Chapter 14
HOME ICE IS NICE
ELI
The long pause Renae gives me makes me nervous when I text her my latest idea to support Stella behind the scenes. Finally she answers.
Renae: Are you asking me to commit light fraud or very creative philanthropy?
I grin at my phone.
Eli: Think more like civic-minded problem-solving. We’ll call it the Boulder Improvement Grant.
Renae: Is that a real thing?
Eli: It will be once we put my plan in action. I want to target the craft store building. But quietly.
Renae: That part I assumed.
Eli: Stella and her mom can’t know it’s me offering to buy the building. They’ll keep the shop. Keep living upstairs. Their rent ends up being a little less than her mortgage was. And I’ll have the entire building renovated on my dime. Death trap stairs gone.
Renae: Sir, how will you prevent them from knowing it’s you doing this?
Eli: I don’t know. Hoping you can figure that out for me. And hire a local contractor to begin all the repairs and remodeling.
Renae: There’s only so much I’m willing to do for love. This is not it. I think I have to put my foot down here. It’s time to be honest and say that you’re simply looking for investments and you’d like to buy the building and take proper care of it for them?
Eli: And alert them to the fact about my money? I don’t think that we’re far enough along yet. I am, but I’m not sure if she is.
Renae: Why don’t you take a day to think about it, sir?
Eli: So you won’t do this for me even though that’s your job—to do things for me?
Renae: Respectfully, sir, I’m saying it’s a nice idea, but there has to be a better way to go about it.
I pace the length of my kitchen in the new Boulder house, bare feet on cold tile, coffee going untouched on the counter. Outside, the gray sky looks like it could dump more snow upon us at a whim. Inside, I’m torn up about moving things along between Stella and me.
I should be mad at Renae, but how can I be when I know she’s right?
I just want the building redone and safe for them.
The more time I spend here with Stella and Aiden, the more the apartment above her mother’s shop bugs me.
The steep stairs look like they could collapse at any moment.
Windows leak cold air. And Stella’s been complaining about the electric bill with winter settling in.
It’s admirable, the way she watches every dollar the craft store makes, budgeting frugally and cutting coupons, but why should I sit on millions while they worry in a tight spot?
With my idea, the so-called Boulder Improvement Grant, Stella can pay off her mother’s mortgage, I’ll have someone remodel the building, and financially they will be better off.
I just can’t let her know it’s me or my money taking part yet. It’s an awful place to be in, wanting full trust between us, yet afraid to let her know the truth. Thank Bunny for that.
We were engaged back when I won the lottery, the single highest win in Denver history. I already made a great living on my hockey contract, enough to live well and put money away for retirement because we players know we’re one big injury away from no longer playing.
Just for fun, I always bought lottery tickets each week. Why not? You can’t win if you don’t play. I’d get gas in my car and get tickets. No biggie.
Most of the time I’d tuck the tickets into the glove box and forget to check if I'd won. But one day, my numbers hit and made it big. At the time, I shared the news with Bunny, my struggling actress girlfriend. Little did I know that three years later we’d be married, with a team of ‘her people’—stylists, hairdressers, etc.
—under our employ. She lucked out on getting a role in a Brad Pitt movie, got nominated for an Oscar, and became this person I didn’t even recognize anymore.
The money changed her—it showed me who she really was. I stopped being a husband and became an asset she planned to drain.
I suspect it was her makeup artist who recorded a conversation and anonymously sent it to me, where Bunny was telling her entourage how she really didn’t love me but couldn’t get rid of me until she had every cent. It was the final fuel I needed to dump her.
I don’t even want to spiral down the trail of our divorce battles. I eventually settled. Bunny got more than her fair share of my funds, but at least I was finally free of her, happy to sign the papers and walk away.
Stella isn’t Bunny, of that I’m certain. She’s too proud to take a huge handout from me. Her priorities of a simple life and not spoiling Aiden are firmly in place. But at this stage of our relationship, I’d rather keep my money a secret a little longer.
Weeks blur forward into November, and my team's schedule has gotten no easier. But I try to spend as much time in Boulder as I can. Tonight, dinner at my place starts with me pretending I accidentally ordered enough food for a small army.
“It was a special at Boulder Chinese, and I got home from practice starving.” I play it off. Stella, Marjorie, and Aiden all came over to my house tonight as soon as I called to inform them I had plenty to share.
Stella shoots me a suspicious look that says she cannot believe I ordered this much food, but Aiden digs right in on the sweet and sour chicken like they’re fast-food nuggets, and Marjorie serves herself a plate of the Kung Pao, so Stella lets it go.
My Boulder place doesn’t feel like a crash pad now that I have some furniture.
Aiden tosses his backpack on the table every time, when I pick him up after school occasionally.
I gave Stella a Denver Aspens’ Greatest Fan mug, and keep it here for her to drink from.
And now and then I find things they’ve left behind, like her extra pair of gloves or his favorite mechanical pencil he loves to use doing homework.
Halfway through dinner, Marjorie clears her throat. “I have interesting news,” she says, hands wringing a napkin in her lap. “The fire inspector stopped by the shop today and delivered a citation.”
Stella almost drops her fork. “For what?”
“During the annual inspection of the building, he said the stairs needed repair. We have thirty days to comply or face daily fines that add up until we do.”
“Oh, no. What are we going to do? You’ve had bids on those stairs before. We can’t afford that right now,” Stella worries, the frown lines deepening across her forehead. To me, this is the exact opportunity I wanted. A gift and I don’t even have to make up a cover story.
I clear my throat, seizing the moment. “I’m always looking for a good investment. Why don’t I buy the building, renovate it, and let you stay on as both a commercial and private tenant? We could work it out where you’d be paying less in rent than you did for the mortgage?”
Stella’s eyes flick to me, sharp and suspicious. “No. We couldn’t do that.”
Marjorie disagrees. “Yes, we could.”
“Mom, no.”
“The last I checked, it’s still my building. I bought it. The shop pays the mortgage on it. If I want to sell it…”
I keep my face neutral; this battle could go either way. I know it looks like a lot. Hell, it feels like a lot. But slowing down has never been my strength when I want something. That’s even more so, ever since I became a man with means.
“We should talk about this later.” Stella pushes back from the table, clearing the plates. They’re plain white square ones I picked myself that are simple, but somehow pretty with their rounded edges.
“What for?” her mother crosses her arms and follows her into the kitchen.
Aiden and I sit still and listen to their argument.
“We’ve had enough challenging years. We work hard at the shop, taking no time off.
And for what? We have nothing to show for it.
For once, if Eli’s offer is for real, I’m choosing the easy road. ”
Silence hangs there between them, and I can imagine the glares bouncing off the cabinets.
“I’m interested in discussing this further,” Marjorie addresses me and returns to the table despite their argument.
I clear my throat. “Well. If that’s the case, I’ll speak to my realtor to get comp prices. I can make you an offer and have my lawyer draw up the papers. With the equity I assume you have in this building, you could take time off. Take a vacation during the rebuild.”
“Imagine that. A vacation? Stella, did you hear? Me on a vacation?” Marjorie chortles, shaking her head. “I always wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise where I can sit in the sun and be waited on, for once. Sounds like Heaven.”
I continue without thinking, “I can have my assistant search for a good deal on a cruise for you.”
Stella returns to the table, eyes narrowing. “Eli. That’s enough.”
“Just being helpful.” I shrug.
“Yeah, Mom. The coach is just being helpful. He even wants Grandma to take a vacation. I think that’s really nice of him.” Aiden fist-bumps me across the table.
Things are tense between Stella and me the rest of the time. I send them home with all the leftovers. Marjorie and Aiden go on ahead to the car, while she lingers behind in my doorway, her arms crossed.
“I wish you hadn’t encouraged Mom to go with this plan of yours without giving me time to process and to talk with her about it,” she starts.
“I saw a need and stepped in.”
“Yes, you seem to have a knack for that.”
I back her up against the door frame, where we are mostly out of sight of the occupants waiting in her car. My hand rests above her head, and with the other I tilt her chin to mine. “Are you more upset that I offered or that I’d own the building?”
“I don’t know. Both, maybe?”
“Because… you don’t see a future with me?”
She squirms, her hand landing on my forearm, squeezing it.
“I didn’t say that. But Mom was so proud of herself for getting the deal on the building originally.
To me, it was a symbol of her first attempt at independence after Dad went to prison.
I’d hate to see her give that up unless she’s thought through all the angles. ”