I give him a hard look and a grunt, then pick up the pace. But half the team is within earshot, and the topic of my personal life is apparently too tempting for them to pass up.
Sawyer chimes in from my other side, “I never thought we’d see the day when Grant Parker has a kid running around the house.”
“She doesn’t run around the house,” I say, gritting my teeth and hating that I’m taking the bait. “She’s a good kid. A damn good kid.”
“No doubt she is,” Theo calls out from behind us. “But come on, man. You’re the guy who schedules his meals and color codes his training equipment. What happens when she starts leaving toys everywhere and eating your protein bars as snacks?”
The other guys laugh, and I know I should just let the jabs roll off my back, but I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.
“It’s not like that,” I snap, making them laugh even harder. “She doesn’t leave toys or anything else lying around.”
“She’s on her best behavior right now, just like you are,” Reese says. “Give it a week, and you’ll be twitching every time she moves a couch cushion.”
“Or when she wants to watch cartoons during your meditation time,” Sawyer adds.
I want to tell them they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about, but maybe they have a point underneath all the teasing. Everything seems to be working out great so far, but maybe that’s only because we’re all on our best behavior, like Reese said.
So instead of telling the guys to shove it, the best I can do is grumble about how I don’t meditate.
Which, of course, they find hilarious.
And yeah, maybe my schedule has changed a little. Maybe it feels a little weird to take other people into consideration before I do things that I normally wouldn’t give a second thought, like keeping some clothes on for the sauna or making sure there are kid-friendly food options in the fridge.
They’re small things, but they can start to add up over the course of a week that’s built on a thousand small, consistent routines.
“Are you guys done?” I interrupt their relentless commentary about my impending nervous breakdown and head toward the goal—the place where I really do call the shots and can make them eat some of their words.
“For now,” Reese calls after me. “But we’re gonna keep an eye on you, Parker. This could turn out better than reality TV.”
I tune them out and fall into my practice routine, shutting down my brain and letting my reflexes take over for the next two hours until it’s time for our cool-down skate and a quick team meeting back in the locker room.
As I’m pulling off my gear and mostly ignoring Reese’s story about some new restaurant he and Callie went to last night, I see my phone light up and buzz with a text.
The name that flashes on the screen makes my stomach do something weird.
Heather.
I reach for it as nonchalantly as possible, praying nobody is close enough to look over my shoulder. Getting texts from her at practice would only add fuel to the fire, and I’d never hear the end of it.
Still, there’s no way I’m going to put off reading it just so these guys will stay off my back. I’d never forgive myself if something was actually wrong and she needed me.
I swipe to open the message and instantly feel my stomach unclench a little once I’m sure it’s not an emergency.
HEATHER: Hi, Grant. I know you said it was no big deal earlier, but I’m so sorry about leaving such a mess in the kitchen this morning. I hope you’ll let Colin know that I’ll take care of it as soon as I get home!
I start to smile but stop myself again. Wrong place. Wrong time.
At least this will be an easy reply.
ME: What mess?
Three dots appear to show that she’s typing, and now I feel like I can’t set my phone down without missing what she’s going to say.
HEATHER: Ha. That’s nice of you to say, but we both know that kitchen was in rough shape when I left, and definitely not because of you!
ME: Trust me, Colin has seen worse. Much worse.
The reply is instant.
