Chapter 8 #2
I finished my shower, threw on a hoodie and a pair of team sweats, and hauled my sore carcass into the lounge to find some food. After I’d loaded a plate, I plunked it down on a table beside Temo’s and dropped into a chair.
“Hey, Captain.” He elbowed me. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Eh. Still attached.”
He huffed a laugh as he cut off a piece of chicken. “Sometimes that’s more of a curse than a blessing, am I right?”
I grunted as I cut into my own food. He was right, and he knew of what he spoke—in his ten-year pro career, he’d dislocated one shoulder and broken the other.
When I’d teased him last season that he was one separated shoulder away from one hell of a hat trick, he’d threatened to separate my shoulder.
Yeah. That joke had aged well.
I had just taken my first bite of halibut when Chris appeared beside me. “Hey, mind if we join you guys?”
When I looked up, I damn near choked on my food. Garrett was with him. Of course he was. Where else would he be?
Fortunately, unlike me, Temo hadn’t been struck stupid, and he gestured at the empty seats. “Of course! Sit down!” As they took their seats, he asked, “You liking it here in the Burgh?”
Garrett nodded as he arranged his utensils. “I just moved a week ago, but so far, so good.”
I blinked. He’d what now?
Somehow, when I spoke, I sounded casual. “Wait, you moved here?”
Another nod, this one accompanied by a smile that made the damn world tilt beneath me. “Yep. In fact I move into my apartment tomorrow.”
“Oh. Wow. That—that sounds like a big change.” I went for my drink because my mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Where are you moving from again? Chicago, wasn’t it?”
“Yep. Chicago.” Garrett picked up his fork. “It’s quite a switch, but I think I’ll manage.” He glanced at his son and smiled. Chris smiled, too; he seemed genuinely thrilled to have his dad coming to town.
Neither of them had any reason to think this might have my head spinning or my brain shorting out. Because there was no reason for any of that to be happening. I was just an idiot who apparently needed to reactivate his hookup profiles—again—and get a few things out of his system. Jesus Christ.
We all fell into casual conversation while we ate, mostly talking about places in Pittsburgh Garrett needed to check out.
“There’s a place in the Strip District,” Temo said. “I forget the name but it’s this shop that sells every spice known to man.” He gestured with his water bottle. “You do any kind of cooking, you gotta check it out.”
Garrett was definitely intrigued. “Oh yeah? I’ve been meaning to do some more cooking. But you don’t remember the name?”
“Hang on, hang on…” Temo took out his phone. “My wife will remember. And she’ll be able to spell it.”
While we waited for Ximena to respond with the name of the spice shop, Chris said, “There’s also a Brazilian steakhouse down there.
It’s always crowded as hell, so you need a reservation, but it’s really good.
” He paused. “Jasmine can’t stand it right now because of all the food smells, but once she’s feeling better, we should all go. ”
“That place is great,” I said. “That hot cheese with honey… oh my God.”
Temo and Chris both groaned.
“If they had a special where you could just order that,” Temo declared, “I’d fucking order it.”
“Same,” Chris said. “It’s so good.”
Garrett eyed us all skeptically. “Hot… cheese? With honey? What?”
“Yeah, it’s some kind of white cheese,” Temo said. “I thought it was halloumi, but my wife said it’s something else.” He smiled fondly. “She knows food way better than I do.”
“That’s because she’s smarter than you,” I said.
Temo kicked me under the table hard enough I almost yelped. “Quiet, pendejo.”
I elbowed him just in time to nearly make him choke on his drink, which earned me another kick to the same damn spot. “Agh. Fuck you, Temo.”
He shrugged. “Don’t call me stupid.”
“I didn’t!” I leaned down to rub my shin. “I just said your wife is smarter than you.” I smirked. “Do you want me to tell her that you said she’s stupid because being smarter than you is—”
“Saints, I swear to God…” He held up his fist.
I just snickered.
“C’mon, Temo,” Chris said with a laugh. “Don’t beat up Saints. We just got him off the injured list.”
“Yeah, fucker.” I kicked Temo this time. “You put me back on LTIR, I’ll make sure Coach has you bag skating for a month.”
Temo just rolled his eyes and muttered something I didn’t catch.
Right then, Travis, our PR director leaned into the lounge. “Hey, Kanes? Temo?” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Can I borrow you two for media availability?”
They both groaned theatrically like schoolkids hearing the bell at the end of recess, but they got up.
To his dad, Chris said, “I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Garrett smiled and gestured at his food. “I’ll be here.”
Chris flashed a quick smile, then followed Temo out of the lounge.
I watched them disappear through the door, leaving me alone at this table with…
Oh God. With him.
Hoping my dignity didn’t fail me, I turned to Garrett and forced a relaxed smile despite my thumping heart. “So, you’re living in Pittsburgh now, huh?”
Ugh. What a stupid thing to say. But it was hard not to sound stupid when I was stupid because Garrett was here.
What was wrong with me? I’d been around plenty of attractive men.
What was it about him that reduced me to that stammering dork who’d had a crush on his linemate in major juniors? Or that goalie in U14?
Lucky for me, Garrett either didn’t notice or had the good graces not to let on.
His smile seemed genuine, though he also shifted nervously and broke eye contact.
“Yeah. Yeah, my, uh, my company has an office here, so I requested a transfer.” He looked at me again and gestured at the chair Chris had been occupying.
“Gave me the perfect opportunity to be close to him.”
“Can’t really pass that up, can you?”
“No, definitely not. Especially now that I know I’ve got a grandson on the way.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about that.” I smiled despite my heart still pounding stupidly. “That must be exciting.”
Oh, fuck. His smile did nothing to de-stupid my heart. God, he was gorgeous.
Lucky for me and my dignity, he couldn’t see through to me internally flailing. “Never thought I’d be a grandfather before I turned fifty, but…” He half-shrugged. “I can’t complain.”
I chuckled. “Yeah? This your first grandkid?”
He nodded. “Oldest son and his wife are talking about it, but aren’t in a big hurry. My daughters…” He trailed off into another shrug and didn’t finish the thought.
“Wait, so Chris isn’t your oldest?”
“Nope. He’s three of four.”
I blinked. “He’s—seriously?” I couldn’t help trying to run the numbers. Chris was twenty-three. Garrett said he wasn’t fifty yet. So did that mean—
“I’ve been a dad since I was nineteen,” he said quietly, as if he could see through to my unspoken questions.
“Oh. Wow.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
And I struggled to imagine it; at nineteen, I’d been playing my rookie season here in Pittsburgh, overwhelmed by the giant stage I’d been thrust onto.
Playing top-level professional hockey for a team trying to rebuild had been a ton of pressure.
Being a dad? That would’ve blown my damn mind.
“I can’t imagine,” I admitted. “Having a pro hockey career at that age was overwhelming enough.”
“Oh, man.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he loaded some green beans onto his fork. “Who the hell thought any of us were ready for adulthood at that age?”
I laughed, which helped me breathe again. “I mean, sometimes I don’t think I’m ready for it at this age.”
Garrett laughed. “I know, right? But at eighteen, nineteen… That’s a lot.”
“It is. And the teams know it, too.” I gestured with my own fork toward the hallway. “During prospect camp, they spend a lot of time helping the younger guys learn how to cook and do things on their own.”
“Really? That’s amazing.”
I was about to ask, “Didn’t Chris tell you about that?” But it occurred to me that prospect camp might have been during the time they were apparently estranged. I knew previous little about their strained relationship, and the whole thing might’ve been a tender subject, so I left it alone.
“Yeah,” I said instead. “That was how I figured out I enjoyed cooking.”
“Oh, really?” He leaned a little closer, watching me intently. “You like to cook?”
Why was my face getting warm?
I shrugged as I dropped my gaze to my plate and tried to remember how to maneuver utensils. “Yeah, I… I mean, I’m not going to be starting my own cooking channel or anything, but I can put together a decent meal.”
“What kind of stuff do you cook?”
I glanced at him, somehow sure he was just humoring me or trying to get me to admit that “cooking” just meant following the directions on a box or a can. But no, what I found in those deep brown eyes was genuine interest.
“I, uh… Well…” Why had I suddenly forgotten everything I’d ever cooked? “Um. Well…” The partly finished halibut in front of me jogged my flailing memory. “I fish a lot, so I’ve, you know, learned a lot of ways to cook fish.”
Oh, fuck me—his eyes lit right up. “You fish?”
I nodded. “I… yeah. I do. Do you?”
And just like that, we were off and running, exchanging stories about that elusive huge one that escaped before we could get a photo, the one no one would ever believe us about, and the one we were pretty sure we caught and released multiple times.
“I swear to God,” he said through his laughter, “if my brother hadn’t been in the boat to witness it, even I don’t think I’d have believe me.”
I snorted. “Do you think it just really liked your bait or something?”
“I have no idea.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “But like, buddy—we’ve been through this four times. Learn from your damn mistakes and…” He gestured like something swimming away.
“They really don’t learn, do they?” I nudged my now-empty plate away. “I was fishing with an old teammate one time, and he caught the same damn bass—I want to say six times?”
“Oh, Jesus. I think I’d have just kept it at that point.”
“He did, actually. It was like an inch under the minimum, but he was like, it’s obviously ready if it wants to be caught this bad.”
Garrett laughed, which still screwed with my balance. “I’d have paid good money to see you guys explain that to someone from Fish & Wildlife.”
“I know, right? Four hockey players, all so drunk they can barely see straight, explaining how, ‘no, officer, I swear, he threw it back but it wouldn’t leave us alone!’”
Fuck me, he was so pretty when he laughed.
“Oh, man,” he said, unaware of my brain short-circuiting. “That would’ve been hilarious.”
“The best part would’ve been my buddy’s wife—who’d been driving the boat and was our D.D. for the day—rolling her eyes and saying, ‘no, really, they’re dumb and drunk, but they are telling the truth.’”
And I was suddenly racking my brain in search of any other funny fishing stories just so I could make him laugh that hard.
“What did you tell him, Saints?” Chris’s voice turned my head as he and Temo came back into the lounge. “You weren’t telling him about Temo doing karaoke, were you?”
“Hey!” Temo had to reach up to do it, but he managed to cuff the back of Chris’s head. “Shut up, rookie.”
“What?” Chris showed his palms. “You’re bad at karaoke.”
Temo huffed and dropped into the chair next to mine. “Eat a dick, Kanes.” Then his eyes locked on Garrett, and he stiffened. “Oh. Uh. Sorry, I—”
“No, no.” Garrett put up his hands, mirroring his son’s gesture. “You’re all adults.”
All three of us wobbled our hands in the air and murmured, “Ehh” and “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Garrett just chuckled, and we all hung out while Temo and Chris finished their food. I was kind of glad they were back. I needed to reclaim my equilibrium.
In fact, this was the perfect chance for me to politely bow out so I could get the hell out of here and catch my damn breath. Which was exactly what I did.
I only made it halfway back to the locker room, though, before Chris jogged after me.
“Oh, hey, Saints?”
I turned around. “Hmm?”
He halted, the uneasy expression on his face making him seem even younger than he was. Gesturing over his shoulder, he timidly asked, “Do you mind if my dad tags along on Thanksgiving?”
My stomach flipped but I recovered. “Oh. Sure, of course! The invite is for any family in town.”
He exhaled, looking genuinely relieved. “Okay, cool. I just wanted to be sure. I’ll let him know!”
I smiled my best smile, grateful for years of practice hiding my emotions from cameras and microphones.
My young teammate left, and I released my breath.
So Garrett was in Pittsburgh now. Living in Pittsburgh. He’d be coming to practices and games in an effort to reconnect with his son.
And next week, he’d be at my place for Thanksgiving.
Which meant I either needed to get a goddamned grip…
Or I was going to be a train wreck for the rest of this hockey season.