“Love you too,” she says before I end the call.
I catch a glimpse of the tall lean frame of a man. And a chubby jean clad tiny leg dangling from the front of the man. I walk over to the door and crack it slightly. Jordan Garrison is standing there, Dylan strapped to his chest, and a canvas bag in one hand. He gives me a tentative smile. “Hi.”
"Hi, Mr. Garrison. Is Dylan okay?" I swing the door wider.
Dylan looks at me and grins. His chubby hands fly toward me. I reach out and let him wrap his pudgy fingers around my hand. Jordan nods. “Please call me Jordan, and my wife Jessie. And yes, he’s good, but he misses you, we can tell.”
“Oh.” I smile at Dylan. “It’s okay Dyllie Bear. I’ll always be your bestest bud.”
“Jessie thought I should bring you some clothes,” Jordan explains and hands me the bag he’s carrying. “She picked out stuff from your dresser. I hope that’s okay.”
I look down at the oversized sweatshirt I’m wearing and the pajama bottoms that are cinched as tight as possible but are still swimming on me. “Yeah. At this point any clothes are great. But I was going to arrange to head home tomorrow and pack my stuff. When Tate was at the arena for practice.”
"You're quitting?" Jordan looks crestfallen. "You're leaving?"
“I think it’s best,” I reply quietly. I can’t look him in the eye. “It was my brother Beckett that leaked the story about Dylan. I had nothing to do with it, but if I hadn’t told my brother Emmett, then none of this would have happened.”
“Well, it did and he doesn’t blame you,” Jordan says.
“He sure seems like he does,” I can’t help but share.
“My son is a bit of an idiot when it comes to relationships,” Jordan says simply with a sheepish smile. “Mainly because you’re the first real one he’s ever had.”
“Maybe we will be able to talk this out, but…” I can’t express to Jordan how complicated my feelings are. It’s personal and I’m not even sure I understand it all myself just yet. But I feel betrayed by Tate. And hurt. And… like we ended before we began. “Right now I think I just need some space. I don’t want to leave Dylan high and dry when his dad is going to hunker down for playoffs but we had started the interview process and I know there are some good candidates out there who can take over for me.”
“Don’t worry about that. My wife will likely insist we stay,” Jordan explains. “And I don’t have any issue being able to attend all my son’s home playoff games. Or do unscheduled drop-ins on that daughter of mine either.”
He grins, like the idea of surprising Tenley whenever he wants brings him joy. I smile back and nod before running my hand over Dylan’s downy blond head one last time. “Well, then… thanks for the clothes.”
“Oh I’m not just here for that,” Jordan says. “I’m here to drive you to the game.”
“The game?”
“Thunder versus Quake,” he says. “Your brother versus my son. Last game of the regular season.”
"Oh, I'm not going to the game."
“I hate to break it to you but my wife said if I didn’t come back with you, she was going to come over here, with Tenley, and kidnap you,” Jordan explains and he gets this ridiculously serious look on his face. “My daughter watches enough true crime documentaries that I’m sure she isn’t kidding. And she’ll have you hog-tied and in the back of her trunk before you know what hit you.”
Sadly, I don’t think he’s exaggerating. I look down at my bag of clothes and back up at Mr. Garrison and Dylan. I give Dylan’s chin a quick tickle and he giggles. “Okay. Come have a seat. I’ll go upstairs and change real quick.”
* * *
Forty minutes later I’ve got a VIP lanyard around my neck, sitting on the edge of my seat watching the opening face-off from the Quake team box. Jessie is on one side of me and Tenley is on the other. Jordan is next to his wife and Dylan is asleep in his Baby Bjorn totally unaware his daddy is on the ice below. But I can’t take my eyes off Tate. Because he’s Tate, and also because he’s staring across the ice at my brother who is staring back.
“They are going to tear each other’s heads off on puck drop aren’t they?” Tenley asks no one in particular.
“They’d have done it in warm-up, but it would have got them booted for the entire game,” Jordan says.
There was a moment when both teams were on the ice for warm-up and Emmett and Tate skated down the center of the ice, shoulder-to-shoulder, exchanging what looked like heated words. I held my breath until I thought I would pass out but Crew skated over and pulled Tate away.
“Thank God Dyllie Bear is asleep.” Jessie sighs. “I don’t want him to see this.”
“I don’t want to see this,” I mutter.
The puck drops. Crew and the Thunder centreman battle for it. But no one is paying attention. It’s Emmett who skates across the ice and gets in Tate’s face. Emmett drops his stick and his gloves. Tate drops his stick but his gloves remain on and he doesn’t raise his arms. Nash and Crew ignore the puck and skate over to Tate but another Thunder player skates in to intercept them.
The ref’s whistle blows as Emmett grabs the front of Tate’s jersey and the fans start yelling and hollering. My fists clench in my lap. “What the hell is my brother doing?”
