Dad chuckles, his laughter easing some of the tension in my chest. “Good idea.”
I give him what I suppose could be considered a smile, then we both stare out at the lawn where Beckett stands, head down like he’s talking to his dog, giving us space.
“You ready?”
I take a deep breath and will the tightness in my chest to abate. “Sure.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
As our doors slam shut, Beckett lifts his head and moves in our direction. “Morning, guys. Let me help you with your luggage.”
He pulls my dad into a hug, but before I can get dragged into the greeting, I head to the back to grab a bag. If I’m going to walk into thehouse and hold it together after my father leaves, I can’t take any more emotional moments.For now, I’ll focus on getting through the next few months. I’ll keep the sadness locked up from here on out. It’s what my mother needs from me. My father too.
“All right, son,” Beckett says.
He uses that word, son, in a way a lot of adults do when talking to kids and not like I’m his actual son because I’m moving in with him. Still, I bristle at the term.
“We’re excited to have you here,” he says, not picking up on my reaction. “This is Deogi.”
“D-O-G? Did you just spelldog?”
I assess the massive dog. He’s got shaggy brown fur, and his tail is wagging rapidly. With his mouth open and his tongue hanging out, I swear to god it looks like he’s smiling. Then again, if this is the house an animal is lucky enough to be adopted into, of course he’d be smiling. The Langfields own two professional sports teams in Boston, and on top of that, they’re generous as shit and fucking fun to be around. The dog is probably spoiled rotten.
I rub his head in greeting, and in response, he pushes his wet snout into my arm and licks me. Laughing, I pull back.
Beckett Langfield is about the same height as my dad, an inch or two over six foot. He’s got green eyes, dark brown hair speckled with gray here and there, and laugh lines that crease around his eyes when he smiles.
He does that a lot. Smiles, I mean.
My family isn’t unhappy by any sense of the word, but we don’t fucking smile like this. It’s like the guy is genuinely happy all the time.
Then again, why wouldn’t he be? He’s wealthy, with a big family and a beautiful wife. And his neighbors are all his brothers.
I guess that’s the dream.
Who the fuck knows. My only dream is to make it to the NHL. And for my mother to live long enough to see it.
Shit. Fuck. My stomach rolls, causing me to step back. Why did I have to go and think about that?
“No,” Beckett says, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. “That’s his name. D-O-G.”
My father chuckles. “Yeah, you spelled out the word dog.”
Sighing, Beckett shakes his head. “You’ve been spending too much time with Gavin.”
Gavin is his brother. And he’s the head coach of the Boston Bolts. My dream team.
“Come on.” He hefts a bag out of the trunk and heads for the house.
If I were to describe the Langfield home in one word, it would be loud. James and I can get rowdy sometimes, sure, but it’s nothing like the level of noise in this place the second I walk in.
Beckett’s oldest is already in college. Then there’s Finn, he’s seventeen and in love with baseball and the drums. That’s where the loudness comes from, by the way. Jesus fuck. Pretty sure his drum kit is in the basement, but the sound reverberates through the whole house.
Finn’s next sister Adeline is fifteen like me, then there are two more. Twins, Maggie and June, who are twelve.
While Finn is the loudest, Beckett and Deogi make a lot of noise too. And Liv, Beckett’s wife. She’s been yelling since I walked in. Not at anyone in particular but because she’s trying to be heard over the goddamn drums.
By the time bedtime rolls around, I have a headache and want nothing more than to crash.
