I drop the phone on my chest, sighing.
Why is he so damn sweet?
How is he still the same golden retriever kind of man that he was ten years ago?
Harrison
Anyway, I’ll let you go. I know it’s late.
Me
Harrison?
Harrison
Yeah?
Me
I care about you too.
Harrison
Night Harp.
Me
Night H.
I place my phone on the stand next to me and stare up at the ceiling. Somehow, deep down…this feels like the beginning of something I’m not sure I could stop if I tried.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HARRISON
Practice wraps, but nobody is acting like it.
Instead of heading off the ice, the guys stay out for “one more round” of cool-down drills, which in their language means piss off Harrison as much as possible while pretending to work on passing accuracy.
Oliver flicks a puck toward me as I skate backward, lining up a transition drill. It’s not a real shot, more like a lazy slide with malicious intent.
“So,” Oliver calls, grin wide, “yourfamilycoming today?”
The puck taps my stick. I redirect it without looking at him.
“They’re not my family,” I say, but the denial sounds thin even to my own ears.
Which means the feeding frenzy officially begins.
“Ohhhh,” Griffin crows from the red line, “he didn’t deny they’re coming. Just denied the family part.”
“That means yes,” Bodhi adds. “Definitely yes.”
August skates up beside me and shoulder-bumps me lightly. “Man’s already practicing his dad voice. I heard him earlier.” He clears his throat and deepens his voice, impersonating me when he says, “Connor, bud, great hustle today! Make sure to hydrate and do your homework!”
“I don’t sound like that,” I mutter.
“You one hundred percent do,” Ledger says, flipping a puck up and catching it on the blade of his stick. “It’s adorable, actually.”
