Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Sean
Short round trips were the worst. Fly out around noon, skate like hell, drag our bruised pride back onto the charter. Everything hurts: knees, back, brain… I wasn’t twenty-five anymore. Hell, not even thirty-five.
I stepped off the shuttle, ready to grab my car and vanish—until I saw Mel by the curb, carry-on at her side, the night glaring at her and winning.
“Need a ride?” I asked.
“Thanks, but no. I’d rather not walk to the garage alone” she said, then hesitated. “I parked in the employee lot. Would you mind walking with me?”
“Not at all. At this hour, two is safer than one.” Also, I probably shouldn’t be left alone with my thoughts right now.
We walked in silence.
“Thanks,” she said when we reached her car, and threw her baggage in the back seat.
She slid behind the wheel and waved.
Pop. Pop-pop-pop. The sound arose as she backed up.
I winced.
She killed the engine, got out, and crouched to check the rear passenger tire. “Seriously?”
“That’s a blowout,” I said, joining her. “All it takes is a nail.”
She exhaled, long and tired. “I have a spare. I just…I just don’t want to deal with it at three in the morning.”
Fair.
I held up my keys. “Let’s get you home. You can deal with it later.”
She leaned against the car, one hand on her hip, the other on the roof, resigned. “Thanks.”
She yanked her carry-on from the backseat with a grunt. The latch gave way, and it popped open. She gasped.
I blinked as a makeup pouch, a busted travel shampoo, and a few colorful undies spilled out onto the pavement. My brain stalled somewhere between Do I help? Or do I pretend I didn’t see the hot-pink thong doing cartwheels?
Her chest rose and fell, then she dropped into a crouch, hands flying as if she could erase the image burned into my brain if she moved fast enough.
I bent down, mirroring her crouch. Coral and summer-yellow undies tangled with a judgmental-looking sports bra lay awkwardly on the pavement. A flush of heat rose in me, the kind that assaults you when you’re caught in something too personal, too sudden.
My brain kicked into gear, I stuck my hand out and grabbed something.
The brush of lace registered before my mind fully processed the coral fabric. I dropped it in the luggage as if it were scalding hot. My eyes flicked between hers and the open suitcase—a silent witness, ready to swallow the evidence.
Three underwear for a same day trip? Or backup reinforcement in case we’d spent the night?
Mel’s cheeks flared—not the soft blush of flirtation, but a full-on flush that crept down her neck. Her lips clamped shut, her eyes looking anywhere but me. She probably wished the asphalt would open up and swallow her whole.
“All done!” she said, sweeping what looked like a travel-sized bodywash that had rolled off and shoved it into the luggage.
I stayed crouched, trying not to make the moment worse by saying the wrong thing. She was a whirlwind of mortification, mouth parted in a shaky almost-apology that never fully landed.
I straightened, giving her space as laughter threatened to break through my composure.
“Definitely not how I pictured my 3 a.m. going,” she muttered, slamming the lid shut with a thwack.
“I swear, lingerie wasn’t part of the ride-share plan.”
She avoided eye contact. “My dignity had clocked out and went home.”
I grinned. Mel was usually composed, but this rainbow-color spill revealed a wild, playful side of her. Mismatched underwear and a plush emotional-support avocado, that was how I’d picture her now.
“But…strong color choice,” I offered.
Her neck, already flushed, deepened to the exact shade of one of the rogue panties.
We walked to my car. I carefully placed her bag in the trunk and slid behind the wheel.
“Folsom,” she said, buckling in. “I live in Folsom.”
Of course she did. Long drive ahead, and now I was on a spontaneous road trip with the new assistant. Definitely not thinking about the parade of lace that had launched itself across the asphalt. Nope. Not at all.
The ride was mostly quiet, except for tires on the road and the occasional thump of our luggage shifting in back.
“Your parents made it okay?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, they took the taxi.”
“Big year for your sister.”
“Yep. Med school graduation for the long-haul brain in the family. For twenty-five years, she knew what she wanted.”
I grinned. “And you?”
She shrugged. “Scenic route. Bachelor’s in management.”
“Fitting,” I said.
She squinted. “Is that a compliment?”
I smirked. “You decide.”
She laughed softly. That sound filled the car, pushing back on the awkwardness from the parking lot.
After a while, she yawned.
“Take the day,” I said.
“What?”
“Take the day off. Sleep in and handle the tire later.”
She hesitated, then, “Thanks. I’ll come in after lunch.”
I nodded.
She’d handled these trips better than expected, given the pace we were keeping. Picked things up fast, didn’t overstep, didn’t shrink either. A rare combo. She was useful without making it a performance, which frankly was refreshing and slightly disarming.
She looked young, but not fresh-out-of-school young. Late twenties had been my guess. I was tempted to ask, but there was no professional way to phrase that at dawn in a car.
Then it hit me. Two months back, the public skate night, twisted ankle, tall guy with her. A date? Boyfriend? No clue. She was off-limits until proven otherwise.
At a red light, I stopped and rubbed my temple. Long day, long season, too much on the line to be distracted by things that weren’t the game.
“Folsom. A rental?” slipped out anyway.
“My parents’ house,” she said, eyes soft with fatigue.
So, she still lived at home? I needed to shut these questions up before I turned this ride into a questionnaire.
She shifted in her seat, adjusted her hair. A flicker of copper caught in its light brown color. Not something I’d normally notice, but exhaustion had me staring too long. Soon, we were pulling up in front of her house.
She paused a second before unbuckling. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Sleep off the flat tires and all,” I said, watching her fingers tighten briefly on the handle.
She gave a tired smile. “I’ll try.” Then she disappeared inside.
I didn’t sleep much afterward. The internal debate about game strategy, the precise shade of someone’s hair, and flashes of coral and flamingo-pink undies competed for space in my head.
It was Saturday. Game 7 on home ice. We had to take advantage of that. Those words stuck as I moved quietly through the kitchen, trying not to wake anyone, or so I thought.
“Uncle Sean, can I come with you?” a small voice rang out behind me.
I turned, surprised. Cassy stood at the entrance in her socked feet, clutching the stuffed penguin she fell asleep with every night. My pint-sized moral compass.
“Hey, Sweet. I didn’t want to wake you up this early.”
“But I wanted to,” she said, stepping forward. “Can I come with you?”
I set my coffee down and scooped her up. She was getting tall for five. She wrapped her arms around my neck, the very thing I needed this morning.
“Not today, kiddo. I’ve got a big day full of giant hockey players.”
“But you always say I can skate,” she mumbled into my shoulder.
“I know,” I said, gently pulling back to look at her. “And I mean it, but another time. Promise.”
She pouted. “Mom said you lost.”
The words pricked sharper than they should have. Out of the mouths of babes, the truth never came sweetened.
“She’s right. We did lose. That’s why I’ve gotta do everything I can to win today. Think you can help me with that?”
She nodded solemnly. “I’ll root real hard.”
I smiled, the weight of the world lifting a little. I kissed her forehead before setting her down. As her feet hit the floor, my sister appeared in the kitchen doorway, pulling her sweater tighter around her, still waking up.
“Hey,” I said.
“Morning,” Abby replied with a smile. “She wanted to ask you that.”
“She promised to root for me.”
“We always do,” Abby said, reaching out to smooth Cassy’s hair.
“And that’s priceless,” I said, leaning on the counter. “So, how is Jeff these days?”
“Hmm, we talked last night. It was...better. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Daddy said he loves me!” Cassy piped up, her face bright.
I smiled. The clarity of the message was loud and clear.
Abby reached for her daughter’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He does, baby.”
There were years Abby and I didn’t talk much.
Not because we didn’t care; life got in the way.
I was buried in the full-season grind as a player, and at the same time, I’d taken the head-of-family role too early, trying to fill the gap left by a dad who drank and a mom who died too soon.
I hadn’t known what to do with a teenage sister who wanted her independence more than my help.
But now, with her showing up without asking when things got too tight in her marriage. ..I must’ve done something right.
“You’re doing a great job, Abby,” I said.
Her mouth twitched, and I knew what that meant. She wasn’t sure if she should believe me.
“Some days it doesn’t feel that way,” she admitted. “But…I’m trying.”
“Yeah, that’s the good part: trying, not giving up.”
Her gaze caught mine, grateful. “The same goes to you, too.” She smoothed Cassy’s hair again. “I called Dad yesterday.”
I raised a brow.
“He says he’s doing better this time, that he’s more focused, and he’s tired of constantly starting over.”
“Same answer every time,” I said, as I pretty much had for years.
“Mommy, Grandpa is coming?” Cassy asked.
Abby crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “After he finishes rehab, baby. That’s when we’ll see him.”
“Okay,” Cassy said, easily satisfied in the way only kids could be.
“Alright, work calls.” I grabbed my duffel bag, “Stay out of trouble, Sweet. Later, Abby.”
Cassy raised her hand for a high five. I smacked it with enough flair to make her giggle, then headed out the door.