“What? No. We’re cool. Honestly.”
“We’re not. Stop lying,” I reply flatly, and he bristles, so I lower my voice. “Dude, it’s clear this has created… issues. I tried to tell you we shouldn’t.”
“You’re the one who bailed on a work thing, and I know it was to avoid me.”
“I… okay, sort of. It’s more because I was freaking out about my feelings. I’m sorry. I promise I am getting over it,” I reply. “Just maybe we should talk about it, so we can both feel better.”
He rubs the back of his neck where the blond hair is darker because it’s still damp. The hair where I threaded my fingers while I came less than twenty-four hours ago. I swallow hard. His gaze slips down like he’s trying to follow my Adam’s apple, but my beard is too thick. He looks back into my eyes. “I was thinking the pretend nothing ever happened route might be a better fit for us.”
His lips turn up in the corners. I laugh. “Pretty sure you’re doing it wrong. Acting like I don’t exist is a sure sign something is up. Let’s talk.”
“Grady!” My sister Shelby’s voice slices through the din of noise around us. I turn to see her bounding toward us in a new Riptide jersey with my number on it. She hugs me. “Mom and Dad are inside with all the uncles and aunts and grandparents. All of them. Come!”
I glance at Landon, who is already heading to the lounge ahead of us. Shelby is tugging me forward. He glances back at me over his shoulder, and I mouth one word. Later?
Landon nods. God, I hope he means it.
I allow Shelby to drag me to the rest of my family. Everyone is super supportive and cheerful, and nobody mentions the fact that I was pulled, which feels like a gift. Until my grandpa Phil grumbles, “Maybe next time you can make it worth the drive and play the whole game,” as they all get into their cars in the VIP parking lot.
My Dad scowls. “Phil, they often play both goalies in pre-season games, so they both get practice. Remember, it doesn’t count.”
“Well, when it does count, you can’t let in five goals. I may not give a shit about sports, but even I know that.” My whole life, he’s been great at saying really shitty stuff casually.
“Well, Daddy, he did alright last year,” Mom reminds him, as casually nice as he is cruel. “I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
Grandma Nance gives her husband of fifty-four years a withering stare before turning to me with more compassionate hazel eyes. “Everyone has off days, Grady. Your grandpa seems to be having one right now.”
I smile. She pats my cheek. “We’ll come again. To the home opener.”
“See you then.” I lean down—way down because Grandma Nance is five-foot-one on a good day—and hug her, not bothering to remind her the term home opener is a baseball thing more than a hockey term.
My mom subtly helps them both into the back of her SUV, and by subtly, I mean she hovers, only gently holding Grandpa Phil’s elbow when he teeters slightly, lifting up his leg to climb in. When they’re seated, she shuts the door for them and turns to me. “I love being able to see you so easily.”
“A two-hour drive with Nance and Phil isn’t easy,” Dad interjects in a sharp mumble. Mom ignores him. She hugs me, rubbing my back as she does. It always reminds me of being very little, coming in from a day of skating and freezing in the backyard with my cousins, and being greeted by her next to our big stone fireplace with a warm blanket. She’d wrap me in it and rub my back the same way. “Have a good road trip and see you when you get back.”
“Love you,” I say. And try not to worry about shitting the bed at the next game they attend. What if I don’t work out my kinks by then? What if Coach doesn’t start me because I shit the bed on this road trip? I’ve been a backup goalie more than not in my career. I thought I turned a corner winning the Cup in L.A., but what if I didn’t?
I pull out of the hug and turn to my dad. “Maybe wait to see if I’m starting the next home game. I’ll keep you posted.”
Dad smiles. “You’ll start. And you know what? Even if you don’t, I want to be here. Seeing you on that bench on the ice is still a dream come true, Grady. A dream I never fulfilled. You always make us proud.”
“Aww… Cole is such a good dad,” Uncle Jordan coos from next to his car parked nose-to-nose with my mom’s.
“It’s like watching Oprah parent,” Uncle Devin adds.
“So sweet and wholesome, I think I got a cavity,” Uncle Luc chimes in.
I know they’re not making fun of me. They’re razzing their brother because it’s Garrison tradition. Teasing is love. My dad raises both hands in the air and flips them the double birds. Mom rolls her eyes and reaches up to lower his arms.
“Seriously, Grady. Good to have you local,” Jordan announces.
“And we’re proud of you too!” Aunt Jessie calls out.
“Yeah. It’s one bad night. Big deal. Your Uncle Jordan played like shit all the time, and he never let it bother him,” Aunt Callie says, and everyone snickers but Jordan. “Love you, little G! Knock ’em dead on the road trip.”
One by one, everyone gets into their cars, and I wait until they’re all in a line driving out of the garage before I head back into the building. The place is pretty empty now except for the staff and players.
There are a few things that are standard no matter what team I’m on, and one of those things is whenever we lose people clear out quickly. Friends and family especially don’t linger if we’re leaving right after a game. Because Boston is only two hours away, we’re taking a luxury coach bus instead of a plane. So I grab my carry-on from the locker room and wheel it down the hall in the opposite direction to the bus parking.
