But that doesn’t mean I need to take advantage of him. “I appreciate all of this, Jason. Thank you. This is plenty. I’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t really look like he believes me, but he doesn’t say so. “Okay. But you’ll let me know if that changes? You have my number. Text me. Or call. Anytime. If I don’t answer, know that I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m free.”
“Sure,” I say, knowing I have no intention of taking him up on that. How weird would that be? Besides, he’s busy, running around all over the place playing hockey. He doesn’t even live here anymore. The fact I’ve run into him like this at all is insane. The chances of it happening again? Virtually zero.
So I’ll take this gift for what it is. Say thank you. And move on with my life. He’ll at least help me get through this month, covering what I’m short for rent and giving me a few extra dollars to help make my first payment on whatever it’ll cost to fix my car.Please let it not be thousands of dollars.
“Okay,” I say, ready to change the topic. “You’ve gotten the broad strokes of what I’ve been up to since middle school. It’s your turn. Fill me in on the last tenish years.”
He grins, and the smile that he flashes is enough to make me blush again, which is embarrassing. He gives me a funny look when he notices—because of course he notices—but doesn’t say anything about it. “Well, as you know, I got drafted into the OHL after my junior year. I spent the next couple of years playing in Ontario before getting drafted by the Beavers. I don’t know how much you follow hockey?—”
“Not at all,” I murmur, and he grins again.
“Right. Well, you can get drafted while you’re still playing for the Juniors but still play for your Juniors team. So even though I was officially on the roster for the Beavers, I only played a few games the first couple of seasons until I aged out of the Juniors, and then I got called up full-time.” He shrugs, almost self-deprecating. “I got traded a couple times, getting my big break when they started up the team in Seattle. Especially the first season, our bench wasn’t real deep, so I got a lot more ice time and ended up as a starter most games. And that’s where I still am. I renewed my contract last year, and things are going really well.”
I smile—a genuine one this time. “That’s great, Jason. I remember you and Hunter always talking about going pro. Who was it you always said you’d play for?”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Chicago. They were my dream team, growing up here.”
“And?” I prompt. “Is that who you still want to play for?”
Shrugging—and I do my best to ignore the way the muscles in his biceps pop as he lifts his hands—he offers a lopsided smile. “Maybe someday, I guess? I don’t know. I’m pretty happy where I am. I have a good team. Friends. The coaching staff is great.We’ve made it to the playoffs the last couple of years. A Stanley Cup win would be great, but I’m not jonesing to leave.”
“Good,” I say softly. “I’m glad you’re happy and doing well.”
“Thanks.” His answer is just as soft.
As I’m casting about for something else to talk about, I’m saved by the doorbell ringing. Jason stands. “Must be the tow truck.”
I follow him to the door, trailing along as he talks to the tow truck driver, following them both outside while they load my car onto the bed of the truck. Jason tells them the name of someplace to take it, but I’m kind of in a daze right now. The tow truck driver’s not even talking to me, which would normally piss me off. But I can’t even blame him, given Jason’s take-charge attitude. Plus, Jason’s the one who hands him a credit card. Who wouldn’t assume he was the one in charge here?
Honestly, it’s nice to let someone else handle things for once. I’ve been handling myself since I was barely a teenager—cooking dinner, doing laundry, signing permission slips and report cards, the works. I even filled out all the financial aid paperwork for college, doing all the grunt work and just getting my parents to sign things that needed their actual signatures. I didn’t have any problem typing in their names for the e-signature forms. I knew they wouldn’t care. They’d just be happy they didn’t have to do anything extra. Especially when I was in high school, forging their signatures was easy. The school never saw the real thing like my middle school had—or at least not connected to me—so I didn’t have to be extra careful to make it match anything but my own versions.
Normally I fight tooth and nail to stay in control, but I guess when I acquiesced to him paying for the tow truck and giving me cash to cover my rent, I decided to just let him be in charge for tonight. I can’t even bring myself to feel guilty or awkward about it.
When the truck pulls away, we both watch it until it disappears around the corner, then Jason turns to me. “Ready for me to take you home? Or do you want to hang out a while longer?”
While I don’t necessarily want to go home all that much, staying here feels super weird. So I nod. “Yeah. Home’s good.”
“I’m serious, though,” he says, holding my gaze, his blue eyes broadcasting sincerity. “If you want to stay here, you can. My parents won’t mind. And I can still take you to your place to get a change of clothes or whatever. Then I can take you to the shop tomorrow so we can see what’s what. We’ll want to be there pretty soon after they open.”
“Oh, uh …” I guess I didn’t even think about that. Once I checked out of being in charge, I didn’t think to worry about what might need to happen tomorrow.
“But if you’d rather stay at home, I get it. I can pick you up at eight. Does that sound good?”
“Eight?” God, that’s early.
His eyebrows lift. “Is that … that’s when the shop opens.”
“Yeah, no. That’s fine. Eight’s good. I can be ready by then.”
“Okay. Awesome. Let me grab my keys.”
He jogs past me, his leather flip-flops slapping against his heels, and I turn to watch him disappear into the house. “Get it together, Hailey,” I mutter to myself. “You’re not Cinderella, and he’s not Prince Charming here to save you from your terrible life.” His knight-in-shining-armor routine notwithstanding. “This is just a one-off thing. He caught you at your most damsel-in-distress moment. He’s rescuing you for tonight. Then he’ll be back to Seattle, back to his life, and you’ll still be here. In Wisconsin. Delivering food—once your car’s fixed—teaching lessons, and playing gigs. You’ve taken care of yourself for years. You can keep doing it now.”
Plus, I do have several gigs coming up this month—a few weddings and a couple of bar gigs. The cello player in our quartet had a baby last month, so my usual staple of wedding gigs during the summer has been substantially smaller because of that. I’ve managed to book a few as a soloist, and I put together some pop tunes with backing tracks and sent them to a few pubs and bars that frequently have live music in the summer on their patios to see if they’d be interested. I only got a couple of bites from that, but they pay decently, so I think I’ll be okay for August.
Or, I thought I’d be okay before my car crapped out. That might fuck up everything.
