“Of course not, because you refuse to let anything be a thing,” she replies. “For the record, he looks at you like you’re more delicious than brownie batter gelato.”
“Nothing is more delicious than brownie batter gelato,” I argue. “Although I would probably give that up for life for if it means we can keep this going and quiet. The odds are against us.”
“So don’t keep it quiet.” She lifts her shoulders, like it’s not a big deal.
“I told you, I’m not doing that until my career is over,” I reply. “And besides, Landon is just… He’s curious. He doesn’t need his curiosity to become this thing that he can’t get away from at press conferences for the rest of his life. Cancer is already like that, and he hates it.”
“Hmm…” Harlow says like she’s trying to decide something. She smiles up at me. “We’ll see. I have a good feeling about this, GG. As long as you get out of your own way.”
“You’ve got more of your mom in you than I thought,” I kid, and she shoves me.
“My mom’s love of love is adorable,” Harlow replies. “As long as she isn’t trying to make me fall in love. Did that once, not doing it again.”
“Never say never,” I advise, and we get to the corner where I see her car is parked. There’s a fresh dusting of snow on it. “Well, hope the new partner works out. And I’ll tell everyone I saw you and your BF canoodling at the coffee shop this morning if you need an alibi.”
“Thanks.”
I wait as she gets in her car, turns on the windshield wipers to clear the snow, and drives off. Then I head back to my place, hoping Landon is still in my bed.
Chapter 25
Landon
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
Callan laughs and keeps eating my wholegrain Cheerios like he didn’t just give me a heart attack. “Morning, bro. Hey Mom! He’s home!”
I look down the hall as my mom pops her head out of the kitchen. “Hi, baby? Were you out for an early morning workout? Or a walk to clear your head? A yoga class? Do you still do those like you used to in California?”
“I… no. I mean, I haven’t found a… I was…”
Callan smirks over a spoonful of cereal. “She knows exactly where you were. She’s giving you the lies you can both live with, dude, so she doesn’t have to picture your antics with a puck bunny.”
“What are you guys doing here? Did I forget you were coming?”
I take off my coat and hang it up, and then side step into my bedroom, leaving the door open so I can hear her response as I start to quickly peel out of my rumpled suit. “We went to see Callan’s game. He was playing in Boston, and then we decided to swing by and check on you. We’ve been worried.”
“I won, by the way,” Callan says, and he squeezes his eyes shut because he can see me, naked, pulling on my tracksuit. “Dude, you have a hickey on your ass cheek.”
“I got hit by the puck in practice, moron,” I explain. I mean… I think that’s why I have a bruise there. It’s not because of Grady’s mouth… I don’t think. Although we did fuck around a little in the shower and he may have?—
“You’re bruised?” My mom appears in my doorway, wheat blond brows furrowed. Thankfully, I’m fully clothed now. “Are you okay?”
I was bruising from things as simple as a firm handshake right before I was diagnosed with leukemia, so bruising is a trigger word for her. It was one of the signs I ignored. I look down at her and smile reassuringly. “I’m perfectly fine. I swear it was a puck.”
Or my teammate’s mouth. Either way, not leukemia. She smiles, relieved, and reaches out and hands me a cup of tea. Mint ginger from the smell. She’s holding two. “I made you one since you clearly didn’t make any yourself before your morning… walk?”
“Sure, let’s go with walk,” Callan says, and I glare at him.
“Did you say Dad is here too?”
My mom nods, her short blonde bob dancing around her jawline. My mom has always reminded me of a fairy or a sprite. She’s the tiniest person in our entire extended family, but she’s got the biggest heart, hands down, of anyone I’ve ever known. “He is. Slept the whole ride over here from U Maine. Lazy bum. I sent him out for cinnamon rolls.”
“None for me.”
“I’ll eat yours,” Callan says. I’m almost jealous of his metabolism.
I step out of the bedroom and walk over to the chair across from the couch. Mom smacks Callan’s feet until he shifts them off the couch and onto the coffee table, and then she takes the empty space. She holds her mug in two hands and stares at me over the rim. “So… you’re doing okay?”
