Page 25 of Puck Shots (Love The Game #6)
Cosmo
I reread the email three times, sure it has to be a scam, or a cruel joke someone is playing on me. How hard would it be to set up a fake email account under one of the best NHL teams’ branding? Is the spelling all right?
Luka bursts through the door.
“Did you get one?” he asks, holding his phone in his shaking hands, eyes wide with excitement.
“So it’s real?”
“If you’re talking about the invite to a dinner with Garret, the head scout, Charles, the Player Development Coach, and that adviser, Greg Love, then yeah, it’s real. Rover got one, too.”
I jump from my bed and grab Luka in our usual bro hug. Slapping opposite hands together as if to shake, but then, pulling him in and wrapping my other arm around him, squeezing him tight before finishing with two firm slaps on the back and letting him go.
His palm is sweaty, or mine is. My heart is racing, and the smile is stinging my cheeks, but I don’t care. This is the best news in forever.
“Dude, we are so getting drafted this year,” Luka cheers, slinging one arm over my shoulder. I look down at his invite.
“Looks like you’re one is the night after next, right?”
“Yeah, when’s yours?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Wow, that’s short notice. What if you had a date or something?” Luka laughs.
“I’d cancel,” I reply without a second thought, then the guilt creeps in that I didn’t even hesitate to bail on Eli for this dinner. Not that we had any set plans. We’ve been hooking up every day this week, but he’d understand even if we did. Wouldn’t he?
“Dude, you have to help me pick what to wear. Do I go with my suit?” Luka asks, heading to his wardrobe.
Where is my suit? Maybe I can just wear dress pants and a nice shirt, maybe a tie? Fuck. I click the accept link on the email invite and open up my messages.
ME:
Hey, guess who’s invited to dinner with the big wigs of Boston.
My oldest brother Brent replies a few minutes later, despite the time difference, he’s great like that.
brENT:
That’s awesome, little bro.
See, I told you that this year was going to be your year.
Have you told the parents yet?
ME:
Not yet. Just got the invite a few minutes ago.
brENT:
I knew I was the favorite. Fuck, I wish I could be there.
ME:
Me, too. You could have come and used that fake British accent of yours to charm the coach.
brENT:
***shocked face emoji*** My accent isn’t fake!
Besides, I’m not sure Camden would approve of me using it to charm anyone, even if it is for my favourite needy brother.
ME:
It’s spelled favorite.
brENT:
*** middle finger emoji*** Tell the rents before I do.
I send back a thumbs up emoji and flick through my contacts and dial home.
“Cosmo, honey, how are you?” Mom asks the second she answers. Should have known they’d get that caller ID thing sorted out. Probably had Brent fix it up for them when he visited last.
“Hi, Mom. I’m good. Great, actually. I just got invited to a dinner for one of the NHL teams.”
“That’s great, honey. Which one?”
“Boston. But here’s the thing…” She stays silent, giving me the time I need to get to my point. She’s always been like that. Patient. “I know it’s short notice, but do you think you and Dad could come with me? It’s tomorrow night?”
“Jo, we’re going to Boston,” Mom yells, and I wince at the volume. Dad could have been down the block and heard her at that level.
“What time is dinner, and do you need us to pick you up on the way or meet you there? Oh, send me the restaurant details, anyway. I can show your father the menu so he’s picked what he wants before we get there. You know how he gets when he has to decide under pressure.”
“Thanks, Mom. It’s set for seven at Grizilla, a new steakhouse that opened up a few months back in the city. I can meet you and Dad there, save you driving all the way in here only to go back the way you came.”
“Sound good, hon. I’m going to go wrangle your father. He was just here a second ago. I swear now that you kids are out of the house, there are too many places that man can hide.”
“Why would he hide from you, Mom?”
“He’s been hiding Snickers around the house again. The doc told him to cut back on the sugar, but that man loves his candy. I found one behind the laundry hamper yesterday.”
“He’d be better off hiding them in the tool shed; you never go out there.”
“Hey, good idea. I bet he’s out in the shed.”
Shit, did I just rat out my own dad?
“Do you need anything else, hon?”
“Nope, that’s it.”
“Well, we’ll see you tomorrow night, and Cosmo, Hun, we’re so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom, but it’s just a dinner.”
“Not because of the dinner. Just everything you’ve accomplished out there on your own.”
“Mom—”
“No, it’s true. Calvin and Tony had each other, always, and Brent, well, that boy was born independent, and your sister might have moved into an apartment closer to the school, but she’s here every night for dinner, so not much has changed for her, really.
But you, my sweet surprise, you were always running a mile a minute in every direction all at once.
It’s nice to see you settling into a path. ”
“I’ve always wanted to play hockey.”
“You wanted to be a fireman, a policeman, a therapist, a teacher, a doctor, a ghost, a ringmaster, and a figure skater all before you were ten.”
“Yeah, but since high school, it’s been all about hockey.”
“And that’s what I’m saying is great, honey. You settle on one thing and work at it to make it happen. We’re enormously proud of you.”
“Thanks again, Mom,” I say, and I can see her smile in my mind’s eye.
“Love you.”
“Love you, Mom. Bye.”
I hang up and send off the restaurant info and a link to the menu, then share a link to the map directions so she can have it up and ready for when they set out tomorrow morning.
They’ll have to leave at about four am to get here with stoppage time, but Dad won’t want to fly out even though by plane it’s like an hour and a half.
He’s always saying what a waste of money flights are, but with the price of gas these days, it has to be much the muchness.
Maybe it’s an old person thing. They like the drive, like it’s part of the experience.
I’d rather have an extra three hours of sleep and a few extra daylight hours than drive fourteen hours from Habersham to Boston.
“What do you think?” Luka asks, stepping out of the bathroom wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt, and his jet-black hair slicked back tight with so much gel I bet a tornado wouldn’t make a single hair lift out of place.
“Perfect.”
“Your parents are coming?”
“Yep, they’ll drive up tomorrow.”
“Dad still refuses to spend money on flights?”
“Yeah, I bet so. Okay, if you are wearing a suit, I should probably find mine.”
I move toward my wardrobe, but Luka grabs me before I get there, wrapping his arm over my shoulder again and checking us out in the mirror on his wardrobe door.
“So I guess since you won our race the other week, if we both play for Boston, we can get an apartment together, be roomies for reals.”
“I’m counting on it. You know how much a maid would cost?”
He shoves me loose.
“Jerk, you know you love me for more than my cleaning skills.”
I scrunch up my nose.
“You sure?”
“Mean,” he says, tossing a pair of socks at me. I dodge them easily.
“Can’t catch the Flash.” I laugh, and he lunges forward, chasing me around the room, up and over the beds until he’s caught me in a headlock on the floor.
“Who’s the fastest now, Flash?” he asks as I wriggle and writhe trying to get free. Then I hear a tearing sound, and he lets go and jumps to his feet.
“Is it bad? Tell me it isn’t bad,” he asks, contorting his torso around to try to see the back of his pants while turning in a circle like a dog chasing its tail.
‘That depends.” I laugh. “How much of your ass do you want the big wigs at Boston to see?”