Chapter 12
HUDSON
True to form, a day in Cobbiton rarely goes as planned. When I lived here before, I never knew if my mother was going to be home, if she’d be with some strange dude, or what kind of mood Hunter would be in.
Flash forward nearly ten years, and today is no exception. The script is as screwy as ever, it’s just that the characters are different.
For all the time Hunter and Leah spent together, I don’t know what side of him she really knew or if she still holds a candle for him.
I hope not. The creep. Yeah, my own brother is a lowlife and I cannot imagine what she ever saw in him.
Then again, he only revealed to each person the parts of himself he wanted them to see.
These unwelcome thoughts follow me home. I shouldn’t be surprised that the past would still be alive and kicking back here in Cobbiton.
Everyone else seems to like it, so why don’t I? Because my bully of a brother made my life miserable. Because my mother was more of an other than anything like a mom. Despite Mrs. Smith’s silly assessment of my good looks, she’s a sweet woman and bakes her family cookies for goodness’ sake.
Then there’s her flinty daughter, whom I cannot stop thinking about—the adorable way she sneezed when at the Fish Bowl, her graceful glides when skating, and the way she gave me the side eye. Hey, I’ll take what I can get.
I even like the blonde hair. The brown was pretty, too. She could probably have on a wig and I wouldn’t care. I thought I left the vestiges of all those old feelings here when I packed up and left.
Maybe the gnome is haunting me. I should probably give it back.
After a long shower that relaxes the tension in my muscles, I watch some hockey footage, scroll social media and see that while the feud between Liam and Valjean from the Titans is officially over—at least that’s what I heard in the locker room earlier—folks are trying to stoke the flames.
I tell everyone to simmer down using some ominous positivity gifs.
Just before I turn off the light, I see an email waiting. It’s probably a trial offer for a nutritional supplement that will change my life or some other internet spam, but I click it anyway on the off chance my secret adversary replied to my email.
The corner of my lip lifts when I see the return address.
from:
to: Hudson Roboveitchek
date: Sept. 18, 8:13 PM
subject: Re: Re: Revenge bedtime procrastination
Dear Cheese for Brains,
Writing letters seems so old-fashioned. I came across several at a thrift store recently dated from the 1920s, and they were jovial inquiries about the recipients’ lives and updates about the sender’s.
Taking a page from that envelope, here goes:
·I hope a stray cat scratches you when you try to pet it.
·I’ll bet the next banana you eat is as mushy as the one I had the displeasure of eating today.
·At work, someone had the braying laugh of a donkey and it gave me a tension headache.
Kind of reminded me of you. How do you tell someone they have a bad laugh or that you despise them?
Let’s see:
·Your laughter makes me want to stuff marshmallows in my ears.
·When I eat rotten bananas, I think of you.
·When feral cats cross my path, I order them to bring you bad luck.
Now that I’ve got that out of my system, as usual, I’m wishing you misery and failure in life.
Sincerely,
Your Secret Adversary
The muscles in my face draw back and I grin because these emails have been coming more frequently and with greater and sillier hostility, which means I must be hovering over the target.
This calls for an immediate reply. My instincts suggest I write a nasty note in response, but maybe this person needs a little less hate in their life.
What borders on a morbid fascination to find out who my secret adversary is prompts me to answer—it’s not like there’s much else going on in Cobbiton on a weekend night.
from: Hudson Roboveitchek robo39@
to:
date: Sept. 18, 8:50 PM
subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Revenge bedtime procrastination
To my oldest and dearest and only pen pal,
You may know this since it seems as if you keep tabs on my life, but I haven’t kept in very good touch with people from high school or even former teammates who became friends. To be real, you’re the single person I’ve had consistent contact with for the last decade.
Pretty wild!
I have to commend you on your commitment and support in seeing me fail. It’s admirable. Seriously. You have fortitude, grit, and have remained loyal to me. I appreciate it because that’s a rare thing these days.
You’re one of the most honest people I’ve ever known, well, except for the keeping your identity secret part. But I’ve been reviewing messages (I save them all!) and am putting together clues.
You still live in Cobbiton.
You like animals.
You enjoy hockey.
You don’t actually hate me.
All things considered, that’s a decent list, but I imagine you’d argue with me about the last one, but that’s kind of our thing, huh?
I’m going to try something a little crazy.
Here goes: I wish you well in your life, health, success, relationships, all of it! When you wake up in the morning, I hope you have a smile on your face. When you laugh, it spreads joy and when you read this, you despise me a little less.
I mean, I can handle it. I’ve had worse. You probably know this too, but my family kind of bailed, so call it Stockholm syndrome or whatever, but I rather enjoy receiving your notes. It’s like a grab bag of fun and animosity.
Until next time,
Your Secret Admirer
P.S. I hope the next banana you get is perfectly ripe.
I check my email once more before hitting the sack, but I remain at inbox zero. Can’t deny that I’m slightly disappointed.
The rest of the week has me begging for mercy as Vohn leads us through intense dryland training and ice time ahead of the start of the season.
When the weekend comes, I anticipate a break but don’t get one until Saturday night when I roll up to Casa Smith for the anniversary party with Pierre, Cara, Jack, and Ella—feeling very much like a fifth wheel.
They’re all, “Couple this, couple that. La la la la la, aren’t we all so cute?” I mean, it is, but not when you’re the only single guy.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d love a love life, but I’m barely holding onto my career and can’t afford distractions. I have to work hard while I’m here and get traded to a team in a place with a little more action. That’s the plan and I’m sticking to it.
It shouldn’t surprise me that Mrs. Smith invited half the team because when I get to the back patio, strung with lights and aglow with the pool LEDs changing colors, Margo and Beau are here too.
Jack gets me a drink from an fridge that’s part of the outdoor kitchen.
This is quite a step up from the duplex with the chipped paint on the rotting back deck, the sprinkler and slip-and-slide Mr. Smith used to set up in the summer, and the rusty charcoal grill.
If anyone deserved an upgrade, it’s this family.
Mr. Smith was a classical guitarist, but he worked as a lineman for the power company for as long as I lived next door to them and they had one car, so it seemed as if things were financially tight.
Jack taps his bottle against mine. “Cheers.”
Chuck rushes over. “Jack, bro, I keep telling them that they don’t have to invite you to every single event. You probably have stuff to do, but thanks for—” He cuts himself off and gives me a searching look.
“Hudson,” I supply.
“I know who you are, Robo. I just can’t believe you’re here.”
I hold up my hands. “Your parents invited me.”
“I know, but honestly, it’s a surprise since you always thought you were too good for our fiestas.”
I balk. “I never thought that.” It would be too much to explain that Hunter forbade me from joining in the festivities.
“Where’s your brother, anyway?”
I shrug. “Don’t know.” Don’t care.
“He broke my sister’s heart. If I ever see him again, I’ll break his legs. I’d do yours as proxy, but we kind of need you for the team.”
I think he’s joking. Hope he’s joking, but also glad he has Leah’s back. She could always handle herself, except when it came to my brother.
“You have Beau as goalie,” I supply because, on his worst day, he’s me at my best, at least lately.
Chuck glances at my legs. “Are you volunteering? I’ll do it.”
“Am I here to atone for my brother’s sins?” I realize I’ve said this out loud.
A long silence stretches between us. That’s a good question. One I never really thought about.
I shake my head. “If you see my brother, after breaking his legs, do his arms too.”
Chuck’s eyes widen. “Bad blood?”
I take a sip of my drink. “You could say that.”
“What about family?” he asks, glancing around at his.
I snort. Not sure I have one of those anymore. “Thanks for welcoming me to celebrate with yours.”
Chuck studies me for a long moment. “You look a lot like him.” He shakes his head. “But I can tell you’re not alike at all.”
“Thank goodness.”
Whatever tension stretched taut between us slackens and we all laugh the way guys do, clink our drinks, and then discuss hockey.
They seem unfazed as a woman who introduces herself as Aunt Nelly bustles around in her apron and hands out pigs in a blanket, claiming they’re Chaud Chien.
I’m not French, but I’m pretty sure that means hot dog.
A trio of Leah’s female cousins, who look to still be in high school, move as a mob and pass every sixty seconds before erupting into giggles.
Tweens Maxy, Sammy, and Timmy challenge Jack and me to a match and stand nearby, plotting their plays.
My thoughts drift to the conversation about Hunter. Even though he broke Leah’s heart, which hurts mine to think about, she’s better off without him. We all are. The guy is a liar and a thief. Last I knew, he was in jail, but he probably charmed his way out of the clink.
From nearby, I overhear a woman saying, “So you’re giving a hockey player figure skating lessons.”
Leah’s unmistakable smoky, sultry voice reaches my ears. “Unfortunately.”
Ouch.
“I hear he’s hot,” her companion says.
A smirk buds on my lips. I can’t argue with that.
“Depends on how you define hot,” Leah replies.
Double ouch.
“Tall, well built, big hands, refined features, striking eyes,” the woman coos.
“Sounds like you’re describing half the team.”
Leah’s on guard. Why? The lively party atmosphere, where everyone is yukking it up or kicking up their heels, makes me feel at ease. I don’t sense tension or family drama at all, but what has her on edge?
She snorts. “More like three-quarters. All of which are taken.” Leah lists off the couples, which narrows down the possibilities of who she’s talking to since she’d also have to be single. Then again, she has at least five hundred cousins in attendance—at least it seems that way.
I’d turn around but am curious to hear more of their conversation since I’m the hockey player getting figure skating lessons.
Leah’s companion says, “I thought you were desperate for a hockey player.”
“I’m not desperate. Just available. Looking. I wouldn’t object, mostly for practical purposes. I’m tall, so it helps that they’re generally considerably taller. Also, since hockey is a big part of my life, it just makes sense.”
“I would do almost anything for your height,” the other woman says.
“Trust me, it’s overrated.”
Is Leah insecure about her stature?
“How about a guy from another team?” the other woman asks.
“That would mean leaving Cobbiton.”
Why does she like it here so much?
The woman sounds excited when she says, “What about not a hockey player, but a fan?”
“I like what I like.”
But she doesn’t like me. That much is obvious.
I’m not entirely convinced it’s because of Hunter.
She was quick to come to his defense the other day.
What did I ever do to her? Maybe she’s made me the scapegoat, placing her pain from what Hunter did onto me?
But she’s smart, insightful, and mature. I doubt she’d do something like that.
Her companion sighs. “Hockey players are nice to look at. All big and brawny out there with sticks and stuff, fighting. It’s pretty manly.”
Leah says, “They’re barbarians.”
Dipping out of the conversation with the guys, I turn slowly around, making my presence known.
Leah wears dark jeans with boots that hit just below her knees and a butternut squash-colored sweater. Her hair is straight tonight with a slight wave around the contours of her face.
When her eyes land on me, she curls her hands into her sweater’s sleeves, then juts her chin in adorable defiance.
I say, “Sounds as if you have a thing for barbarians, Leah.”
Heat spills across her cheeks as her eyes form slits. My guess is that she’s at odds with herself. Wanting desperately to hate me, but there’s something hot and electric between us. Unless her body responds to me because I look like my brother, whom she was attracted to and it’s just a reflex.
Before I venture too far down that pity path, the other woman says, “So Robo, tell us what it’s like being a twin. Is he as good-looking as you and if so, can I have his number?”
Clearly, she doesn’t know about Leah and Hunter’s past. But I do.
“I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it.”
Her eyebrow hits the penthouse level.
“You wouldn’t want to know Hunter.” I realize how cruel the words sound, but it’s the sad truth.
Leah shakes her head with distaste. “You always thought you were better than him.”
There’s an argument to be made there, but it had more to do with trying to protect her than any high and mighty opinions I had about myself.