Chapter 5
GARRETT
My visit with Chris had been amazing. I was glad he’d accepted the idea of me moving to Pittsburgh; otherwise, I’d have been a mess flying home tomorrow.
As it was, on our way to tonight’s game, I couldn’t shake the disappointment that the trip was coming to an end.
I hadn’t even met his girlfriend yet, and I still didn’t buy that she just happened to be out of town this week.
We’d get to that, though, especially since—as I reminded myself repeatedly—I’d be back soon. I’d be living here soon.
Still, it would be hard to leave.
We also hadn’t been able to spend every waking minute together.
That was fine, and I’d expected as much.
I attended his practices, and he took me to some restaurants he liked, as well as a couple of museums. We’d always loved going to museums when he was a kid—Chicago was a gold mine for that—and Pittsburgh had some incredible ones, like the Carnegie Museum of Natural History and the Heinz History Center.
When I couldn’t be with him, I’d done some exploring on my own.
I’d checked out the Duquesne Incline, one of the funicular railroads that took people up and down Mount Washington.
That had yielded some incredible views, not to mention some fascinating history about Pittsburgh.
One afternoon, when Chris was tied up with a charity event, I took myself out to the Carrie Blast Furnace, a relic of the city’s steel heyday.
As the week came to a close, I honestly thought I might’ve moved out here even if Chris and I hadn’t been patching up our relationship. It was a nice city, and I was already looking forward to exploring more of it when I lived here.
Tonight, though, was my favorite part of Pittsburgh—watching Chris play hockey with the Phantoms.
Same as we’d done the first time, we walked in from the player’s garage to the locker room. While Chris got into his pregame routine, I went up to the owner’s box with Gil, the general manager.
And I couldn’t lie—I was disappointed that Liam St. Clair wasn’t here.
I hadn’t seen him in the locker room. He wasn’t in the owner’s box.
Even as the pregame montages started, there was no sign of him.
Chris had mentioned some of the injured players preferred to watch from the press box, which was high above the nosebleed section. Maybe that was where Liam was tonight.
And why did that bum me out almost as much as my impending departure?
Because I was ridiculous, that was why.
As much as I wished I could be quietly drooling over the team captain and bantering with him about the game, it was what it was. I was here to watch Chris, not ogle or fantasize about someone who could have any man he wanted.
The opening montages ended, and the Phantoms skated back out onto the ice. The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena as he read off the starting players, and the fans roared with so much enthusiasm, the whole place shook.
And this was just a regular season game. Chris had told me the vibe in the place would be off the charts during the playoffs.
“They’re loud at every game,” he’d said as he’d driven us in. “When it’s the playoffs? Holy shit, when we won a postseason game in overtime last year, my ears were ringing for the rest of the night.”
“That must’ve been incredible,” I’d said, and I’d just stopped myself from saying “I hope I get to hear it myself.”
I didn’t want to pile more pressure on him, both for his team to make the playoffs and for him to want me at those games. Though we’d had a great week together, I was going to be walking on eggshells with him for a long, long time.
Below me, the starting players stood on the blue lines for the national anthem.
“If you are able,” the announcer said, “please rise and remove your hats and helmets.”
I stood, and as I did, I sensed movement behind me. Without really thinking, I twisted around and—
Ooh, wow.
Liam.
He was jogging down the steps, a bottle of water in hand, and of course he was wearing a gorgeous suit again. Dark brown this time.
When he saw me, he flashed me a smile, but there was no time for hellos because the anthem was starting. I moved over one seat, letting him take the aisle, and we both stood for the duration of the song. I didn’t even hear it over my stupid pounding heart.
He’s my son’s teammate. Why am I getting so starstruck over him?
Starstruck? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
Oh my God, he’s pretty…
The anthem ended, and we took our seats. As the game kicked off below us, Liam turned to me. “Hey, good to see you again. Have you been enjoying Pittsburgh?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I smiled despite my stupid nerves. “Gorgeous town. I swear it’s got everything I like about Chicago, minus the traffic.”
He laughed, which made the whole stadium a couple of degrees brighter. And hotter. “I feel that.” He gestured down at the ice. “Craws was traded here from Los Angeles, and he said the traffic there made him want to claw out his own eyeballs.”
I snorted. “I don’t blame him. I’ve driven there a few times, and…” Grimacing, I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
“Could be worse.” He paused to sip his water. “I made the mistake of driving into Manhattan one day.”
“Oh my God. Why would you do that yourself?”
He muttered something I didn’t catch as he rolled his eyes. Then, “I swear I still have nightmares about being stuck on the George Washington Bridge and needing to take a leak.” He shuddered. “Longest two hours of my life.”
“Been there.”
He turned to me, eyebrows up, unaware of how those amazing eyes made my brain short out.
I got my thoughts back in order before I managed to embarrass myself, though, and said, “Coming into Chicago when there’s an accident. It’s always a nightmare anyway. Bonus round? With four hangry kids who have been done with this road trip for the past three hours.”
I might’ve liked the way he laughed a little too much.
“Better you than me,” he said as he shifted his gaze back to the ice below. “I’d just be Hangry Kid Number 5, if I’m honest.”
“You’d be getting out and walking,” I muttered.
He chuckled, glancing at me with again a wicked glint in his eyes. “See, now that would be fun. See how far I could push until you booted me out in the middle of the freeway.”
“I don’t think you want to play that game.” I paused. “Then again, you’re a hockey player. I shouldn’t put anything past you.”
Once again, he lit up the whole arena. Fucking hell, he was the most stunning man I’d ever—
“Go! Go! Come on!” He was halfway out of his seat. “Go!”
I caught up, remembering there was, like, a hockey game going on, and I joined in with, “Come on! Shoot! Shoot!” The whole crowd was roaring as Craws barreled up the ice with the puck.
There was a defenseman on his heels, closing fast. About the time Craws was in a position to make the shot, the defenseman checked him, separating him from the puck.
They slammed into the boards behind the net and nearly fell into a heap.
Chris had been right behind them, and he got his stick on the puck. He whipped it on net, but it bounced weirdly and went a few inches wide. Craws snatched it an attempted a wraparound, but the goalie got his glove on it, and the whistle blew.
In unison, Liam and I exhaled and dropped back in our seats.
“Is it this stressful when you’re down there?” I gestured at the ice.
He rocked his head back and forth. “In a different way. Down there, it’s a ton of pressure, and I have to make decisions on the fly, try to predict what everyone else on the ice will do—that kind of thing.
Up here?” He groaned as he reached for his water bottle.
“There’s nothing I can do, so it’s… really stressful, but not in the same way. ”
“At least it’s not just me,” I said.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry. They’re in good hands.” He nodded toward the players, who were setting up for an offensive zone faceoff. “Chris is killing it, too.”
I couldn’t help beaming with pride as we watched Chris skate up to the dot.
He gave a quick glance around at his teammates and gestured at one of them.
The other player moved slightly to his right.
Then Chris focused on the faceoff, which he won, and the action started.
It would never get old, watching him play like this.
He’d come so far since those early years when the little kids skated so slowly, it took three business days to get from one end of the ice to the other.
That had been seriously cute, and my ex-wife and I still had millions of hours of video footage of it.
Then the kids had gotten faster and more precise, and Chris’s talent and hockey IQ had emerged.
I’d had no idea, back in those slow-skating days, that he’d one day be a twelfth overall pick for a major league team.
And yet, somehow it made perfect sense. He’d worked so hard, and he’d been so good—how else could his story have played out?
Probably a lot better if he hadn’t been distracted by his parents’ bullshit during one of those critical years.
The thought made me cringe. Guilt would be a constant companion for a long time.
Chris had been resilient enough to still get picked that high despite the turmoil at home, but he shouldn’t have had to be that resilient.
How much higher could he have been picked had he been able to have his whole head in the game?
As I watched him skate to the bench for a line change, I sighed.
And for the thousandth time this week, I vowed to do everything I could to make it up to him.