. Just because I can survive on a twenty-four-hour diet of hockey games and replays doesn’t mean everyone in the house has to be subjected to it.
In fact, I’m glad that April feels at home enough to watch whatever she wants in the living room. That means I haven’t totally failed at my hosting duties.
I should probably go say goodnight and check if they need anything, but I stop myself after just one step in that direction. Heather and April don’t need me breathing down their necks, especially not on their very first night here.
They seem to be finding their rhythm, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. Instead, I go back to my own routine. First, a cold bottle of water. Then a few minutes in the sauna.
The first thing I see when I open the fridge is a container of leftover spaghetti on the bottom shelf, shoved together with a few other items Heather must have brought over from her old place.
It’s obvious that she’s tried her best to keep their food completely separate from mine, and while I appreciate the thought behind it, I still make a mental note to let her know it’s okay to spread out and take up space.
I want them both to feel comfortable enough to use the house as their own, and that includes the refrigerator.
Actually, screw that.
I’ll still mention it, but there’s no time like the present to practice what I preach.
Besides, it’ll be good for me to change things up a little too.
The inside of my fridge has looked like an ad for the health food store for too long, with everything in its color-coded place and all those perfectly aligned rows.
Within five minutes, it looks almost normal while still staying neat and tidy enough to keep my eyes from twitching every time I open the door. I chug my water, toss the bottle into the recycling bin, and head for the sauna.
It’s only a few steps from the kitchen—a small space between the laundry room and the back door, cedar-lined and with a nice view of the backyard—and I would normally already be stripped down by the time I made it to the sauna door.
But now, with guests in the house, I decide it’s probably best for all of us if I keep my shorts on and save us all a potentially embarrassing situation. I peel my shirt off and toss it into the laundry basket on top of the washing machine as I pass by, then open the sauna door and freeze in place.
“What the—oh shit, sorry.” The words slip out before I can close my mouth.
Heather is sitting on the wooden bench across from me, looking just as surprised as I feel.
“Oh, no, I’m the one who should be apologizing.
” She’s wearing a bikini, and I catch a glimpse of long legs, toned arms, and curves that I haven’t fully appreciated until right this second as she scrambles for her towel.
“I was just—I noticed the sauna earlier when you were showing us around and I, well, it was just so tempting.” She closes her eyes for a moment, and I can tell she’s trying to pull herself together even though she’s obviously embarrassed. “I should have asked. I’m sorry.”
I’m pretty sure she would’ve already run out the door if I wasn’t still blocking her way.
“You don’t have to ask to use the sauna or the fridge or anything else in this house,” I say, stepping aside but gesturing back toward the bench where she was just sitting. “You were in here first, so you can stay. It’s not a big deal for me to come back later.”
“Except you probably have a routine for this, too, don’t you?” She gives me a knowing look. “Yeah, you do. And I’m interrupting it.”
She’s not wrong about my routine, but the last thing I want is for her to think that my schedule is more important than making her feel welcome in what is supposed to be her temporary home.
“How about if we both stay?” I offer, because this is starting to turn into something bigger than it needs to be. “I don’t want it to be weird, so I’ll leave it up to you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
She only takes a few seconds to think about it before I can see some of the tension ease in her shoulders. “Of course. We’ll both stay. I don’t think it’ll be weird at all.”
Heather settles back on the bench and I step fully inside the sauna, belatedly realizing just how small the room feels now that we’re both in here. But I’m not going to think about that right now. Not when we’re both trying to make the situation feel less awkward.
I take a seat on the opposite bench and immediately struggle to focus on something—anything—aside from her long legs and pretty smile.
Instead, I look over at the wooden slats on the wall and try to think of something else to say.
And try.
And try.
“Sorry,” I say after what feels like a solid five minutes of silence. “I’m not all that used to having company in here. Not that I mind the company, I mean. I just don’t have guests over that often, as I’m sure you’ve picked up on by now.”
Her laugh is gentle and easy enough to make me relax a little. “I’m no better, to be honest. I can’t even tell you the last time I sat around like this and just relaxed for a while. It almost feels wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Yeah, you know, like I should be doing something more productive. Like laundry or meal prep, or helping April with her homework.” She shrugs. “I don’t get a lot of free time, so it sort of feels selfish if I use it all on myself and don’t have anything to show for it.”
There’s a slight tension in her voice that wasn’t there before, and I’m tempted to change the subject just to avoid overstepping my bounds.
But she’s the one who opened up first, and I’m genuinely curious why this beautiful, intelligent, capable woman feels like she’s being selfish by spending a few unproductive minutes in the sauna.
“Can I ask when the last time was that you did something just for yourself?”
Her expression turns thoughtful, like she needs a minute to think back to whenever that time was—which is an answer in itself.
“I honestly can’t remember when I did something that was more than a few stolen minutes here and there.
Probably before April was born, if I had to guess.
But even then I was in college, working part-time, and trying to keep up with everything going on in my life. ”
There isn’t even a hint of complaining. She’s just telling the unvarnished, unfiltered truth.
“That sounds like a hectic way to spend a decade of your life. I’m sure it’s been rewarding, though. I don’t have to tell you that you have a great kid, so you’ve obviously done some things to be proud of along the way.”
“Definitely,” she says without hesitating.
“Raising April has been the biggest challenge and the best gift of my life, hands down. I wouldn’t trade all the ups and downs for anything in the world.
It’s just that—” Her voice hitches and she stops herself, then swallows hard and looks at me again.
“I know I’m a good mom, a good sister, and a good co-worker, but I’m not sure what else I am anymore. ”
Her honesty catches me off guard all over again.
It’s just so damn refreshing and sincere.
A conversation like this—and in my sauna, of all places—would normally feel awkward as hell, but hearing her open up to me is having the opposite effect.
Instead of wanting to shut down the moment of raw vulnerability, I want to know more.
“Do you ever feel that way?” she asks, then immediately shakes her head. “No, what am I thinking? You’re Grant Parker, the best-in-the-league goalie for the Aces. There’s no room for an existential crisis when everyone knows exactly who you are.”
“Yeah, but that’s a different kind of pressure. I mean, yeah, hockey is my whole life. It has been since I was a kid. Conditioning and training, practice, games, recovery, rinse and repeat. That’s been my routine, my existence for as long as I can remember.”
“It shows. Margo and Noah have told me more than once that you’re part of the glue that holds the team together. They’ve both said the Aces wouldn’t be where they are today without you.”
I look down at my feet, uncomfortable with the unexpected praise even though I know there’s at least some truth to what she’s saying. I can acknowledge I’m good at what I do. Damn good, if I’m being completely honest. But the rest is just hype, and it’s mostly subjective.
“They’re both also contractually obligated to say stuff like that,” I say, looking back over at her with a grin. “Margo’s whole job is to make the team look good.”
“Yeah, but she’s not obligated to hype the team up to me. Believe me, my sister would be the first to let me know if she didn’t believe the hype.”
“I just try to push myself to give a hundred percent every single minute of every single game. It’s my job, but it’s also my life, like you said. It’s the only version of Grant Parker I know how to be.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything for a while. Still, the silence isn’t awkward this time. Maybe because we’ve both opened up so much over the past few minutes that we need some time to digest everything that’s been said.
After a couple of minutes, she gives me a thoughtful look. “What’s it like? Being Grant Parker, I mean? Being recognized everywhere you go and scrutinized every second that you’re out there doing your job?”
“Honestly? I used to think it was pretty weird at first. All the attention, I mean. I get that it comes with the territory, but being famous or well-known or whatever can be a hell of a head trip.”
“It must be worth it, though, right? Otherwise I’m sure you would’ve gone for a lower profile gig by now.”
The question makes me laugh a little. “I’ve asked myself that same question so many times over the years.
But the answer has always been yes. It’s always been worth it, no matter what inconveniences come with it.
” I gesture to the room around us. “And I can’t complain.
Hockey has done a lot for me. It’s changed my life in more ways than I can count. ”
I leave out the part about how hockey kept me going after my parents died. Even when it felt like there wasn’t much to live for, when I literally dreamed about the world opening up and swallowing me whole, I still had hockey. I still kept showing up for practices and games.
And for my teammates, who are really the only family I have left.
She smiles. “That’s good. If you have to be known for one thing, one singular focus, at least it’s a rewarding one, right?”
“Exactly. But I’d make the argument that it’s probably more rewarding to be known as a good mom or as someone whose work makes a real difference in people’s lives.”
She takes a moment, then nods. “That’s a nice thing to say.” After another moment, she adds, “Thank you for the reminder.”
I look down at my watch for the first time since we’ve been in here, and I’m surprised to see that my time was up ten minutes ago. I never stay in here this long, but now I’m having trouble convincing myself it’s time to go.
“I should probably get out of here,” I say even though I still haven’t moved from my bench. “I usually only spend about fifteen minutes in here at a time.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to keep going on and on. We just started talking and—”
“And I really enjoyed it,” I say, meaning every word. “Seriously. It’s been one of the best conversations I’ve had in a long, long time. Too long.”
I finally get up to leave, but pause again at the door. “Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t ever feel like you need to ask permission to be in here or any other part of the house. I want you and April to be completely comfortable here for as long as you want to stay.”
“Thank you. And we are.” She hesitates a second, then adds, “More comfortable than I expected to be.”
I’m not sure how to respond, or if I even need to, so I simply nod and push the door open, happy that we’ve all made it through the first evening together without any major disasters or awkward moments that couldn’t be talked through.
And as I head upstairs to my room, I realize I’m not even thinking about what’s on tomorrow’s schedule like I normally would.
Instead, I’m realizing that for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I’m looking forward to sharing my space with someone.
Even if it’s only temporary.