CHAPTER THREE
JONAH
Before Alexio arrived,I asked Nikos not to mention that I was with the PPHL if he didn’t already know who I was. “Guys like him get weird about it, okay? And I’m not in the mood to get into an argument with some asshole hockey player about who does and doesn’t belong at the arena.”
Nikos didn’t argue with me. “Why do you think he won’t know you?”
I almost laughed. “Because guys on the NHL teams make it a point not to know any of us. And I don’t have any fight left in me tonight.”
Nikos was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I want to believe my brother won’t be a twat about it, but he can be a little stubborn sometimes.”
I had no doubt.
But I couldn’t be angry at either of them. Fuck’s sake, they were taking care of my dad while my mom was god only knows where, and my brothers had no idea what was happening. I had to sort this out, but I was running out of time before the game, and I was starting to feel a little desperate.
Luckily, Nikos’s brother wasn’t too far, and it only took him ten minutes to get back to the shop, pulling his car into the narrow alley. I heard the car door open, then slam shut, and heavy, arrogant footsteps heading toward us.
Though maybe I was projecting. He might be the one non-ableist, non-asshole player in the league.
“Jonah, right?” His voice was even deeper in person, and fuck…it was nice. It was really nice. I shoved that thought away because what the fuck? I did have weird taste in things that sighted people couldn’t relate to, but I usually didn’t get all shivery over a low rumble.
Idris Elba was my one exception.
And Pedro Pascal when he was dressed up in the Mandalorian mask.
I realized I hadn’t answered him and awkwardly shoved my hand in the direction of his voice. Of course, I hadn’t realized how close he’d come, so I immediately knocked my knuckles right into his balls.
“Shit,” he grunted.
“Fuck,” I answered back, ripping my hand away. “I swear to god I didn’t do that on purpose.”
He took a breath. “I believe you.”
I didn’t bother to offer my hand again. Instead, I gripped my dad’s shoulder and propelled him forward. “You first, old man.”
“Whose car is this?”
“It’s mine. Do you remember me?” Alexio asked.
“I don’t get in strangers’ cars.”
I tried not to groan. “He’s your Uber driver. Let’s go home.”
That got him in the back seat, at least, and I slid in beside him, buckling up and then keeping a hand on his shoulder in case he decided to jump out while we were moving. I wasn’t sure if he still knew how to work the doors, but I wasn’t taking chances.
My mom had very clearly left out how advanced my dad’s diagnosis was. She’d made it sound like it was fresh, but I was starting to realize she’d probably ignored his symptoms for a long, long while before she couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Sorry to make you feel like an actual Uber driver,” I called up to Alexio, who pulled out onto the main road.
“I’ve been called worse.”
I almost laughed. Not quite, but it was a near thing. “I mean. Same. I appreciate this though.”
“Of course. Someone should be looking out for your dad.”
It took me a second to understand he was throwing that jab at me. It hit me right in my tender spot, and I quickly leaned forward. “Okay, first of all, fuck you. I didn’t know this was going on. Second of all?—”
“Bollocks. I refuse to believe you didn’t know your own father was ill.”
