Chapter 14
Thayne
“Wait,” putting my truck in park precedes me continuing my investigation, “you’re goin’ to the doc…again?” It’s impossible to stop my forehead from crinkling in concern. “You sure you’re alright, Grams?”
“Boy, I’ll be fine,” she brushes off, voice warmly flooding through the speakers. “When you get to be my age, you’re always at the damn doctor. This gettin’ old shit’s a damn Fonzie scheme.”
“Ponzi.”
“Why you bringin’ up Happy Days?” Grams huffs through a cough.
Bronny removes his mouth from his LMC energy drink, clearly prepared to explain the line change issue, when I simply lift my hand up and shake my head to stop him.
“You actually need somethin’ or tryin’ to make sure I ain’t lonely without you boys around?” she sassily investigates.
“I know you miss me,” my little brother states, mirth riddled in his voice.
“Like I miss mowin’ the lawn in the winter.”
“You don’t mow in the winter,” he quickly reminds.
“Mmmhmm,” escapes in a haughty hum.
Yet again, his mouth drops to argue, prompting me to interrupt before I end up even later to unofficial pracky, “Can you swing by Bronny’s old school and have them resend his transfer paperwork, please?”
“Is that why he ain’t in school now? They mess somethin’ up?”
“Unfortunately,” I mumble, tossing a small glance in his direction. “Them and my attorney it seems.”
“You gotta stay on top of folks.”
“I am.” It’s impossible not to smirk. “Gilly’s helpin’.”
“She’s got good taste in shows.”
“She does.”
“She’s a good woman, Thayne.”
“I know.”
“You bes’ be doin’ everything you can to keep her.”
“I am.”
“And you bes’ be plannin’ to make an honest woman out of her.”
“At least once a day.”
“That’s my boy,” she croons although sadly it transitions into a questionable cough. “Now, I need to get inside to my appointment, but I’ll go by the school again afterward.”
“Remember, Dubs is comin’ up this weekend to bring me my new bucket and pads, but on his way, he’s gonna pop in to see you and-”
“I don’t need checkin’ on.”
“He misses you.”
“He don’t miss me. He jus’ does what this family tells him to, meanin’ you told him to.”
Alright.
Fair.
In that sense.
And he actually does miss Grams – she’s hard not to – ‘cause he’s been traveling so much these past couple of years, but he is only going over to make sure she’s okay on her own.
I don’t think she’s ever been this alone.
Um lonely.
Er.
Independent.
That sounds better.
That sounds less like a Janet Jackson anthem.
“Nah, I did,” Bronson unexpectedly interjects into the conversation. “I didn’t pack my lucky hat that Gramps gave me, and I kinda need it out here.”
A lie.
But a well-intended one.
“Can’t wait ‘til we come home for Christmas.”
The small grin he delivers me indicates he knows exactly what he’s doing.
That he has my back the way I keep trying to have his – despite his teen denial.
“Gotta impress the new broadskies wink emoj.”
“Why?!” I chastise under my breath. “Why say the goddamn emoji?”
“See, now that hat nonsense I won’t buy, but at least I believe you’re sellin it,” Grams informs on a small chortle.
“For the last time, I don’t need no body checkin’ on me…
Y’all need to be focusin’ on y’all. Time with each other.
Time with Gilly. School. Hockey. Family.
” Her pause doesn’t leave ample time for any more arguments to be made.
“But I’ll give him your hat to bring home to you and a couple slices of pie. ”
“Thanks, Grams.”
“Mmmhmm,” she brushes off again. “We’ll talk later. Love you, boys.”
“Love you, Grams,” we echo prior to the call ending.
Afterward, I kick my chin in his direction. “That was a different kinda hat trick.”
“No.” Bronny disgustedly shakes his head at the same time he opens his door. “No Dad jokes.” The action is executed faster. “Vomit emoj.”
“You’re a vomit emoj,” I childishly mock during my own exiting.
Post grabbing my coffee, my gear bag, and locking my truck, we head side by side into the barn, politely waving or greeting staff enroute in between reviving the fight we were originally having before Grams finally answered my call.
“Me learnin’ to drive is already happenin’,” he grunts. “Why can’t it be with your truck?”
“’Cause I saw what you did to my kitchen.”
“That was an accident!”
“And what do ya think will be happenin’ the first time you get a pair of tits in a text?”
“Groffeeeeeeee,” a familiar voice suddenly shouts from behind me, thankfully summoning my attention elsewhere.
“Snowman,” I greet as he jogs up next to me.
“Groffee JV,” he tauntingly states to my brother.
“No,” we reject in tandem.
Laughter precedes him adjusting his own bag and cheekily pointing to the object in our hands. “I see you two are supporting the family business.”
“Ginger molasses latte for me, some energy drink garbage for him.”
“Are you truly incapable of ordering something remotely normal?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You are so bloody weird,” playfully goads Snowman.
“You know I prefer to make my own, especially on non-game days, but I didn’t exactly have time this morning if you catch my clapper,” leaves me alongside an extended fist for bumping.
“Wait! Family business?!” my brother croaks stopping us dead in our tracks. “Your family owns LMC?!”
“My Slayer’s family does, yes.”
“No shit!”
“Yes,” Frosky lightly laughs, “however, we do not discuss it, much like our pending nuptials.”
“Yeah, not all chicks wanna talk about their pierced nipples,” Bronny concurs alongside a sympathetic head nod.
“Not…” I briefly shut my eyes in exasperation. “Just…” A heavy sigh is wedged between words. “No.”
“I swear she has to be the only Slayer on the bloody planet who does not want to plan a wedding,” complains our top scorer from last season, recollecting my glare.
He should consider himself lucky they don’t have to hide their relationship anymore.
I envy that.
Him.
Him for that.
And for being able to ask her to be his forever.
MoeBrandyknows, that’s what’s really deep in my heart.
“You’ve met Hoss,” escapes on a crooked grin, “what part of her screams Etta James and a white dress?”
“The part of her that cannot wait to smash bloody cake in my face.” While I lightly chuckle, my little brother laughs loudly sparking Frosky to jab, “And what exactly are you laughing at, Tiny Tendy? You have yet to land a sniper anywhere near the one I have.”
“Nahhhhh,” is accompanied by an amused headshake, “he ain’t a tiny tendy. Bud can barely catch a cold let alone a puck.”
Giving his broccoli style hair a playful ruffle instantly leads to him swatting at me.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” the player who wears an A on his sweater during the season casually inquires. “Perhaps learning the importance of brushing your teeth in the morning and before bed?”
“That’s fake news,” Bronny quickly denies. “Gilly’s jus’ makin’ that shit up to help her friends at big toothpaste push more product.”
My mouth twitches in preparation of arguing when another person unexpectedly questions, “Gilly?”
Our faces immediately whip over to where Blanc has arrived behind us pushing Frosky to politely state, “Hey, Coach.”
“Snowman.” His cordial nod is delivered to me next. “Tendy.”
“Coach.”
“Tendy Junior.” Bronny’s sneering barely has time to be flashed courtesy of Coach continuing. “Gilly as in my baby sister Gilly?”
She’s not a baby.
She’s a full-blown woman.
We’re talkin’ Shania Twain would be hella proud.
We’re talkin’ Fleetwood Mac used her for inspiration.
We’re talkin’ Whitney and Chaka Khan turned it into an anthem on her behalf.
Sure, he’s her best friend and cool with her datin’ one-offs or whatever, but I get the vibe that when it comes to the man who’s gonna have more with her – me – it’s not gonna go down nearly that smoothly.
I’m gettin’ a total Luther Ingram melody, and he doesn’t even have a clue about us yet.
Well.
Other than she is part of an us.
“You talkin’ shit about her?” He folds his arms unhappily across his Dalvegan jacket bearing chest. “Why?” Confusion cakes itself in place. “Wait. How?” Crinkles to his forehead prompt me to nervously swallow. “How do you know anything about her?”
Panic pierces my gaze along with Bronny’s.
“She is the teeth doc, Coach,” Frosky swiftly inserts for us. “Bronskie went to get his done pre-school.”
“He’s a bit old for preschool, Groffee,” Coach playfully goads. “Have you tried enrolling him in grade school?”
Nervous laughter is hard to hide.
But I still try.
“Isn’t that where you should be now?” Blanc precedes to investigate. “Not here? Talkin’ shit about the woman who’s giving you panty dropping gibs instead of letting you end up toothless like Looft?”
“We uh…” my bag gets a small adjustment, “we moved Bronny here from Middlebrook to live with me. I got guardianship.” Coach’s eyes cut over, encouraging me to keep talking, “Better schools. Better um…attention. More attention? More role models?”
“You’re not talking about Frosky, right?” Coach teases on a small chortle.
“Highstick to the face?” Snowman lets his head fall to one side. “Honestly?”
“I’d have his hide in school right now if there hadn’t been a small fuck up in his paperwork.”
“Which means you’re here for pracky,” he warmly concludes. “Got blades?”
Bronny quickly shakes his head.
“Swing by Bricks’ office. Let him hook you up. He’s got spares – likely unclaimed from last season.” Another kind grin is flashed. “You can join us on the ice. You know. Since it’s nothing ‘official’, aye?”
“Correct,” Frosky spews before I can. “This is nothing official, so may I ask why you are here?”
Thank fuck one of us is using the squishy thing inside their head for more than just music.
“Budgeting meeting got postponed,” he informs on an innocent shrug. “Figured I’d come hang out with you boys. Fuck around.” His eyebrows waggle. “Have a little more fun than we can during reg.”
That was our thought process too.
Except it ain’t mine anymore.