THE EVENING after my first youth-hockey coaching gig, which was a complete and utter disaster, my doorbell rings. My building’s doorman wouldn’t let just anyone up, so I’m assuming it’s Bruce. He’s really my only friend, anyway.
Normally, I’d be annoyed at him stopping by uninvited, but I’m antsy from sitting here all day. And I’ve already declined two phone calls from the Wisconsin Correctional Institution. AKA dear old Dad. He hasn’t acted like a father for a long time, and there’s nothing he can do to mend that bond now. He chose drugs and alcohol over me a long, long time ago.
Muttering curses under my breath, I toss the blanket off of my legs and pause an old John Wayne movie I’ve watched half a dozen times in my lifetime. Old westerns are a reminder of a time in my life that was safe, after my granddad took me in. It was always just the two of us, spending every evening after homework—or hockey practice—watching those old movies. I never even met my grandma, since she died in childbirth with my dad. But my granddad spoke fondly of her. I think the lonely old coot was kind of glad when he got custody of me and didn’t have to be alone all the time.
I used to wonder what it would be like if my dad would’ve been more like John Wayne. A tough cowboy who’d lock up all the bad guys and make the world a better place. But no such luck. Instead, he was the bad guy.
Now these movies are just memories of my short time with Granddad before he passed. Before I was alone… again.
Hoisting myself up off of my luxury sofa, I pad across the marble floors of my penthouse apartment and open my front door. I find Bruce standing there smiling, as usual. He’s dressed casual but nice in dark jeans and a brown leather jacket. “Get dressed,” he says before shoving his way inside. “You look like a homeless man.”
Looking down, I see my stained sweats, tee with a hole in it, and moccasin slippers. I’m sure my unkempt beard and too-long hair don’t look any better. My person is a severe contrast to my modern and immaculate penthouse. “Why?”
“You’re coming to the team party with me. You’re my date.” He smirks, sticking his hands in his pockets.
I stare at him and his eyes shift toward the hallway behind us, like he’s silently pleading with me to go to my room and put on something decent.
“Last I knew, you were into leggy brunettes, Bruce. Female ones.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, but I think you need me tonight more than some random puck bunny.”
I cringe, hating the term used for women who throw themselves at pro hockey players. Bruce huffs out another laugh at my shudder. “Come on, Mitch. The whole team is on your side, man. We’re here for you. And everyone wants you to come to the party.”
I cross my arms, he and I both know that’s a lie. “What if I already have other plans?”
Bruce glances behind me where my large sofa is a mess of pillows and blankets, and the artistic coffee table some designer told me would change my life is covered in take-out containers and a half-empty pizza box. Just to add insult to injury, the T.V. is paused on the movie True Grit, making it obvious I’ve been on a John Wayne movie marathon.
Bruce turns his attention back on me, quirking an eyebrow.
“What? This is a classic.”
“Go. Change. Now.” He crosses his arms.
I sigh. “I need a shower.”
He brings his arm up and looks at his fancy watch. “You have fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed.”
“Fine.” I trudge down the hallway to my master bedroom.
“And don’t use that tone with me, young man!” Bruce yells after me.
Then I hear the movie begin to play and I hear Tom Chaney say, “Don’t provoke me. There’s a rattle snake down there in that pit, and I’m gonna throw you in it.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m in the passenger seat of Bruce’s old Chevy. Don’t ask me why he refuses to give up the old clunker. Goalies are weird.
I adjust the collar of my winter coat and shift to look at Bruce. “So, where’s the team party, anyway?”
Bruce keeps his eyes on the road, and his shoulders tense slightly. “Oh, I forgot to ask how coaching went last night!” He huffs out a laugh that sounds fake. “Were those kids cute as hell with their tiny little skates?”
“Well, first off, they’re like twelve, not three. And it was horrible,” I answer honestly. “Why’d you avoid my question?”
“I didn’t.” He turns on his blinker and changes lanes on the highway. “Oh hey, you wanna stop and get some coffee?”
Leaning forward, I tap the old dash clock on his pickup. “At eight pm?”
“Aw, is it going to upset your tummy this late?” He teases, bringing one arm up and shoving me.
I’m about to ask him again where the party is, when he reaches up and taps a knob on the dash. The radio blares to life with some peppy song that sounds like it was recorded in the 80s.
“Dude! This is my jam!” He starts singing along at the top of his lungs. Something about a woman needing a hero, and holding out for that hero.
I roll my eyes, giving up on prying any answers out of him. He’s either avoiding my question, or has some serious ADHD. Maybe both.
He turns onto a brick street lined with luxurious, historic townhouses, then parks on the street in front of one. Our commute here was maybe fifteen minutes from my place, so it must be one of our teammate’s houses, but I’ve never been here before. Actually, I’ve only been to two teammates’ homes. Remy, our captain, and the jolly blond giant sitting beside me.
The old metal door squeaks as I step out of the truck and close it, as if begging for a dose of WD-40. I give Bruce a knowing look and take a few steps toward the brick path leading to the house.
“Whose place is this?” I ask.
Bruce mumbles something around a cough.
“What?”
“West’s,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Nope.” I retrace my steps and grab the handle of Bruce’s pickup, only to tug and find out he already locked it.
I turn to glare at him, but he’s just grinning and jiggling the keys obnoxiously. “West isn’t that bad. You guys just need to get to know each other.”
“You purposely withheld information from me.” I cross my arms and lean back against the door of the pickup.
“I’m no dummy,” he says, crossing his arms too. “I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew, and you needed to get out of that penthouse.”
“Yeah, poor me in my fancy, spacious penthouse. Surrounded by pizza and endless John Wayne films.”
Remy’s voice draws our attention to the front door. “What are you two doing? It’s freezing.” He holds the door open a little wider. “Get your butts inside.”
With a groan, I push off the pickup and follow Bruce to the door and inside Weston Kerhsaw’s house. His very pretty, and equally sweet fiancee greets us as Remy closes the door behind us.
“Bruce! You’re here!” She squeals and he opens his arms and gives her a big, friendly hug, like they’ve hung out a million times.
“Hey pip-squeak!” He lifts her off the ground in a bear hug.
“Put my woman down!” West appears in the entryway, playfully glowering at Bruce, but everyone just laughs.
Except me. My body tenses at the sight of the golden boy himself. With his perfect family home and perfect fiancee and… I bet he has a perfect labradoodle hidden around here somewhere. All the perfect people have them.
But, unfortunately, since I’m in West’s house, I have to be cordial to him. I smile, at least, I try to. It must appear like I’m bearing my teeth, because West’s blond eyebrows knit together.
“I’m Melanie, by the way.”
My head swivels to look in the direction of the sweet, princess-sounding voice.
West’s petite fiancee is smiling and extending her delicate hand in my direction. “I’m not sure we’ve officially met.”
We’ve met once, back when I made a lewd comment about her just to piss off our assistant captain. Which worked like a charm, by the way. I’m distracted for a moment by her large, blue eyes. Eyes that seem to glow with friendliness and hospitality, and I wish I could take back the comment I made over a year ago.
Crap, she’s one of those likable people, just like West. Speaking of her fiancé, he clears his throat loudly, and I realize I’m gawking. I grab her hand and pump it a few times.
“Mitch.”
She smiles again and tells us we’re welcome to use the coat rack, before disappearing into the house. West is crossing his arms and staring at me in amusement.
“Glad to see you at a team event, Mitch,” he says simply. His tone is teasing, but it annoys me, nonetheless.
“Bruce kidnapped me,” I offer in explanation, because I want him to know it wasn’t my choice to come hang out at his house like we’re old buddies. Nope. I was dragged here… against my will.
West chuckles and starts to walk past us, but waves a hand for us to follow him. We enter an open concept living space where the rest of the team is scattered about, along with Coach Young. Some are on the large couches near the T.V. playing a game on a Nintendo Switch, and others are grazing around the food table.
I withhold an eye roll when I see the mantel above the fireplace is lined with framed family photos.
The wives and girlfriends are with Melanie in the kitchen, laughing and chatting animatedly. Everyone seems really comfortable with each other. My body goes rigid watching them mingle, like this is their home away from home. Their adopted family.
I’ve come up with a million excuses to avoid events where the guys bring their loved ones, knowing I’d feel this way. This sense of being the odd man out, even when the other single guys don’t seem to feel that way. That familiar feeling of why can’t I be normal creeps into my thoughts.
Ugh. This is exactly the kind of crap my new shrink is going to try to get out of me at our first session on Tuesday.
West stops behind the large sectional in front of our teammate Colby Knight, he’s a good guy, minus the fact that he’s West’s bestie and the two act like teenage girls half the time. Speaking of girls, I think Colby draws even more attention than West in that department. Even I can admit the man’s face is magazine perfection. In my opinion, he’s too pretty, though. It’s disarming… like he’s a drawing come to life.
Before I can escape to the food table, Colby spots me and hollers, “Mitch ‘The Machine!’ Dude. So glad you finally came to a team party!” He lifts his beer in the air in salute. “How’s the youth hockey gig going?”
Looking from him, to West, and then at Bruce and Remy… I notice they’re all standing still, focused on me, waiting for me to answer. This is the last thing I want to talk about. Can’t we all just ignore that I messed up and got suspended? It’s embarrassing.
Remy’s eyebrow twitches, his face serious. I know I’m not getting out of talking about this. I rub the back of my neck awkwardly, feeling too hot and a little itchy.
“The kids are brats. The rink is run down. Oh, and a mom stormed onto the ice and yelled at me.”
Bruce belts out a laugh, making several more heads turn in our direction. Great, just what I wanted, Bruce. More attention. I level a serious look at him and he sombers.
Colby has the good sense to attempt hiding his amusement, but I can tell he’s biting his cheeks to keep from laughing.
Remy—as per usual—doesn’t give away what he’s thinking, his facial expression unchanged. “Why? Was she wearing skates?”
I shake my head once. “Nope. Just her tennis shoes. And she came to lecture me about being nice to the boys.”
West’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “Were you being mean to the kids?” he asks accusingly.
I glare at him. “Of course not, I’m not a monster, West.” My voice comes out with more malice than I intended. I clear my throat and add, “I was raising my voice. But one kid high-sticked another in the throat. On purpose.”
The four of them grimace.
“Damn,” Bruce whispers, drawing out the word for drama. “That’s intense. Maybe she didn’t see that part.”
“Must not have, and it was even her kid that did the high-sticking.” I huff out a humorless laugh.
Colby crosses his arms, a baffled expression on his face. “Youth hockey sure has changed since I was a kid.”
“For real,” Remy agrees. “Good luck surviving those little savages, man.”
“Thanks,” I reply in an unamused monotone. “Can we eat now?”
“Anyone want a beer before I go hang with my girl?” West grins just talking about her.
Colby grins, too, and gives him a fist bump where they pretend their hands explode afterward. I roll my eyes, but they don’t notice.
West remembers asking us a question and looks at us expectantly. Bruce says, “That’s alright. I’ll grab one for myself after I get some food.”
Then West looks at me, awaiting my answer. I glance awkwardly at Bruce and Remy. I guess no one has filled West in that I don’t drink.
“Uh, I’d take a bottle of water?”
He eyes me curiously but doesn’t make any annoying comments. “Sure. Hey Mel, throw me a bottle of water?”
She pulls one from the fridge and tosses it to him, he catches it easily and hands it to me. Honestly, it was a good throw. I’m impressed.
West nods at me, then scurries off to the kitchen.
He doesn’t even care that he’s the only guy in there, hanging out with all the girls. I’m guessing as long as Melanie is in the mix, he doesn’t care who else is there. I don’t understand how he can want to be with her all the time. Don’t they get sick of each other? My parents sure did. Maybe other people aren’t like that.
The four of us head to the food table and begin filling our plates with meat and cheese. When I glance up, I notice Colby blatantly staring at a slim blonde with short, curly hair. She’s linking arms with Melanie, but I’ve never seen her before. Colby obviously knows her, though and shoots her a dramatic, open-mouthed wink. She flips him off with her free hand and turns away from him.
Bruce and Remy chuckle.
“Still trying to get Noel to warm up to you?” Remy asks, shaking his head.
Colby puffs out his chest, his abnormally twinkly eyes still frozen on the blonde. “She can’t resist me much longer. My time is coming, boys.”
Bruce must notice my confused expression and explains, “Noel is Melanie’s best friend. Colby’s had his eye on her for over a year, and she hates his guts.”
Colby takes a big bite of salami and speaks through one side of his mouth, his words muffled since his mouth is full, “Dere’s a fine wine between wuv and hate my fwiend!”
I shove his shoulder. “You’re disgusting.”
He grins and tosses a piece of salami on my paper plate. I wrinkle my nose in disgust and toss it into the trash can near the food table.
“Maybe she’s into blonds.” Bruce pumps his eyebrows up and down. “I bet she’d go out with me.”
Colby’s eyes go steely in a way I’ve never seen before as he glares at Bruce. I’ve never known Colby to glare before, even against opponents on the ice, and it’s unnerving that he still looks pretty when his face is all scrunched up like that.
Bruce holds his hands up in surrender. “Dude. I’m joking.”
Colby relaxes and continues adding food to his plate. Remy’s eyebrows draw together, I wonder if he’s thinking about how insane his teammates are and how he has to be their captain.
“Alright, let’s go play Nintendo,” Colby says, jutting his chin in that direction.
Reluctantly, I follow them. But I spend the rest of the party glancing at my phone and counting down until it’s an appropriate amount of time to ask Bruce to take me back home.
