Page 45

Chapter 45

Nat

Brenda’s car sits in the driveway, and I’m sure Avery and Syd are already here, because they’re teenage athletes and therefore perpetually starving. Olli trots after me, his usual Olli cheer buoyed by a bit of extra nerves.

My hand finds his. Fingers twine together. I squeeze, and his head tilts towards me. Brows lift, and the smallest of smiles plays at his mouth.

“Brenda’s cooking is to die for,” I tell him, and I let go of his hand to open the door. The sharp, spicy scent of sausage greets us at the door.

“I already love it,” he says.

“That you, Nattie?” Brenda calls from the kitchen, lifting her voice over the scrape of a spatula in a pan, the crackling hiss of oil, the low boil of water. “Get your ass in here to set the table.”

“Yes ma’am.” I hop up the three stairs onto the main floor, Olli at my heels.

“And don’t let your friend help!”

I snort, but Olli’s already grinning. “I like her.”

Brenda steps out from around the counter, hand extended. “Hi. I’m Brenda. You must be Oliver.”

“Olli.” Olli takes her hand. “You have a lovely home.”

“Hot as balls right now.” Brenda turns back to the stove. “Hope you like Italian. Food, that is. My kid’s not Italian. ”

She delivers the line completely straight-faced, doesn’t even flinch when Olli barks out a surprised laugh.

“Shit,” I groan, but I’m laughing too. “You starting dad jokes now?”

“Be nice if you want to eat my food.”

“I’m always nice. Where are Syd and Avery?”

“Upstairs, somewhere. Doing social media, Syd said?”

I groan. “Jesus. Is that what they’re calling it? I just . . .” I march across the kitchen towards the stairs, but Avery hobbles down first, looking just as battered as when I last saw him. Syd’s on his heels.

“Is that Olli James?” he half shouts, but it’s me he stops in front of. Me he angles his gaze up towards. Me to whom he whispers, “Thanks.”

Then, to my shock, Sydney scoots past him to wrap her arms around me. It’s a quick hug—in and out—but it leaves me a little breathless all the same.

“Hey, Avvie!” Olli beams as Avery hobbles into the kitchen. “Word on the street is Coach has his eye on Number Seventeen.”

“What?” Avery breathes, frozen mid-kitchen.

“Obviously”—Olli’s mouth twitches—“I gave you a glowing recommendation. As, I hear, did Mr. Taylor.”

“Oh, I like this one,” Brenda says.

“I think Dad likes him too.” Syd leans close to stage-whisper in my ear, loud enough the whole room hears. She catches my eye, smirks. “But don’t tell him I said that.”

I give her the finger.

“You set that table yet, Nattie?” Brenda asks, and I scurry away before she can get any ideas about swatting me with a dirty spatula. Olli follows me to the table, a stack of silverware in hand. Avery plops down at the far side of the table, still looking shell-shocked, and Syd takes the seat beside him.

Then the whole family’s squished around the narrow table, which only makes it feel cozier, friendlier. Or maybe it’s just that Olli and I are pressed together, so his arm brushes mine, knee rubs mine, so I keep feeling the warmth of him, catching tantalizing tendrils of his soft scent.

What an odd little family we make. What was it Syd called us—a venus fly trap?

We are just that. And it feels so right to count Olli in among us.

He fits so seamlessly into my family, he might have been a part of it all along.

We talk.

Laugh.

Joke.

Tease.

All of us ragging on Avery, then me. We ask Syd about her social media, and she tells us how she’s turning it into her senior project.

“The world loved Olli’s video,” she says. “Some of the things they commented . . . Shit, it almost made me cry. And I’m not a crier.”

“Don’t show me, then,” says Olli, and we all laugh.

When Olli tilts his head back, I can’t help the way my gaze follows the smooth curve of his throat, traces the line of his cheekbone, the black flutter of lashes. It takes actual effort to resist the urge to twine my fingers into his hair.

And when I wrench my gaze away, Brenda’s watching from across the table, her mouth twisted into a knowing smile. I scowl, but Syd’s looking at me too.

How does everyone know my secrets, just like that? How is it so obvious to everyone else?

Hell, though, it’s so easy to reach for Olli’s hand, twine our fingers together atop the table. “So, I have something to say.”

“Oh, my God. You’re pregnant,” groans Syd, and we all laugh.

“Okay, but really,” I continue as the laughter dies down.

“We’ve known for like, forever.” Syd glances towards Avery. “Did you finally figure it out too?”

“I brainwashed him.” Olli leans his head against my shoulder, everybody ooh s, and I alternate between glaring and smiling.

The sharp crack of a knock on the front door cuts through our mirth .

The laughter dies out of the room like the flame from a doused candle. Like somehow that knock feels ominous, or maybe it’s just unexpected enough to put me on edge.

Brenda rises. But I beat her to the door.

I open it to find my brother Jesse framed against the whiteout of snow behind him. For a moment we just stare at each other, my body between him and the warmth inside.

“Nat.” It’s just a low, flat murmur. My response matches.

“Jess.”

I almost close the door. Almost.

But I’m not the same little boy who watched his brother walk away without a backwards glance. I’m not the same lost, lonely teenager who looked up to that brother, only to have him turn his back, time and again.

He left me bleeding in the snow that first fight.

He left me bleeding internally when he left for the pros.

But I’m not a child, and I’m not bleeding anymore. So I don’t close the door in his face—don’t shut him out of my life or the lives of anyone behind me.

I step back to let him in, out of the Day River cold. Everyone’s still seated at the table, staring. Avery’s mouth hangs open. Syd’s eyes are wide, wary. Olli’s mouth pulls into a taut line.

Brenda stands. “Hi, Jesse.”

“Hey, Brenda.” He slides past me to embrace her in an awkward, stilted hug. “Sorry I missed dinner. I didn’t want to, um, impose . . .”

It’s the most awkward I’ve ever heard him.

“There are leftovers!” Brenda steps towards the kitchen. “I can make you a plate—”

“No, that’s fine. I just . . .” His fingers lace through his hair to pull it back from his face. So like my own face. He doesn’t even look older. “I wanted to stop by and congratulate, um, everyone.”

But it’s me his eyes slide towards. Me he’s looking at. Me he’s congratulating. Me .

He came here for . . . me .

I don’t know what to make of that or what to say. We’re still standing awkwardly between the front door and the dining room, and Brenda’s still poised beside the kitchen, and everyone else is still sitting and staring.

“Sit.” Brenda takes the lead. Points to the one empty chair at the head of the table.

Jesse trails after me and takes it.

A moment of awkward silence follows where we study our plates and scrape at the remnants or sip nearly empty glasses.

Avery, of course, is the one to break said silence. “Not to be a total weirdo or anything, but like, I’m eating dinner with Jesse Taylor .”

Syd snorts.

I roll my eyes.

Jesse startles.

But it’s Olli who laughs. “No, that’s total weirdo behavior. You’ve officially joined me in the ranks of the strange, Av. Welcome!”

And then we all laugh, awkward and unsure, but still. It’s like a weight lifted, the tension broken enough for Jesse to speak. “Seriously, though. It was awesome. Syd, the coverage was amazing.”

“It was fun.” Sydney beams, and my heart swells. She really does like this stuff, is good at it. Should probably pursue it. And Jesse might just be the one to help her do it—if I don’t get in the way.

“I saw your video too.” Jesse’s gaze swivels to Olli, and my swollen heart clenches at the way my boyfriend’s shoulders stiffen. “Honestly, I respect the hell out of that, man.”

Olli’s eyes widen into orbs of surprise, and he merely nods and mumbles something that might be a thank you .

“I’m serious. Very cool. And your game still looked bomb. Don’t be surprised if the majors start calling.”

Olli shrugs. “They might. And I might turn them down. Hang out in Day River a little longer.” His gaze slides to me. “Got some . . . unfinished business . . . here. ”

My stupid heart swells all over again. The thought of Olli staying here . . . with me? I can’t help how much that makes me feel whole and full in a way I haven’t in a very, very long time. Maybe ever.

And then Jess’s gaze falls on me. “You looked great out there.”

Like Olli, I can’t find the proper response to his praise. Honestly, I’m more shocked that he recognized me than anything else. So I just offer a curt nod. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious. I’m guessing Coach made you an offer?”

“Well, sorta.” I puff out a long, slow breath. Sydney’s gaze homes in on me like a damned laser. Everyone’s looking at me now. “He made Forty-Seven an offer.”

“And?” Syd asks.

“Haven’t decided yet,” I admit, though I think, just like Olli said, that something inside me already knows. “Though in the very least, I'm done with repoing.” Already tendered my resignation with JB.

To my surprise, it’s Jesse who speaks. “It’s a big decision. You’ve got so much more than hockey in your life now.”

“Right.” I’m smiling, I realize. Genuinely smiling. “And I don’t want to miss any of it.”

After dinner, Brenda makes hot cocoa while Syd and I clear the table, Avery and Jess nestle dishes into the dishwasher, and Olli wipes down the countertops.

“You gonna stick around for a while tonight?” Brenda asks, and my gaze slides automatically to Olli.

“I’m tired.” He shoots me an apologetic smile. “Like, beat tired.”

“Me too,” I admit, because I am. It’s been an interesting handful of days, and on top of all that, the tournament was a special kind of hell. My body’s feeling the mental and physical strains of it all, and I truly want nothing more than to retreat into the dark, warm cave of my bed .

“I have a lot of work to do for my project,” Syd admits. “Wouldn’t mind going home a little early.”

“Avery?” I ask. So then we’re all looking at him. Mary should be home—but that doesn’t mean he’s not in danger. “You know you got a place with me, kid.”

He nods, and then he and Syd head out to the car.

“I’ll head out too,” Jess says. “Think there’s some kind of crazy afterparty happening at Andy Everton’s house, might go check it out.”

And there’s another awkward moment where we wonder what the protocol is—and then he sticks out his hand for Olli to shake.

They shake, and then Brenda gives Jess a stiff hug, and then his handshake’s extended to me. I clasp it, and without warning, he pulls me in for a rough hug that leaves me a little shocked, a little breathless.

I don’t think my brother’s ever hugged me.

He pulls back before I can fully process it. But what follows is perhaps the most shocking part of the night. “Would it be all right if I called sometime?”

I stare. Jaw probably hanging. Can’t find any words to respond to that, so I nod, or at least, I think I do.

And then he’s gone.

“Guess that’s our cue too,” Olli says, his gaze on the now-closed door.

“Don’t be a stranger, Olli.” Brenda smiles. “Nat, take out the trash, would you?”

“This isn’t equal treatment,” I protest. But Olli follows me out the back door and it’s just us. Me and the boy I’ve come to need.

We walk along the side of the house, the cold nipping at my cheeks and lips, turning our breaths to pale, dancing specters against the black night. He stops beside the bin, and when he turns to face me, I can’t help the way I’m drawn to him.

The way he calls to me.

The way my body needs his, needs to feel the warm, hard press of his lithe form. I nestle into him, weave my fingers into his hair, and plant a kiss against his soft mouth. “Thank you for coming with me. ”

“I had fun.” He tucks another kiss to the corner of my mouth. “You have a devastatingly beautiful family.”

I laugh, more ghosts prancing out into the night. “Well, now that you’re my boyfriend , I guess you’re part of it.”

“I like that,” he says. “A lot. Both of those things, actually—the boyfriend thing and the family thing—I’m gonna stop talking.”

“Come home with me?” I ask, and maybe I’m begging, because I don’t want to face the vastness of my room all alone. “Not for, um, not like a booty call. I mean, the kids will be there, but like down the other hall—shit.”

I wince, but Olli just laughs. “Well, I am your boyfriend now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to think that we have to do anything,” I say, and I mean it. “If stuff happens, it happens. If not, it doesn’t.”

His brows knit together, and I realize he’s studying me—since this is even newer territory for me than it is for him. Aside from the occasional relationship, the no-strings-attached booty call is much more my style.

But not with him.

Never with him.

“I’m serious.” I twine my fingers through his again, just like when we walked up the driveway together, and squeeze. “I’m so fucking tired I don’t think I want to do more than sleep anyway.”

“Same,” Olli admits. “But you’ll owe me.”

That makes me smile all the way back to the truck.

“Is Olli coming back with us?” Syd asks as I climb in behind the wheel.

I can’t even muster a properly put-out sigh. “Yes, he is.”

“For the night?” Syd leans over the center console to peer at me. “With you?”

I tilt my head back against the seat rest. “Yes, okay? Yes.”

Syd squeals, and I have to replay that sound in my head over and over the whole ride home.

But it doesn’t matter, because Olli follows me to my townhouse. Parks in my driveway and shadows me through my front door. I’m suddenly self-conscious .

It's so . . . plain. Nothing like Olli’s soft, worn cottage bursting with plants, that bears his soft scents, that already feels like home, melded to fit Olli’s sunshine sweetness.

Maybe he just brings home with him wherever he goes. Maybe he is home.

“Not too bad.” Olli’s head tilts to take in the tall ceilings, the hardwood floors, the remodeled kitchen with its glossy counters.

Syd helps me move boxes off the spare bed and tug on clean sheets for Avery. She goes into her room, Avery into his, I make some vague threats I hopefully won’t have to follow through on, and then it’s just Olli and me, out in the kitchen.

“I have a TV in my room, over my bed,” I say, because I’m so damn tired. “Want to watch?”

“Yes. Please. I’m ready to drop,” Olli sighs, and I twine my fingers through his for the third time tonight, lead him back down the hall to my room. This, at least, feels a little less stark and sterile, with a queen-sized bed plumped up with pillows and downy blankets.

I flip on the TV while Olli slides out of his jeans and beneath the covers. I follow suit, divesting myself of all save my boxers before I tuck in beside him. It’s natural, so natural, to nestle in like this, the two of us side by side, pretending to watch the murmuring screen while the darkness of sleep claims us all too quickly.

Olli and I spend the night like that, wrapped in each other’s arms.