Chapter 9
GARRETT
Thanksgiving arrived the week after I’d moved into my apartment.
Chris’s whole team was invited to their captain’s house for dinner, and that invitation apparently included me.
Far be it from me to say no; I hardly had anywhere else to go, and it was a chance to spend the holiday with my son and daughter-in-law-to-be.
And let’s be real—I also wouldn’t say no to spending that holiday ogling Liam.
Chris picked me up early in the afternoon and drove Jasmine and me out to Sewickley—specifically its bougier side that was apparently called Sewickley Heights—which was where a lot of his teammates lived.
The house was tucked back in the forested hills, and it seemed like we’d driven out into the middle of nowhere before Chris turned up a steep, mossy driveway lined with parked cars.
That driveway wound even deeper into the dense trees before letting out in front of an enormous brick house.
Given that this was an event full of pro hockey players, I’d expected to see a parade of wildly expensive cars. Lamborghinis. Aston Martins. Whatever flashy hardware millionaire athletes preferred to drive, especially the guys who’d been around long enough to get seriously rich.
Parked along the driveway and in front of the four-car garage, though, were expensive but relatively understated vehicles.
Instead of brightly colored supercars, most had SUVs or sedans.
High-end brands, of course—BMW, Audi, Mercedes, Porsche—but nothing that looked like it belonged in a billionaire’s garage or on a racetrack.
I worried that Chris wouldn’t be able to park up here, since the driveway was already packed with cars, but three traffic cones stood off to the side of the garage. They blocked off enough space for three decent-sized vehicles to park.
“Hey Dad,” Chris asked. “Can you grab one of those cones and move it out of the way?”
“Sure.” As soon as he was stopped, I got out of the backseat, picked up one of the cones, and moved it. Then he pulled his SUV into the space.
When he got out, he explained, “Jasmine and two of the other wives are pregnant.” He gestured down the hill we’d just come up. “Liam didn’t want them walking up the driveway.”
“I can handle a hill,” Jasmine insisted.
“Not when it’s steep, wet asphalt covered in wet moss,” he countered.
She huffed. “Fiiine.”
He elbowed her very gently and very playfully. She returned it, and they both giggled.
Good God. They really were cute together.
We headed up the front steps to Liam’s front door, and Chris rang the bell. A second later, the door opened and—
Holy. Fuck.
The rush of heat that went through me was so intense and sudden, it almost knocked me on my ass. I already knew Liam St. Clair was smoking hot in a suit, in his gear, and in a team hoodie and sweats. Trust him to also look like a goddamned dream in jeans and a dark green sweater.
Save some hotness for the rest of us, man. Jesus.
“Oh, hey, Garrett.” He extended his hand. “Great to see you again.”
Miraculously, I held on to my dignity as I shook his hand. “Yeah. Likewise. Thanks for having us.”
“Of course. Any member of the Phantoms family is welcome.” He released my hand and stood aside. “Come on in!”
We followed him into the house, and we joined the various teammates and family members who’d already arrived.
I’d met quite a few before tonight, and there were even more spouses and kids this time, plus other family in town for the holiday.
It was an overwhelming sea of faces and names, especially since a lot of the players went by their first names and their nicknames, and I just hoped no one expected me to remember them all.
By the time I’d been introduced to everyone who’d arrived so far, I was lucky to remember one or two besides Chris and Jasmine.
And Liam. Somehow I didn’t imagine I’d forget that name any time soon.
Apart from me being a little overstimulated, the day progressed smoothly. Chris and I ended up watching football with some of the other guys in Liam’s enormous mancave, and everyone was having a great time.
I could usually take or leave football. Watching it with hockey players, though?
“Hey, Craws.” Temo gestured at the TV as the players set up for a field goal attempt. “Maybe next time you take a shot, someone should hold the puck for you like that—”
“Eat a dick, Temo.” Craws gave his teammate the bird. “I’m not the one who missed a wide-open empty net from six feet away.”
That prompted an “oooh” from everyone in the room, including Chris.
Temo muttered something in what I assumed was his first language. Then, “Maybe if you’d have kept that dickbag from catching up with me, he wouldn’t have poke-checked the puck away before I could—”
“I was two time zones away,” Craws insisted. “Not my fault you couldn’t protect the puck.”
Chris snickered. “He’s got a point, Temo. And seriously, would you really trust this guy to defend you and—”
“Fuck you!” Craws kicked Chris. “Or do we need to talk about somebody faceplanting two steps out of the penalty box when he had the puck and a clear path to the goal?”
Chris smirked at Craws. “Only if we get into what happened in that shootout against Dallas last season.”
Craws groaned and rolled his eyes.
I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “What happened in the shootout?”
Everyone tried talking over each other, but Craws said, “Nothing that hasn’t happened to every hockey player at some point.”
“Well, yeah,” Chris deadpanned. “In juniors.”
“It happened to me in U14.” Temo looked at Driscoll, who was sitting in a recliner and chuckling. “Has it happened to you at this level?”
“Nope.” Driscoll shook his head slowly. “I think the last time was in U12.”
Craws huffed out a sharp breath. “You’re all dicks. You know that?”
Everyone shrugged without an ounce of repentance.
Still laughing, my son turned to me. “Craws was our third shooter in a shootout, and instead of, you know, getting the puck, he overskated it.”
Craws brought his beer up for a sip and grumbled, “Fucking bullshit.”
Chris snickered again. “At practice the next morning, we gave him a goalie stick with a big piece of cardboard taped to the plastic. Said that should help him actually get the puck next time.”
“Yeah,” Craws muttered, “and Coach made me play with it during practice. I hate all of you.”
That had the players in the room howling, and I laughed along. Never a dull moment among people in this sport, that was for sure.
The game on TV continued, but about halfway through the second quarter, Chris’s phone pinged. He looked at the screen, frowned, and then left the room, striding out like he was in a hurry. I watched him go, uneasiness coiling beneath my ribs. That was… odd. Should I go after him? See what was up?
No. No, he would’ve said if he wanted me to get involved. Best bet—stay put and follow his lead, no matter how twitchy I was while he was gone.
When he returned a few minutes later, the worry on his face instantly had my head swimming with kneejerk worst-case scenarios. I got up and crossed the room.
“Everything okay?”
“Kind of, but…” He gestured over his shoulder. “Jasmine’s really not feeling well. I think I better take her home.”
“Is she okay? Do we need to take her to the—”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He shook his head, worry still etched all over his features. “She’s just really nauseous, and all the food smells aren’t helping.”
That definitely tracked—his mother had spent two of her four pregnancies absolutely green around the gills.
“Okay.” I nodded as my panic ticked down. “Let me grab our jackets, and we can—”
“You don’t have to leave,” he said quickly. “I don’t want to drag you out before anyone’s even had dinner.”
I was about to insist I didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving away from him—this was a family holiday, after all—but I hesitated.
Something about his tone and body language suggested he didn’t want me to leave with them.
Not necessarily because he didn’t want me there, but if I had to guess, because he didn’t want to overstimulate Jasmine.
If she was feeling as awful as my ex-wife sometimes had, she probably wanted to be around as few people as humanly possible.
“I, uh… I rode in with you, but… I suppose I can get an Uber?”
Chris’s brow pinched. “You don’t mind? It’s not that I don’t want you to come with us, but Jasmine’s really feeling shitty and—”
“I understand.” I squeezed his arm. “She’s probably wishing she could teleport home without anyone there, including you.”
At that, he managed a nervous laugh. “Probably, yeah. But… you’re really okay with it? With staying here?” He glanced around. “You don’t really know anybody.”
I shrugged. “I’ll manage. I’ve gotten to know a few people at games.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Right then, Liam appeared beside us, carrying a tray of snacks, probably to replenish the empty one on the coffee table. From the way his brow creased, he immediately clocked the uncomfortable vibe. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I, uh…” Chris gestured over his shoulder again. “Listen, I need to take Jazz home. She’s fine, just not feeling great.”
“Okay. Sure. Don’t worry about it.” Liam turned to me. “Are you staying?”
“Uh… I don’t want to impose or—”
“Nah, it’s all good.” Liam flashed a quick smile before returning his attention to Chris “Do whatever you need to do. Shoot me a text if you need anything.”
Chris’s smile had a bit more life in it, and he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, man.” To me, he said, “I’m going to get her out of here.”
“Of course.” I hugged him gently. “Take care of her.”
“I will. We’ll do something this week, okay?”
“Definitely.” Releasing him, I nodded toward the door. “Go.”
He went.
After Chris was gone, I turned to Liam. “You sure you don’t mind me staying?”
He waved a hand. “Of course not. Your son is a Phantom, so you’re part of the Phantom family.” He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Do you want another beer?”
I glanced down at the bottle in my hand, which I’d all but forgotten about. It had been empty for a while, too.
With a smile, I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
He smiled too.
And my mind went blank.