Working out is as important for me mentally as it is physically, and right now my mental state is a fucking disaster.
When I pull into the garage beneath the arena and spot my dad’s car, I frown. What’s he doing here?
Gavin’s car is here too, which isn’t all that strange, but so is Beckett’s. Hell, I think all of Addie’s uncles are here.
What are all the old guys doing at the arena?
My phone lights up with a text as I shift into park.
Finn: I think it’s awesome.
He thinks it’s awesome?
His message is in response to the one I sent just before leaving thehouse. The one that readAddie is going on her first date tonight with those weirdos from the magazine thing.
Annoyed again, I type out a quick reply.
Me: What do you mean it’s awesome? They could be complete freaks.
Bray: First of all, Josie has worked really hard to vet these guys. Savannah too. So let’s give her best friends a little credit.
Bray: Second, it’s none of your goddamn business.
Finn: Sorry, JJ. I’m with Bray on this one.
I scowl. Seriously? Has everyone lost their goddamn minds?
Theo: Catch me up to speed. What dating app is she using? I can check out the matches if ya want.
Me: It’s not a dating app. It’s some magazine article that Savannah is writing for Jolie. They had her fill out this ridiculously long questionnaire, and they’re going to set her up on dates, then document them all in the magazine over the next few months.
Theo: Oh, that sounds pretty cool. Go, Addie.
Growling, I slam the back of my head against the seat. What the fuck is wrong with my friends?
I turn off my phone, irritated by their nonchalance, and head for the door. Inside, the familiar sound of sticks clacking against the ice is like a siren’s song, calling me to the rink rather than the gym.
When the group of old guys comes into view, I chuckle. The whole lot is on the ice, playing their version of beer league hockey.
Brooks is in one goal, and my Uncle Hayden is in the other.
Gavin, Beckett, and Aiden are on one team, and Uncle Garreth, Uncle Cash, and my father are on the other.
The Langfields versus the James/Hanson crew. There was a timewhen my dad and uncle were arch enemies. But then my mom married my dad, and by some miracle, the guys figured their shit out, and now they’re best friends.
Every man on the ice is over the age of fifty. Hell, most of them are in their sixties. Yet they’re skating around like guys half their age.
When my dad pushes Cash into the net, knocking Brooks over in the process and scoring, Beckett grouses, “That was a cheap shot.”
A bark of a laugh bursts out of me. They should take all the cheap shots they can get when they’re up against Brooks fucking Langfield. I’m actually pretty impressed with my dad’s moves.
The sound of my laughter echoes in the empty arena, and all heads snap my way.
“JJ,” my dad calls.
The group of them skate toward the bench, and I wander that way too. By the time I get there, they’re pulling their helmets off.
“I didn’t know you guys still did this.” When I was a kid, my dad would meet up with the guys, but I guess I stopped paying attention somewhere along the way.
