Standing in my new kitchen, Bomb Site Central, I held up two bottles of Sam Adams Summer ale and gestured toward my guest. Theo Kershaw—as in the Theo Kershaw, captain of the Chicago Rebels, four-time Cup winner, and a legend in his own time—had just picked up a box, without even bending his knees, and was walking toward the living room.
“It’s marked ‘bedroom,’” he said as if that was a perfectly acceptable response.
The movers had left it in the wrong room, and now Theo wanted to drag it upstairs because he was a fixer and couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“Put it down, dickhead. Come sit in the backyard and drink a beer.”
“But it’ll only take a sec?—”
“T, drop it!”
Chuckling at my outburst, he did as he was told, rubbed his back, and headed my way. The last thing I needed was to be responsible for an injury just as the guy was contemplating a one-year extension with the Rebels. An extension I hoped he would take so we could play together on the same team for the first time in our pro-hockey careers. I hadn’t lived in Chicago since college except for a few weeks each summer when I usually helped Theo with the Rebels Youth Hockey Camp. My rookie years were with LA, but the last ten had been with Boston.
Now I was back, feeling like this was where I belonged. Playing with the Chicago Rebels, my hometown team, and potentially with my favorite player.
My brother.
Finding out, when I was twelve, that I was related to Theo Kershaw had been amazing. Even more so was learning that he wanted a relationship with me. My parents divorced when I was thirteen, and Theo was there for me at the worst time of my life. Because it wasn’t just the hurt of my parents’ split. It was learning who my father really was.
Nick Isner had abandoned Theo’s mom with baby T cooking away in the oven and skipped off to college, leaving her and his kid to be raised without his support. Even when Theo showed up at Dad’s office at eighteen, with a scholarship to Vermont in hand, not looking for anything other than acknowledgment, Dad didn’t want to know. Later, when Theo and I connected, he had tried to cover for Nick and blame his previous bad behavior on our dad’s youth.
But I always suspected something was wrong. Knowing how my own father had treated his eldest son had broken my heart. These days I was closer to Theo than I was to my dad. The hockey connection, but more than that. He was my role model in all things, and I was thrilled to finally be living in the same city together as adults.
We headed out to the yard, still relatively pristine because I hadn’t had a chance to fuck it up yet. The house was prime real estate on Chicago’s North Shore, about ten minutes from Rebels HQ in Riverbrook, twenty miles or so from downtown Chicago. I wasn’t quite on the shores of Lake Michigan, but I could see a sliver of gray blue between a couple of the swankier houses on the lakefront, and that was good enough for me.
Theo took a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs, and I took the other, watching for any signs he might have injured himself.
“I’m fine, dude.”
I passed him the bottle, and we clinked and sipped. Behind me, a shitload of work awaited, but right now, nothing was pressing and all was good. The summer sky was clear except for a couple of fluffy-as-fuck clouds that made the blue look bluer. Clouds for good.
“That thing safe?” Theo pointed his bottle at the red metal frame several feet away.
“Want to test it?”
“Hell yeah!” He made to get up as I shook my head.
“Your ass wouldn’t fit in those seats.” Neither would mine. The trials of a hockey player.
Settled back down in the chair, he said, “Probably should yank it before Tilly spots it.”
Tilly was Theo’s youngest, almost five years old. Rather than remove it, I’d get it assessed for safety because I liked the idea of it sitting there, waiting for a kid to use it. That swing set had spoken to me as my realtor gave me the virtual tour on FaceTime.
“Let me think on it.”
Theo gave me a funny look. “You okay?”
“Everly’s hooked up with Ryan Coughlan.”
“Jesus, that was quick.”
Everly was my ex as of two months ago. We’d been together a little over six months, and a while back I had started thinking we should move to the next phase.
We were hanging with my Cougars teammate, Dean Foster, and his wife, Molly, at a cookout. They’d just had a baby, a gorgeous little girl called Jenna, and I was getting a bit broody about it. I loved holding her and feeling that warm little body close to mine, her tiny sighs and gurgles, and her soft, peachy skin against my neck.
“That’ll be you next,” Dean had said.
Molly laughed and nudged Everly. “You two would have stunning kids.”
