Sebastian
Chapter seven
“Did you hear me?” Wes leans closer to me.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were expecting an important call.” My brows go up. “You’ve checked your phone no less than six times in the past five minutes.” He tips his chin toward my phone.
Shit. I didn’t think anyone was paying attention to me. I texted Sutton a couple of times to check in, but I haven’t heard back from her. Logically, I know she’s probably just busy, but the illogical part of my brain says something is wrong.
Wes clears his throat, and I realize he’s waiting for me to respond.
I should have known that in this team of nosy busybodies someone would notice, and of course it’s him, the nosiest busybody of all.
I love these guys and this team, but sometimes I wish we weren’t this close.
Like my teammates when I was playing in Buffalo.
We’d go out for meals while we were traveling and have a few team-bonding activities throughout the season, but for the most part, everyone kept to themselves.
Yeah, there were a few friend groups, but I wasn’t part of any of them.
Then I got traded to the Storm and, boom, became part of this group of guys who are more like family, which took some getting used to.
It’s nice to have guys to talk to and hang out with.
I didn’t realize how much I was missing the type of friendships I had when I was playing in the AHL, teammates who feel more like brothers.
Helps me feel less alone. But again, they’re too nosy sometimes.
“No. Not really.” I set my phone down, running a hand through my hair.
He narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t say another word. I focus on finishing getting dressed for morning skate.
Once I’m dressed, I check my phone one more time and, seeing that I have no new messages, I turn it off. Once I get back to the hotel this afternoon, I’ll call her. That’s what I’ll do.
Morning skate flies by, and before I know it, we’re boarding the bus to go to the hotel before our game tonight. I’ve barely closed the door to my room before I’m calling Sutton.
“Hi,” she says when she picks up.
I sigh, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “Hey you.”
“What’s up?”
“Wanted to check in on you. See how you were feeling …” I toe off my sneakers and lie down on the bed.
“I’m fine. Your house is good too. The cats haven’t destroyed anything and nothing has flooded.”
“I’m not worried about my condo,” I reassure her. “I’m worried about you.” I tuck my arm behind my head and rest the phone between it and my ear.
She doesn’t respond, and we sit in silence for a few seconds. I open my mouth to say goodbye when she starts talking.
“Since I have you.” She giggles nervously. “Were you serious about me living with you for the foreseeable future? As in more than a few weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Okay, as in she’s going to live with me permanently, or okay, she understands I was serious? “I think I’m going to take you up on your offer. I—the housing market is a mess, and—”
“You can stay with me as long as you want.”
“Thank you.” More silence. “I want to contribute. Pay rent, I mean, and utilities.”
“No.”
“I can’t freeload off of you.”
“You’re not freeloading.”
“Sebastian,” she whines, and I scoff.
I can’t take money from her. I can’t. She’s going to be raising a child on her own soon. That’s a bloody huge burden. But I get the feeling that if I don’t agree to her paying rent, she won’t let it go, or worse, she won’t stay with me.
“How about two hundred dollars a month?”
I’ll open a savings account and put the money in it, and when she moves out, I’ll insist she take it all back or find a way to gift it to her so she can’t say no.
“That’s too little. The mortgage on your place must be …”
“Sutton, I’m a professional hockey player.
No offense, love, but I don’t need your money.
The condo is paid for.” I bought it in cash with the signing bonus I got from the Storm.
Because of where it’s located, close to downtown, I knew I’d be able to sell it easily, and if I can’t, I can always rent it out.
“Ugh.” She groans. “Fine, point taken.”
“Good.”
“I think we should have a contract drawn up with an end date—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. You can live with me for however long you want.”
“I-I …”
“Will it make you feel better if we have a contract?”
“Yes.” Her voice is shaky. What’s that all about?
“Alright, I’ll call my lawyer and have him draft something up.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“No need to thank me.” She scoffs. “I should let you go. Call or text me if you need me.”
We say our goodbyes, and now I’ve talked to her, I hope I can stop worrying about her nonstop, especially now that she’s going to live with me. Maybe I can actually sleep. After I call my mum. I haven’t talked to her in a few weeks.
“Hiya, Bash,” she answers on the second ring, sounding groggy.
“Hi, Mum. Did I wake you? We can talk another time.”
“No, I was just resting my eyes.” I can picture her curled up on the sofa in front of the TV, under the blanket my grandmother knit her, and I instantly miss her. I miss home.
“Mmhmmm. How are you feeling?” I ask, thinking back to the last time we talked when she was sick with a cold.
“Just the usual aches and pains that come with old age coupled with running a farm.”
“I’m sorry.” I sit up. “Maybe I should come home. Help you. My contract is up at the end of the season.”
“No. You’ll do no such thing. Your father and I sacrificed a lot for you to make it to where you are, and you’ve worked so hard.”
“Mum.”
I made a promise to my dad before he died that I’d take care of my mum, my sisters, and the farm, and clearly, I haven’t been doing a good job.
“We’ve been over this before. You’re not giving up hockey to come home and be a farmer. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
We’ve had this argument almost every time I’ve talked to her in the past few months. And multiple times when I was home over the summer. “You should be able to retire. Enjoy yourself. I’ll come home and take over.”
It’s the least I can do after all she and Dad did to get me to where I am today.
The money they paid for private coaches, for me to spend summers in Canada attending elite hockey camps, the tutoring to keep up with my studies, and then for me to go to Michigan State.
If it wasn’t for my grandmother leaving my mum a substantial inheritance, I know I wouldn’t have been able to have the opportunities I did, nor would I be playing professional hockey now.
The same way my youngest sister, Charlotte, is able to go to culinary school, and Harriet, my middle sister, got to spend a year in Australia.
Now it’s my turn to sacrifice for her, the way she sacrificed for me and my sisters. I know my parents could have used the money for many things around the farm—new equipment, more help, or whatever—but instead, they chose to spend it on us.
“Bash, you’ll be miserable.”
She’s not wrong, but also, it’s my responsibility as the oldest.
“No, I won’t be.” I hope I sound convincing.
She sighs. “Is this why you called? To have this argument again?”
“No.”
“Have they offered you a new contract?”
I groan, staring up at the ceiling. They did a few weeks ago.
I haven’t signed it because something in my gut said to wait, so I’ve stalled, and now I know why.
But I can’t tell her that, she’ll definitely tell me not to come home.
“I’m not sure why you’re asking me—you need me to come home. I can’t sign one.”
“Sebastian.” She tuts. “How’s your girlfriend? When will I get to meet her? Another reason you can’t move back here. She’d be devastated.”
Shit.
Over the summer, I lied and told her I was seeing someone so she’d stop worrying about me being lonely.
Apparently that was a mistake. I start to tell her that we broke up but think better of it.
Maybe Sutton will agree to be my fake girlfriend to my mum.
Not like the two of them will ever meet in person.
“Mum …”
“I want you to be happy, Bash.”
“I know, but …” I blow out a breath. “You deserve to be happy too, and you can’t do that if you’re working yourself to the bone tending to the farm.”
“Don’t you worry about me. I’m the mother. So, your girlfriend, can I meet her? That’d make me happy.”
She has me there.
“Soon. Maybe we can plan a time to video chat.”
“That sounds lovely. Let me know when and where.”
“Will do.”
“Now, tell me how things are with you this week. Where are you?”
I answer her questions, allowing the subject to change for now, but we’re most definitely going to be revisiting this, and I’m going to call my sisters and get them in on it too.
Maybe if the three of us, four if we’re counting Harriet’s husband, all present a united front, Mum will finally stop fighting me on coming home and taking over.