I stare at him. Bloody hell, what do I say? Is nine, almost ten, old enough to be told that his grandparents are fighting for custody of him? The urge to throw up rises once more—what if hewantsto go live with his grandparents?
“Uh, it’s just…it’s a letter from your grandma,” I tell him. He grunts in reply, apparently unconcerned. “Do you—when you were over there last time for a visit, did Grandma say anything to you about…things?”
Squinting at me around a mouthful of granola bar, heshrugs. “I don’t know. She wanted to know how everything was going. How living here is, and stuff.”
“Okay,” I manage to choke out, even though I’m starting to freak-the-fuck-out. “And what did you tell her?”
“I said it was whatever. I don’t care.” He shrugs again, staring at me moodily. I give myself a little shake—it’s not fair of me to be grilling him for information.
“All right, little man. No drama. You ready for school tomorrow? Homework done?”
“Yeah.”
“Need me to check it?” I offer, earning myself another shrug.
“Whatever.”
He slouches back toward his room, and I grab his backpack from the floor next to the couch. I’m taking “whatever” to be acquiesce to check the homework, even though Parker doesn’t seem to have a problem getting his schoolwork done. He’ll grumble and moan about it, but I’ve not yet gotten complaints from teachers or seen anything returned with a bad grade.
It doesn’t take me long to go over his work, and I’m once more left with my own thoughts. I truly hadn’t expected my parents to actually try and take Parker. But of course they are, because Mum doesn’t care how stressful or miserable this year has been. She only cares that I’ve stolen something from her that she thinks should be hers. She cares that I suffer, and apparently has no qualms about Parker being caught in the cross fire.
“We need to talk about McIntire,”Nico says, and I feel a strange surge of guilt. Pausing the video, I turn to face him.
“He’s been playing better,” I comment, unsure what to make of my own reaction. What the hell do I have to feel guilty about? My thoughts turn to his expressive face, and the way his hair shines a rich, burnished crimson in the sun; the freckles that cover so much of his skin, it looks like he has a tan. I push the image away.
“I agree.” Nico pauses and I wait for the inevitable “but” that is likely to follow. “But he also threw up before our last game.”
I frown. “He did?”
“He used the staff bathroom, not the one in the locker room.” Nico rubs a finger into his temple, closing his eyes. Not for the first time, I wish this office had a dimmer switch on the lights. Maybe it’s something I can put in a request for. “Which does make me wonder if he’s been doing that beforeeverygame, and I just haven’t caught him yet.”
“Did you say anything?” I ask, but he immediately shakes his head.
“No. I’ve made slow—very slow—progress with Micky these past seasons, and confronting him would have undone all of that. He’s not…comfortable with me. The fact that he is nervous enough to be puking before a game does not sit well with me, though.”
“No,” I murmur in agreement, thinking of my own issues with that particular bodily function. I don’t think Jack makes himself sick on purpose, the way I used to, but anxiety-induced vomiting isn’t that much better.
“I can talk to him,” I offer. “Parker and I have run into him around town a few times, actually. Parker’s pretty smitten.”
Dropping his hand away from his temple, Nico smiles at me. A small, somewhat pained smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Played frisbee with us in the park last weekend, and I let him use our washing machine. He was walking down to the laundromat, trying to save a handful of quarters.”
Nico grimaces. “He’s here on a very inclusive scholarship that’s only offered to children who grew up in care. His tuition and books are paid for, as well as housing and the campus cafés. Unfortunately, extra things such as the student laundry facilities and anything he might need from the bookstore are not included.”
“Things that parents would provide extra cash for,” I fill in. Nico nods.
“It has crossed my mind several times to offer assistance, but Anthony advised me against it.” He sighs, a hint of remorse in the sound. “We do need to speak with him about the puking, though.”
“I will,” I promise. Thinking of Parker, and the seven times he’s asked me about Jack since we played frisbee in the park, I add, “And is it okay for him to spend time at my place? With Parker?”
Again, an unwelcome sliver of guilt slips beneath my skin. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. It’s not as though I’m doing anything wrong by seeing Jack outside of hockey, but I suddenly feel the need to obtain confirmation of that from Nico. Nothing would get me fired quicker than someone questioning whether I’m in any sort of romantic relationship with Jack; taking advantage of him. My stomach rolls and for a moment I long for the privacy to throw up.
“Of course. The training staff will occasionally utilize the boys for cheap labor and babysitting,” Nico says, blissfully unaware of my minor spiral into panic. “I don’t know everything about Micky’s life, but I know enough to know that he could likely use all the friends he can get. If that includes your kid, well, so be it.”
Grateful, I nod, even though I still feel a little queasy. It’s ridiculous, since it’s not as though Jack is a child—he’s twenty years old, an adult, and our relationship is purely platonic. Of course, now I’m thinking about how much I do appreciate the color of his hair, and the freckles on his skin. I’m thinking about the way he blushes, and the way his honey-colored eyes shine in the sun; about how sweet and gentle he is; how patient with Parker. I am, naturally, thinking distinctly un-platonic thoughts.
