Chapter 36
ROYAL ROAD PASS: A PASS ACROSS THE CENTER LINE THAT FORCES GOALIE MOVEMENT
I’m astounded when Amy invites me to Thanksgiving with her parents.
We’re sitting in my living room. I have her wrapped up in my arms, her back to my chest. Her arms are folded loosely over mine, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Mom’s making enough food for twenty on Thursday,” she says, like it’s an offhand detail.
“You said she always does.”
“I asked if I could bring you.”
I freeze, unable to believe the step she’s initiating. Sure, I met Amy’s parents during college, but a holiday? This is big.
It reminds me of how I was going to take her to Ireland to meet my family. An idea forms in my mind, but I set it aside to give her an answer. “I’d love to.”
“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I say immediately.
Her expression morphs into one of quiet hope. “I’m glad.” There’s still concern evident, which I ask her about. She winces, “Let’s just say you were invited with cautious acceptance. I don’t know how Dad’s going to behave.”
“It will be fine. Just let me know what to bring.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Thanks for the help.” I tickle her and she bursts into gales of laughter. The sound sends shivers up and down my spine. Finally, Amy relents. “Bring something for dessert. That never goes down poorly.”
“That, I can manage.” I lean down and press a kiss to her lips. Even upside down, I feel the current between us. “Thank you for the invite, my queen.”
“Thank you for saying yes.” After that, we settle in to watch the sun disappear from view.
Over the course of the week, my nerves spike higher than they did before my last Stanley Cup final. I contact Dr. Halverson for an emergency session. At one point, I roll my eyes at him, “I deserve a refund if all you’re going to do is laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m…appreciating the fact you’re taking this so seriously.”
“Listen, I made a checklist for everything I’ll need to do the rest of the week. I’m treating it like it’s a playoff game. Like, what I should wear. What to say or not to say. Do I apologize, or is that disrespectful of Amy?”
“Just the fact you’re thinking like that is a mighty big compliment to your partner and her family.”
My partner. “Since Amy and I are back together, I want to do everything I can to smooth the way.” Then I hold a hand to my stomach. “How am I supposed to eat in front of two people who watched their daughter come home broken?”
“The same way you do each night—one forkful at a time.”
During the day Wednesday, I’m racing around.
First stop is the local florist. I placed the order the day after Amy invited me and they didn’t disappoint.
The bouquet is a glorious chrysanthemums, aster, and pansies mixed with autumn sage.
The florist held them out like they were a baby. “Your girl’s lucky.”
“They’re for her mom.” Then panic washes over me. “God, I should get Amy something too. Is it too late?”
She grins before stepping over to where there’s a bucket of the same mix. “I had leftovers from what you ordered. Give me a few minutes and I can put something together.”
Once I’ve paid her and tipped her generously, I dash over to The Honeyed Hearth to pick up pastries for dessert. Trista hands me the box. “As requested.”
I check out the perfectly adorned box and ask, “You’re sure the Delgadina’s will like them?”
“Yes, Brennan. They’re huge fans of our honey cinnamon rugelach. Also, it’s something that can be eaten after dinner or just because you want a sweet bite with breakfast.”
“Good. Great. I don’t want to take over the meal. I just want to contribute.”
Trista leans forward and mutters, “If it were me heading to the Delgadina’s after everything that happened, I’d stock up on wine.”
“Thanks for the heads up.” I tip her for my order before making my way to Cedar Grocery to get a bottle of red and white.
That night, I hold Amy close after we made love. She murmurs, “It’s going to be a good day tomorrow,” into my chest before she drifts off to sleep. My heart pounds beneath her cheek both from the lovemaking and panic.
It’s a good thing she left early this morning to help her mother with the meal. I have time to get in the right mindset especially after Mark’s text.
Mark:
Hey buddy. Happy Thanksgiving.
I hesitate before replying. I don’t want to engage him, but I can’t help but recall the times he hosted me over holidays when I wasn’t playing.
Me:
Happy Thanksgiving.
My phone goes off repeatedly with his attempts to reframe what happened. By the time I pull up to her parents’ house, my hands stay clenched on the steering wheel. There’s more than just nerves behind it.
I take a moment to decompress and admire the Delgadina’s home. Enormous wrap-around porch with a swing where I can easily picture Amy as a teenager, chatting with her friends. What startles me is the Kings flag planted in the garden, slightly crooked from the wind.
I get out of the car, retrieving all my offerings. Just as I mount the porch steps, Amy opens the door.
“You made it,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that tells me this matters more than she wants to admit.
“I did,” I say. “I brought—”
“I see,” she says, eyes flicking to the flowers, the pastry box, and the bags holding the wine. “You came prepared.”
I lower my voice. “Trying to win a few hearts.” Then I hold out the smaller bouquet. “These are for you.”
Her smile brightens all the corners of my heart. “You’re doing a good job so far. Come on in.”
Inside, the house smells like turkey and baking bread. Her mom steps away from kitchen preparations to greet me with a warm hug and a “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“To you as well, Mrs. Delgadina.” Even though her parents invited me a long time ago to call them by their first names, I don’t want to make any presumptions.
She scolds me. “Brennan, you know it’s JoAnn.”
“Thank you. These are for you.” I extend the flowers, which she accepts like they’re exactly right.
That’s when I hear a cough. I spin around and find her father staring at me torn between good manners and homicide. He chooses peace and holds out a hand. “Brennan.”
I shift the box so I can take his in a firm grip. “Mr. Delgadina. Happy Thanksgiving.” I hold out the box and tell him, “Some honey cinnamon rugelach for you and Mrs. Delgadina.”
“Honey, take the box from Brennan and remind him to call you Ted,” JoAnn chides.
Begrudgingly, he does.
Then I hold out the bag of wine to Amy. “For the table.”
She leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. She whispers, “Sucking up was a good choice.”
I relax a bit. More so as the afternoon progresses. After taking a helping of everything, I compliment Amy and her mother on the cooking.
Conversation flows around neutral territory. School. The town. Weather. JoAnn asks about my work with the kids, and I answer honestly. Her dad listens more than he speaks, eyes sharp, but not unkind.
Amy sits beside me, knee occasionally brushing mine under the table, grounding me without even trying.
Before dessert is served and plates are cleared, Ted stands. “Brennan, let’s work off some of that meal outside.”
Amy stiffens.
“It’s fine. I’ll be right back,” I tell her quietly.
She nods, but her fingers curl briefly around my wrist before she lets go.
Outside, the air is cool. Late afternoon slipping toward evening. He stops near the edge of the yard, hands in his pockets, back straight. “I’m going to say this plainly, because I don’t see the point in dancing around it.”
I brace myself knowing what he’s about to say might hurt but that I deserve it.
He continues, “I was disappointed in you for the way you hurt my daughter.”
I nod. “I still am.”
He maintains a steady tone. Not raising his voice. “You abandoned her when she needed you. I thought you cared for her more than that.”
“There isn’t an excuse for how I behaved. I made choices. They weren’t the right ones.”
He studies me for a long moment before turning away and leaning on the fence surrounding their backyard. I step up next to him just in time to hear, “She loved you and it almost broke her.”
“I loved her when I walked away. To be honest, I’m not certain I ever stopped.”
That earns a sharp inhale through his nose. When he releases it through his mouth, he’s not offering approval but observation. “Amy’s stronger now, different. Knows her mind. Who she wants to be with.”
“I know I’ll have to work every day to make up for how I behaved before. The only thing that will show you how serious I am is time. And I’ll only get that if Amy gives it to me.”
That gets his attention. After a moment, he shares, “She’ll always be my little girl in boots. But I trust the woman she’s become. She knows her value.”
I don’t hesitate to add. “And if she’ll let me, I promise you right here, right now, I’ll never let her feel like less than a queen every day.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Know I’ll be watching.”
I meet his gaze. “I would expect nothing less.”
He nods once, decisive. “Alright then.”
We head back to the house. Amy’s eyes search my face immediately. I give her a small nod to indicate it will be okay.
Relief softens her posture.
Dessert is delicious and languished over. Her parents share amusing stories from her school days. Her mother breaks out a few pictures—just enough to make Amy groan, “Did you have to show him the one with me and the goat?”
“It was your senior prank, Boots,” her father teases her.
“I just want to know how you dyed the goat’s hair.”
Her eyes are dancing. “We used Critter Color. Safe for animals.”
The table bursts into laughter.
When we leave, our goodbyes are warm. Hugs exchanged. JoAnn sends me home with a ton of leftovers and a gentle, “This should hold you both over for a few meals,” like she accepts we spend as much time together as we can.
Amy murmurs she’ll meet me at my place after saying goodbye to her parents.
When she arrives, the first thing she says is, “That was great.”
I release the tension I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “That went better than expected.”
Kicking off her shoes, she leaps into my arms. “Thank you for putting up with Dad. I’m curious about what he said.”
“That’s between us.”
She snuggles closer, resting her forehead against my chest. “He didn’t scare you off?”
I smile into her hair. “Not a chance.”
She looks up at me, eyes warm and happy. I cup her face and kiss her—full of everything I’m not sure she’s ready for me to say aloud.
I did it because I love her.
This time, I plan to keep doing it.