Page 22 of Worth the Shot

Chapter Nine

Brennan

I can’t believe I somehow convinced this beautiful, complicated woman to come over for whatever the hell “trash TV” is. How did I pull that one off? I try not to overthink what any of it means and just go about my day like usual. Which, let’s be honest, is nearly impossible. My brain keeps screaming slow down, but my heart’s over here yelling more. I need to know her like I need oxygen. Need to hear her laugh. See her smile. Jesus, Brennan, calm down.

Take a cold shower.

Watch some football, for fuck’s sake.

I scroll through my car’s screen and hit Dad. He picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, son. Done with practice already?”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning back in the driver’s seat. “Coach let us go early. We took a beating last night to pull out that win. He knew we were shot.”

I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I saw that little shuffle you got into. Mom was surprised to see you get so physical. I was proud.”

I laugh, because I can picture it perfectly: him grinning, her shaking her head. “Pretty sure Mom didn’t feel the same way.” Watching her only son throw punches isn’t exactly her idea of entertainment, as she’s reminded me time and time again. Not that it happens often, but I’ll always step in to defend one of my teammates when I need to.

We talk for about twenty minutes—stats, team chemistry, how the new apartment’s coming along. It’s easy, comfortable, like muscle memory. But as the conversation winds down, I finally work up the nerve to ask what’s been burning a hole in my tongue.

“Hey, Dad…what was it about Mom that made you want to settle down again?” My dad played hockey too. He was never a household name, never on a video game cover, never hoisted the Cup, but he’s lived the same stories I have. The same kind of women, the ones who love the spotlight more than the man in it. He warned me about that. Told me everything, and I listened as I swore up and down I’d never fall for it. Until I did.

“Well,” he says, voice soft but certain, “that’s an easy one, son. Your mom felt like coming home. It was like breathing again after you didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath.”

I smile, even though it hurts a little somewhere deep. “Guess that’s where I get the whole sensitive, hopeless romantic thing from.”

He laughs. “She wasn’t easy to read, though. Took us a while to get there. But little by little, we learned things about each other, love, friendship, and life. We were friends first, lovers second. Still are. She’s my best friend.”

That’s it. That’s exactly what I needed to hear. That the best things take time and they actually last. I think he could sense that, too. “Thanks, Dad,” I say quietly. “I think I just needed the reminder.”

“Whoever she is,” he says, “she’d be lucky to have you. I know it’s hard to open up again after everything that happened, but you’ll know when it’s right.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Love you, Pops.”

“Love you too, son.”

I sit there for a minute, listening to the hum of the engine. I’m lucky to have him, to have this. I don’t let that thought escape me.

I glance out the windshield. The sky over Maine is streaked with pink and gray, the kind of early evening light that always makes the coast look infinite. I love this place. The ocean, the small-town rhythm, the team that already feels like family. It’s not the little town outside Toronto where I grew up, but maybe home isn’t a place so much as the people who fill it.

I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and sit there a minute longer, just letting his words sink in. I can’t help but think about her. The woman who swears she’s fine, even when her eyes say otherwise. Who hides her softness behind sarcasm and calls it self-defense. She’s the kind of person you want to protect and learn from all at once.

Friends first. Yeah, I can do that.

I head inside, grab a quick shower, and straighten up the apartment. Not because I’m nervous, just because it suddenly matters what the place looks like. At least that’s what I tell myself. The smell of coffee still lingers from this morning, and the sun’s dipping low, spilling golden light through the blinds. I glance at the clock and realize I’ve got a couple of hours to spare so I try to nap, but the longer I lie there, the louder my brain gets. So instead, I get up, clean a kitchen that’s already spotless, and try not to think about why I’m acting like a guy about to go on a date who keeps insisting isn’t a date. I change into sweatpants and a T-shirt and settle on the couch. No big deal. I can keep my cool.

I end up falling asleep, which is a blessing and a curse. Now I’m rested and ready for…trash TV, apparently. Whatever that means. But I also look like a bear just coming out of hibernation. I grab my phone and see a new text from her.

Delaney

Are you sure you’re ready for tonight? You may never be the same.

I realize it was sent over an hour ago, so I reply right away.

Me

Bring it on.