“Do you eat roast beef?” I ask him as he peels open the bag of BBQ chips.
“I eat anything,” he replies with his mouth full, and I can’t help but smirk. He frowns down at his can, as if he wants to say something.
“You can talk,” I tell him. That’s another thing he’s started to do more of over the past few days. Talk. The first day, he barely said three words. By this morning, I couldn’t shut him up. He’s not telling me about what’s going on at school, or why he’s so pissed off at the world, but heistalking, so I won’t complain.
“I don’t want to ask weird questions or something.”
“There’s not much you can ask me that will surprise me.” I pass him a sandwich and get to work building one for me. “Shoot.”
“I want to know about hockey.”
I raise an eyebrow, watching as he consumes a quarter of the sandwich in one bite. I slide the second sandwich over to him. He’ll need it.
Building a third, I nod. “Okay. Ask away. I happen to know a lot about that sport.”
He rolls his eyes. “Duh. People at school always try to get me to ask you for tickets, or jerseys, or whatever. It’s stupid.”
“They know we’re family?”
He nods, stuffs more roast beef in his mouth. “Aunt Willow knows everyone, and they know that you guys grew up together, so that filters down to me. It’s not a big deal. But people are weird.”
“You can say that again.” I take a bite, watching him. “Does it bother you?”
“No, I just tell them to get lost. I don’t have that kind of pull.”
“I would have flown you out for every weekend game, if you wanted to go.”
His eyes widen and jerk up to mine. “Huh?”
“Willow and Gideon used to come toevery singlegame,” I continue. “Before he was with the Secret Service, back when it was early in my career, they’d follow me to every game, whether we were home or away. Then life sort of takes over, you know?”
“She got me and couldn’t travel with you anymore,” he says quietly, staring down at the last of his lunch.
Christ, this kid is smart.
“I don’t think it was much of a sacrifice,” I reply and reach over the island to ruffle his already messy dark hair. “She was happy to have you. Have you ever noticed that whenever I give an interview, I always wink at the camera at the end?”
“Sure. I figure it’s because you’re being cocky.”
“Iamcocky,” I confirm, and then make the boy another sandwich because he still looks hungry. “But the wink is for Willow. She knows.”
“That’s why she always watches ESPN, looking for your interviews.”
I pause with a slice of cheese in my fingers. “She does?”
“Yeah. She watches more sports thanme. Hockey, anyway. She watches every game. We had a ritual where we wore our jerseys and she made us nachos, or pizza, or burgers, and we ate while we watched. She mostly did that by herself last year because I was out with friends.”
He frowns and swallows hard but takes the new sandwich and bites in.
Willow watched every game.
I always hoped she did, but I knew she had Aiden to take care of, so I never assumed. She was always sure to call me to talk about the game, but she could have easily watched highlights to have talking points.
But she didn’t just watch the highlights. She watched the games. And that has my chest feeling tight.
This does not help my growing obsession with this woman.
“She’s kind of a sports trivia nut,” he continues. “She can rattle off stats like nobody else. And sometimes, we’ll be watching a game, and she’ll start ranting about something, and then not thirty seconds later,the commentator dudes rant about thesame thing. It’s like she’s psychic or something.”
