Chapter 33
Grady
After my dad leaves, I do what I said I wanted to do—sleep. It’s fitful, and when I finally give up, only an hour later, and get out of bed, I’m stiff and still exhausted. I rub the sleep from my eyes. The apartment is warm now, and so is the water heater, so I get up and take a scalding shower.
Talking to my dad didn’t make anything better. He doesn’t actually support me because he doesn’t know the truth. And he didn’t need to witness that meltdown because it wasn’t about Angie being pregnant. It was about losing Landon.
Because this can’t… we can’t continue now.
When I finally get out of the shower, I wrap myself in my robe and pad into the living room.
The sun is setting, and the winter clouds peppering the sky are pink and violet.
The apartment is too quiet. It feels like a tomb, so I turn on Spotify and choose a classical station, and then I walk back into my bedroom and open the nighttime drawer. I pull out my secret phone.
I’ve had it now for almost two years. Ever since my cousin Theo noticed I had the Grindr app on my other phone.
Harlow was there when he saw it, and she immediately saved my ass.
Laughing wildly and telling Theo she installed it on my phone as a joke and had been waiting all summer for someone to notice.
We all had a good laugh. I went out and bought this phone the next day.
No one knew about it. I used to travel with it, so I could meet guys on road trips, but I haven’t even turned it on since I was traded.
I have to plug it in and wait ten minutes before it has enough of a charge to power on. Then I scroll through the contacts I loaded and find my cousin Tate. I send him a WhatsApp message.
GRADY: It’s Grady. Got a second? It’s important.
I leave the phone charging on the night table, make sure it’s not on silent mode, and head to the kitchen. I stare at the slim contents of my fridge, checking that nothing else was spoiled in the power outage, as I wait for his response. It comes in a couple of minutes.
TATE: Don’t know this number. Grady who?
He’s worried I’m some crazed fan who somehow got his digits. Fair.
GRADY: You used to hide under your parents’ bed during thunderstorms when you were seven because you were too embarrassed to tell them they scared you.
But one night you snuck into their room during a storm and they were twitching and shaking under the covers and making weird noises.
You screamed because you thought the storm was somehow hurting them but they were just having sex.
I have never written a longer text message in my life. I wait while he reads a little detail no one but I would know. I’m the one who consoled him after the trauma.
TATE: Why do you have a new number? Also, delete that message.
GRADY: I need to ask you something.
TATE: Sure dude. Wassup?
I hold my breath.
GRADY: I need to know how to get a paternity test.
I see the little dot that shows he’s read my text. Then bubbles.
TATE: Who the fuck is this?
GRADY: Tate. I’m serious.
My phone blows up with a request for a video chat. I hit accept. Tate’s wide eyes fill my screen.
“It’s for a friend, right? And not in that wink-wink sorta way. Like an actual friend.”
“It’s for me. But it’s just a precaution,” I reply, and his mouth opens so wide in shock that I swear I can see his molars.
“How the fuck? What the fuck? Dude. The fuck?”
“You have always been such a wordsmith.” I roll my eyes. “Look, I slept with someone, sort of, who is pregnant. There’s the slimmest chance it could be mine. Slim. Like next to nothing. She has a boyfriend, and chances are high it’s his. I just need to know for sure.”
He blinks and shakes his head and blinks again.
“Wow. You’ve only been playing for Maine for like four months.
How the fuck did you find time to possibly impregnate someone’s girlfriend?
” His head rears back like a thought just slapped him across the face.
“Oh shit. Is it…. Is it a teammate’s girlfriend?
Did you fuck a teammate’s girlfriend? Grady…
Jesus, I know you gingers are a feral bunch, but that’s like the number one unwritten rule of hockey.
You seriously broke that? We don’t break that rule. Buddy, what the hell are you doing?”
“I didn’t say I broke that rule. You’re saying I broke it. Trust me, it’s not like that.”
“You know, Coach Braddock had his girlfriend stolen by Levi Casco back in the day? Landon’s uncle. When they both played for the San Francisco Thunder,” Tate says. “You can Google it. There are still posts about it on fan sites. Landon’s aunt used to be his other uncle’s girlfriend. Whack.”
“Three of our aunts are sisters and two married brothers. Garrisons don’t get to judge family trees,” I say flatly. “But thanks for the hockey trivia, Tater Tot. Now, how about some advice on that paternity test thing?”
“Right.” He pauses, like he can’t quite remember what he did when his childhood bestie showed up with his dead ex-girlfriend’s infant son and announced it was his.
“Well, first you need to lawyer up. Always good to have in your back pocket because things can get tricky if you are the dad. I did that, and then I went to a lab here in California, and we did simple cheek swabs on me and Dylan.”
“I can’t do that. The kid isn’t a kid yet.”
“You can do an N.I.P.P. test,” he says, and he’s as serious as I’ve probably ever seen Tate.
“It involves blood from the mom and a cheek swab from you. There are places that will actually come to your house to collect the samples. It’s that common and easy.
I studied the fuck out of all of this when I found out about Dylan. ”
I nod. I can’t help but think an at-home DNA test would be easier to find in Los Angeles than Maine, but I’ll figure it out. “It won’t hurt the baby or the mom?”
“Not any more than any of the other prenatal stuff women go through,” Tate says. “Mallory has to get blood work all the time.”
He grins, thinking about his girlfriend.
“She’s a fucking trooper. She puked every day for the first three months, but she’s never complained once.
I booked her a series of prenatal massages to help with the sciatica she has now.
And we’re in the home stretch. Little Stinker will be here before playoffs start. ”
He is in full-on dad/husband mode, and it’s kind of surreal to watch. Tate was the family’s Peter Pan. He was never going to grow up, and now he’s about to have his second baby boy. “Give Mal my best. And ruffle Dyllie Bear’s hair for me.”
“He misses your shoulder rides,” Tate tells me. “Mine aren’t high enough. You fucking tree.”
I almost smile. “Can you keep this between us. Don’t even tell Mal. If I’m the dad, I’ll tell everyone. I promise. Right away.”
“Who am I to lecture you on telling people your secrets?” Tate replies with a sheepish smile. “I hid Dylan for way too long. But I will say this, Grady. The whole family will have your back if you’re the dad.”
“Not my mom’s parents.”
He frowns. He’s met Phil and Nance at extended gatherings, like the party my parents threw when I was drafted. He leans closer. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if they don’t love you enough to love your kid, however it comes into the world, then you’re better off without them.”
“Do you know how hard that would be on my mom?”
He makes a face. “Aunt Leah is the best. She loves you so much. She’ll pick you every time, dude.”
“I don’t want her to have to pick.”
“You’re not going to be the one forcing her to,” Tate replies.
My doorbell rings.
“Shit. I have to go.”
“Wait. Who is the mama?” Tate asks. “I promise not to tell, but is it someone I know? Someone from L.A. or Maine? Our hometown? Is it your high school—”
“Bye, Tater. Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”
I end the video call, shove the phone into the drawer, and head out of the bedroom.
I open the door, and Angie and Landon are standing there.
She’s in front of him, looking more rested but still pale.
Landon’s staring at the ground, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.
His expression is so stern it’s like he’s trying to melt the snow with his anger.
“So, hi. Can we come in?”
I push the door open, and Angie walks in.
Landon does too, but he doesn’t raise his eyes.
After I close the door, Angie takes off her shoes, which are so not the right thing for a Maine winter, and walks around the place.
Landon stays firmly rooted in the front hall until Angie tells him to “stop it” and then he takes off his boots and walks into the living room.
“Can I sit?”
“Of course.”
She sits and then pats the seat beside her for Landon. When he doesn’t move, she simply sighs and turns her attention back to me. “You look like the lumberjack version of Hugh Hefner in that robe.”
I give her a half smile. My gaze darts to Landon, who has decided to sit on the massage chair he loves so much.
Only he’s leaning forward, his elbows on his spread knees, staring at his tented fingers in front of him.
“I have been looking into DNA tests,” I offer because I’m sure they aren’t here to make small talk.
“We can get it done fairly simply, before the kid is even born. Once I’m ruled out, you guys can move forward together and figure it out. ”
Something in that plan has Landon’s head finally whip up. He doesn’t speak, though, he just glares.
Angie nods. “Okay, good. We were coming here to ask about a test. I’m glad you’re on board.”
“Yeah. I seriously doubt it’s mine, but we should be sure.”
“Exactly. If the thing comes out ginger, but we’ve told people it’s Landon’s, well… that would be an issue.” Angie laughs. “Plus, you need time to decide what to do if it is yours. Landon says he’ll keep it if it’s his. Would you keep it if it’s yours?”