Chapter 1 #2
I struggled to breathe. “I’ve missed you too, kiddo.”
Awkward silence hung between us. Chris tapped his thumbs on the wheel, then glanced at me again.
“If, uh… If you’re here and you can get the time off, the dads’ trip is coming up in January.
I was going to suggest it anyway—a lot of the dads come in from wherever they live to join us, but if you’re already here… ”
My heart jumped. Every year, a lot of teams in the League had multi-game road trips where the players brought along their dads.
He’d told me before we were estranged that he hoped to get drafted to one of those teams so he could bring me along on one someday.
Ever since the divorce, not so much. But now…
I cleared my throat. “You… want me to come along?”
Gaze fixed on the road, Chris nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
Fuck. If I made it through this trip without crying, it would be yet another miracle. I pulled it together this time, though.
“Okay.” I nodded. “Sounds good. Just, um, give me the dates and I’ll make sure I can get the time off.”
I wasn’t entirely sure my new bosses would approve it, but when Chris smiled, I vowed to get that time off one way or another.
We still had a lot of ground to cover. A lot of time to make up for.
But today already felt like a damn good start.
Chris drove me to my hotel in Cranberry, which was the town he lived in about twenty-five minutes north of Pittsburgh.
He’d floated the idea of letting me stay in his guestroom, but I’d shot that down.
I didn’t want to impose, and anyway, we were still on uneasy ground.
He’d seemed more relieved by that than I’d expected; I wasn’t sure what that was about, but I didn’t want to push the issue.
Maybe he just wanted some space while he made sure we could get along in person.
He didn’t stay long after I checked into my hotel.
It was game day, so we didn’t have a lot of time to hang out.
We had lunch, and then he left me to settle into my room while he went home for his pregame nap.
Later on, he’d pick me up again to head to the arena.
Tomorrow, I’d have a rental car; I’d wanted to get it today, but he’d insisted on meeting me at the airport, and I wasn’t about to argue with more time together.
When he pulled up outside my hotel to take me to the game, I almost stumbled on my way out. Nothing drove home just how grown up he really was like seeing him driving that high-end SUV in a tailored suit.
Christ. He really wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid anymore, was he?
No. No, he was not. He was a professional athlete now. One who drove a BMW and wore bespoke suits. He also had a townhouse I hadn’t yet seen and a live-in girlfriend I hadn’t yet met. Holy shit—my kid really had grown up.
I had on a suit too, though mine wasn’t nearly as nice as his. I was doing all right financially, but I didn’t think I had the money for something quite that bougie.
As I opened the passenger door, I realized there was no one else in the car, which caught me by surprise.
Sliding into the seat, I asked, “Just you and me?” I had hoped—and apparently foolishly assumed—his girlfriend would be coming with us.
He’d said she came to every home game. Maybe she was meeting us there?
Chris fidgeted in the driver seat. “Jasmine is, um…” He shifted gears and headed out of the parking lot. “She’s got some other stuff going on tonight. And she’s going out of town with some girlfriends this week. Someone’s bachelorette thing.”
Why are you lying?
I didn’t say that, though. “Am I going to meet her?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He smiled the way he had as a kid when he was trying to convince me of something we both knew was bullshit. “Especially if you’re moving here, you know?”
So not this week, then. And he again seemed kind of relieved.
Though I was curious, I let it go. I was trying to tread very, very lightly, carefully avoiding all the landmines I myself had laid between us, and I didn’t want to push this issue or any other.
That Chris was even welcoming a visit from me felt huge; I wouldn’t ask questions and I’d let him introduce me to his girlfriend in his own time.
For now, I changed the subject. “You said you like playing for the Phantoms. They’ve got some pretty big stars, don’t they?”
Chris beamed. “Yeah. I’m not surprised I ended up in the minors when I first came here. I was so starstruck at my first training camp, I almost couldn’t skate.”
I chuckled. “I don’t blame you. How do you get along with them now? The stars, I mean?”
“Oh, they’re just the guys now.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Most of the time, anyway. When Coach said he’s thinking of putting me on the same line as Saints and Temo…” He exhaled. “Holy shit.”
“No kidding?” I asked. “That would be quite the promotion.”
“I know, right? But he had me do some drills with them at training camp, and he likes how we play together. He said he’ll have us practice more after Saints gets back.”
I cocked my head. “He’s out? Ooh, right, he got hurt, didn’t he?”
Grimacing, Chris nodded. “Yeah. Separated his shoulder at our home opener.”
I couldn’t help rubbing my own shoulder in sympathy. “Ouch. How long do they expected him to be out?”
“They thought six weeks, but he’s been practicing on his own. And he sticks around team practice in a no-contact jersey, so, maybe sooner?”
“One can hope.”
Liam St. Clair was Pittsburgh’s captain and one of their biggest stars.
He’d been selected first overall back when Chris was still learning to skate, and he’d led the massive rebuild that had turned Pittsburgh into a winning team.
I’d recently read several articles speculating that he’d be passing the torch to Chris when he retired in the next few years.
I couldn’t imagine how heady and surreal it was for Chris, who’d idolized St. Clair.
In his interviews, Chris always lit up when asked about working with the captain, especially when they asked about how St. Clair had apparently taken him under his wing at this first training camp and had been mentoring him ever since.
“Still doesn’t feel real sometimes,” he’d said with a laugh during a recent interview. “Like we’ll be working together and it’s totally normal, and then I’ll think, ‘whoa, dude, this is Liam St. Clair.’”
I couldn’t even imagine concentrating while I was that starstruck. “Must be awesome working with him,” I said.
Just like he did in those interviews, Chris beamed.
“It’s so cool! He’s just like a normal guy most of the time, but…
” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Anyway, he’ll actually be up in the owner’s box with you tonight.
He doesn’t miss a game; usually comes into the locker room for a while, then goes up there to watch. ”
I chuckled. “Typical rink rat.”
“I know, right?” He sighed. “We’re definitely feeling it without him on the ice, that’s for sure. Like we can play without him, and he’s there, but we’re a million times better with him playing, you know?”
“I bet. It’s getting you some time on the second line, though, isn’t it?”
At that, Chris smiled. “Yeah. Coach bumped Andersson up to the top line until Saints comes back, so he’s got me on the second, which means I’ve been getting way more minutes. I still want Saints back, though.”
I chuckled. Such was the two-sided coin of players getting hurt—it sucked when they were sidelined, but it did give the younger guys a chance to shine.
That was how Chris had been called up the first time; a forward went down for core muscle surgery, so Chris came up for several weeks, including the playoffs.
He’d been a fixture on the roster ever since.
When we arrived at the arena, Chris took me into the locker room.
Everyone was still easing into their pregame routines, and he introduced me around.
Now I was the one to get a bit starstruck; it was one thing to know my kid was playing alongside these living legends.
It was another thing entirely to be shaking hands with Temo Tehuitzil, Alex Crawford, and Chase Barnum in their locker room while they prepped for a game.
I was introduced to Gil Tangen, the team’s general manager, as well as a few other members of the staff.
Gil also assured Chris and me that he’d escort me down to the locker room after the game so Chris wouldn’t have to come looking for me.
That seemed to relax Chris, and it relaxed me too; we both got anxious about things like that sometimes.
“Okay, well.” Chris smiled. “I should get started on my pregame—” Something behind me caught his eye, and Chris lit up like a much younger version of himself always had on Christmas morning. “Oh, hey, Saints is here.”
I turned around and—
Oh.
Hell.
Anyone who followed hockey could pick out Liam St. Clair in a crowd. He was one of the superstars—a generational talent who’d led Pittsburgh to two Cups in his impressive career. I knew exactly what he looked like and had since Chris was in youth hockey.
Seeing someone on TV was one thing.
Seeing him in person and realizing the cameras didn’t do him a bit of justice? Whoa.
He was a little shorter than me—maybe five-nine or so?
—with a bright smile that was ridiculously pretty in person.
The cameras had never noticed the dusting of gray in his dark blond hair, but I sure did.
His features were sharp in that way a lot of veteran players’ were, when the youthful roundness had melted away and their overall leanness made it into their faces.
And of course, he was wearing a perfectly tailored suit. One that may as well have been painted on his tight, lean physique.
Holy fuck, he was hot.
I did the best I could to keep that out of my expression, though, especially as my son flagged him down.
“Hey, Saints.” Chris gestured at me. “This is my dad, Garrett. He’ll be sitting up there with you for the next couple of games.”
St. Clair turned a charming smile on me and extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Liam. The guys all call me Saints.”
I laughed nervously as I shook his hand. “I know. It’s great to meet you.” I paused. “So, should I call you Liam or Saints?”
Oh, fuck me—that smile turned a little lopsided as he shrugged. “Either or. I answer to both.”
I had to aggressively remind myself that the smile and the sparkle in his eye were a result of media training. He didn’t know me from Adam and he didn’t care. He sure as hell wasn’t flirting. The man was openly gay, sure, but that didn’t mean he was into every man.
So I just nodded. “I’ll try to pick one or the other.”
His chuckle screwed with my balance. Then he elbowed Chris. “You must be proud of this one. He’s tearing it up out there.”
Chris blushed brighter than I’d ever seen, which honestly said a lot.
I smiled. “I definitely am. Always knew he had it in him, but he’s still been blowing us all away.”
Chris’s blush deepened, and he reminded me of his sixteen-year-old self when he’d been named MVP after a playoff game. He’d been so startled by the recognition, and his awestruck face had been seriously cute.
Liam gave him another nudge as he said to me, “Just wait. The best is yet to come for this one.” Before either of us could respond, he turned to Chris. “I need to go talk to Gil, but I’ll make sure your dad gets to the owner’s box.”
“Thanks, man.”
Liam flashed another quick smile, gave me a nod of acknowledgement, and went looking for the GM.
“Come on.” Chris nodded sharply in the other direction. “Let me show you around the ice level.”
I followed him, and as he gave me a tour, I tried to stay present. My mind, though, kept drifting back to the locker room. Back to Liam St. Clair.
In the years since my divorce, I’d dated a little and hooked up a little more, but no one had ignited much beyond a halfhearted spark of attraction.
No one had thrown my balance off or scrambled my brain.
I’d wondered for a while if it would ever happen at all, or if forty-something me wasn’t wired to be as powerfully drawn to someone as hormone-saturated teenaged me had been.
I didn’t have to wonder anymore, because holy shit.
Tonight, I was supposed to be watching my son play hockey.
And I would.
But I would also be sitting beside Liam St. Clair. The older, slightly graying version of him I hadn’t known existed until tonight.
How was I supposed to concentrate now?