“You still have practice today, don’t you?” Colin gives me a pointed look, and I belatedly realize I’ve been standing in the middle of the kitchen, lost in my own thoughts, for what feels like a very long time.
“Yeah, I’m on my way out the door now.” I open the fridge to grab a water bottle and a pre-portioned lunch container and toss them into my bag. “Do you need anything while I’m out? I think I’ll stop at the grocery store on my way home.”
He raises a brow, but only says, “No, thanks. I’m good. I’ll probably be finished here before you get back, anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later, then. Let me know if you need anything.”
I turn to head out the door and smile to myself when he calls after me, “Drive safe!” like I’m his kid heading off to school instead of a grown man going to work.
But that’s one of the things I appreciate about him. He cares. I honestly didn’t expect him to when I first hired him. Not about me and my life, anyway.
He does, though. He cares about whether I’m eating healthy and taking care of myself in the off-season. He cares about who I surround myself with and doesn’t judge me when I basically live like a college student in this pretentious mansion.
A mansion that he also cares about, making sure the plants get watered and the windows get cleaned and that the garbage gets taken down to the curb on… whatever day the garbage truck comes.
I’m still distracted and thinking back on the morning’s events during my drive to the arena, but I try to put everything elseaside from the upcoming practice out of my mind as I pull into the parking lot.
No matter what else I have going on outside this place, it’s hockey time for the next few hours.
It helps that pretty much nothing changes here from week to week. This is the place where the routine is strongest. Hell, this is the point of the routine.
At the end of the day, we’re all just a bunch of guys who come in, talk trash with our friends, and give everything we have to the sport we all love so much.
As always, I ignore most of the good-natured joking and head straight for my locker, methodically changing clothes and strapping on my gear for our warm-ups.
Noah greets me with a head nod and walks over to sit on the bench next to my locker. “Hey man, how’s it going?”
“Fine.” I look at him from the corner of my eye as he makes a point of lacing up his skates. It’s obvious there’s something going on. Even if his locker wasn’t at the other end of the room, Noah knows better than most people that I don’t do small talk. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing.” He shrugs and we both know he’s lying. “I just, uh, wanted to thank you again for everything you’re doing for Heather and April.”
I exhale, hoping this will be the end of the conversation before it turns awkward. Or more awkward than it already is.
“No big deal.” Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I didn’t do anything special. Anyone else would’ve done the same thing.”
“I don’t think so.” His tone is serious enough to make me pause this time. “Most people would have made sympathetic noises and maybe, maybe offered to help them book a hotel for the night. You offered them a place to live. Indefinitely.”
There’s a part of me that knows he’s right. But I also know I’m not some kind of hero or knight in shining armor. Heathercould have—and would have—figured things out and made it happen on her own, without any help or input from me. All I did was grease the wheels a little and hopefully saved her some stress.
“I had the space.” I pull my practice jersey on and try again to end the conversation. “I mean, I appreciate what you’re saying, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It’s a big deal to Heather. And to Margo. Knowing her sister and niece are taken care of by someone who doesn’t expect anything in return… it means everything to her.”
“I’m glad.” I don’t know what else to say, but I hope he’ll stop thanking me for simply doing the right thing. “Heather deserves most of the credit herself. She’s the one who holds it all together for herself and for her daughter.”
Noah grins and shakes his head. “You know, for someone who works so hard to convince everyone he’s a heartless bastard, you sure do a lot of really decent things.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I mutter under my breath, which gets a laugh out of him.
“Your secret is safe with me, big guy. But seriously, thank you.”
I nod but don’t say anything else as I finish pulling my gear on. And I’m secretly glad when he heads back over to his own locker. The last thing I need is more analysis of my motivations or my supposedly hidden soft side.
Ten minutes later, we’re on the ice for warm-ups and I’m finally in my element. So much of what we do in practice is pure reflex and muscle memory, but I need this time—not just for the sake of staying on top of my game, but to turn off my brain and get outside my head for a little while every day.
And then the shit-talking starts back up again.
Reese skates up beside me as we’re doing laps with a grin so wide that I know he’s up to something. “So Parker, how’s domestic life treating you?”
