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CHAPTER ONE

corbin

Mamaw’s skin is paper thin but as soft as velvet. My sister Becca comes home with me to see Mamaw and asks, “What’s your secret to soft, smooth skin?”

“You’re a smart girl. Don’t let these commercials convince you that you need expensive creams. Dove or Ivory soap is all you need.” A relentless cough gets caught in Mamaw’s throat.

“Got it. Dove. I’ve always loved the way you smell,” Becca says as she grabs a glass of water, and I lift our grandmother up so she can take a sip. She’s been in the hospital with pneumonia for weeks. My parents don’t think she’ll make it much longer. She was in her late thirties when she had our mom, so she’s in her eighties.

When her chest stops jerking, she eases back onto the sheet.

Growing up, Mamaw was the person who wrapped you in a bone-breaking hug, and her fresh scent stuck in your nose until she let you go. Mom had asked me to stop at the drugstore to buy Mamaw’s favorite soap, so I slip it from my pocket and unwrap it.

“Oh, my sweet Sugarbear.” That’s her nickname for me, saying I’m sweet and shy. Everyone got a nickname when they were born. Isaiah, my oldest brother, is Tank because he’s always been broad shouldered and loved to wrestle. Becca, being the first girl, wasn't a princess. No, that’s not good enough, so Mamaw calls her Queen Bee.

Mamaw shakes as she reaches for the soap. She brings it to her nose and inhales. Becca goes outside to the nurse’s desk to find a washcloth. While she’s gone, my feisty grandmother says, “I want to live long enough to see you get married. Is there anyone special?”

Mamaw could die this week according to my parents. We’re all praying this is just a bump, and we have her ten more years. She told my mom the reason she can’t get over this pneumonia is because they won’t give her whiskey. There will never be another Mamaw.

“No. Mamaw, there’s not much time for finding someone special.”

Her brows knit together. “What do you do in your off time?”

“I babysit for Dane and Lettie some. I go to dinner with Becca, my friends, and teammates. I go to the library, the animal shelter, concerts, and the bars occasionally.”

“Corbin Shearer, I want you and Becca to go back home and live your life. Hockey has been your world since you were eight years old. It’s time to fill up your heart with butterflies that only a woman who loves you can give. Promise me you’ll get married in my lifetime.”

Mamaw is dying, and she’s worried about me. Tears well up in my eyes thinking about living without my spunky grandmother. With Isaiah, Becca, and me, she was our full-time babysitter while Mom and Dad worked. We spent every day with her after school. She was the one who took me to hockey practice, until I could drive myself. There was a hockey rink about thirty miles away, close to the Ohio border. She never complained, and I’ll cherish every car ride I had with her. So many stories and mistakes she made but would never trade.

“I promise.”

“Don’t lie to me. Now listen to me. You don’t need someone like you. You need someone opposite of you. Like me and your papaw. He was quiet and a hard worker. He gave me my foundation, and I gave him laughter and a little something else.” She cracks herself up at the innuendo, but it causes another coughing attack. “It’s been a different life without him, but at least I’ve had ten grandchildren to keep me going.”

Becca returns, pushing a cart with a bowl of water and washcloths. “Did I miss anything?”

Mamaw smiles. “Not unless you met a hell-raising nurse out there.”

Looking between Mamaw and Becca, I say, “Mamaw wants me to get married… soon.”

“That’s a great idea. Why don’t you ask out Lynette again? She was pretty.”

“She was boring.”

Becca hits me in the arm. “Maybe you’re the boring one.”

“Because I don’t like watching paint dry? You’re the boring one sitting at home reading briefs while your hubby does the budget.” I admit it comes out snarky.

She crosses her arms, and her eyes narrow. “Jocks aren’t the only men who can satisfy a woman.”

“Okay, young’uns. What time are you heading back to Nashville?”

“Not until Sunday. We’re going to Isaiah’s for a late lunch. Then I’m going to Jasper’s hockey game and Pepper’s play. Becca and I are dividing and conquering.”

Becca squeezes out the washcloth, adds the soap, and hands it to me. I wash her left arm while Becca washes the right side. “And I’m going dorm shopping with Sophie and Renae, then we’re taking all of the littles to the fair tonight, so Mom and Dad can be here with you.”

“Nonsense. You tell your parents to go have fun at the fair. I’ll be here when it’s over. Has anyone talked to Vance? I miss that boy, and I worry about him.”

My brother Vance is the person all by himself. Isaiah, Becca, and I all came within five years, but then it was five years before Vance came along and another until the twins, Sophie, and Renae.

“Don’t. He’s serving our country. Living the life in Germany. He’s not in a war zone, and… he’s drinking great beer.”

Mamaw laughs. “With his blond hair and bright blue eyes, I’d say he’ll be married before you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I get plenty.”

Becca rolls her eyes, knowing it’s a complete lie.

I could have a string of puck bunnies and maybe even a few of the women who work in the Notes organization, but I’m a relationship guy, and I’m not having one until I’m out of the league.

“All right, you get going and spend time with your brothers and sisters. I know your mom and dad appreciate you coming and giving them a break.”

“Love you, Mamaw.”

Her frail arms still tuck us under her wings as she kisses each of our cheeks.

When we get to the home we grew up in, Mom has everyone ready to go and hands us both instructions. Becca gets her organizational and leadership skills from our mom. My mom could have been anything she wanted, but she wanted to be a mom, and she worked when the babies were in school and has been the PTA president for the better part of the last two decades.

My dad is a traveling furniture salesman, so he’s gone a few days a week. The first thing I did when I signed my hockey contract with the Nashville Notes was hire an assistant for my mom to help get the kids where they need to be. My mom cooks the meals, and they eat shortly after the kids get home from school. Then she has a snack prepared for them when they get home from their activities.

There’s a schedule on the fridge, and it’s hard to believe my parents still have six children at home, ranging from fifteen to six.

Mom hands Jasper a bag of snacks. “Love you, baby. Play your heart out.”

“Always. Gotta show my big brother who has the insane puck skills in the Shearer family,” he says with a blinding, crooked smile.

Mom adjusts her shirt and says, “And Pepper, I know it’s just rehearsal night but show your big brother how much you love pretending to be someone else.”

“I will, Mom.”

Mom hugs all of us, which takes a good five minutes. She whispers in my ear, “Thank you for coming home. I know you’re traveling next week to Bryce’s wedding. Maybe you’ll meet a nice girl there.”

Maybe.

“You know, Mamaw says I don’t want a nice girl. She says I need someone to turn me upside down.”

Mom just smiles. “Okay, we’ll all meet at the fair at eight o’clock.”

The Shearer kids’ activities are all over the area. I honestly can’t understand how my parents do it even with Lena helping. She took off this week for her vacation, so Becca and I planned on coming home before Mamaw got sick, anyway.

Jasper and I drop off Pepper at the high school where she’ll be performing. We head another twenty miles to the ice rink. I’ve been paying for Jasper to play on this U16 team. He’s only fifteen and as I’m watching, I realize he’s better than me—or will be.

I trained outside for my first years. There was an outside pond that froze over every year where I learned to skate. Then my dad paid for me to go to an actual facility. The same arena where we are now. He would pay older kids in the neighborhood to take me when he or Mamaw couldn’t.

It’s hard to comprehend just how much I owe my parents, yet they act like I owe them nothing. They hate that they can’t pay for all of the extras for everyone. Becca supplements their clothing, and I pay for hockey and the assistant. Once a year, I pay for everyone to come to Nashville the week before the season starts. Call it my last hurrah until the season is over.

Jasper takes a shower after practice, then we drive to the high school and sit in the audience, cheering for Pepper. She belts out a song that rivals the voice of many A-list stars, then we head to the fair with all ten siblings and our parents.

Back in Nashville, I take Mamaw’s advice and ask my friends to meet me to go out. Dane, Nashville Fireflies basketball star and his wife Lettie meet me and a few other friends at a comedy show. During intermission, we visit the VIP bar. Several women’s fingers crawl up my arms, wanting to take me home. I’m not feeling it and thankfully, Dane senses my hesitation and saves me by talking about my nine children. He almost blows his beer out when they scurry off.

“Thanks for the save. But you’re the one who’s closing in on nine children.” I exaggerate.

“Three isn’t nine, and the baby girl isn’t here yet.” He half-smiles into another pull of his beer. “But I think you have the perfect family. Lettie and I were both only children, so we want a large family. I guess you want the opposite.”

“Well, a few is fine but not more than that. I have to find the right person first.”

He nods as we head back to our seats. Then I leave alone.

One of my teammates calls and asks if I’ll go on a double date. His girlfriend’s cousin is coming into town from South Dakota, so I reluctantly agree. She’s pretty but when I ask her a simple question, the answer lasts for thirty minutes. She only knows how to talk about herself and seems uninterested in hearing anything about me.

After dinner, we head to a dance club and again, I leave alone.

My phone buzzes with Becca’s ringtone. A flurry of pictures and headlines pop up over and over. I don’t do social media, preferring to stay out of prying eyes of the public. Headlines in gossip sites read:

Why is a hot-as-hell hockey player always alone?

Hockey star must not like arm candy!

Becca: You’re going out with me and some of the Fireflies’ dancers tonight.

Me: Nope, Mamaw was wrong. I’m not meeting my IT girl at a bar.

Becca: We’re going to play trivia. You’re coming.

Me: Send me the address and time.

Reluctantly, I agree, and I admit the women are freaking gorgeous and smart. They know how to hold a conversation and are pretty damn good at trivia. I’m on a team with Raquel, my sister’s single best friend, and Brenda, who is a damn genius when it comes to history. A question pops up, asking who the eighteenth president was and damn if she doesn’t know it was Ulysses S. Grant. She was fast on the buzzer too. Between games, we talk, and I figure out quick that I’m not her type—preferring the Wall Street type, not the hillbilly athletic type, but it doesn’t stop her from needing a warm body.

I walk outside with Raquel and offer to give her a ride home. She had come with Becca and her husband Dennis, but now they’re heading to a friend's house.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” she says.

When we get to her small, but probably expensive house in Brentwood, she grabs one of my hands and asks, “Want to come inside for a nightcap?”

I don’t want to offend her because she’s my sister’s best friend, but I have zero feelings for her.

We hear clicks and see flashes of light as some damn paparazzi follow us.

“Sorry, I’m leaving for a wedding tomorrow and need to go home and pack.”

Morning comes, and my phone blows up. The gossip rags are convinced I’m gay.

Can’t a guy just look for the right woman without sleeping with hundreds of them?