Page 24 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

ERIC

Hudson lives about fifteen minutes from the arena in a rural area outside town.

The house has faded aluminum siding and a few cars in various states of disrepair are parked in the driveway, but the yard is neat, and there’s a Valentine’s Day flag whipping in the breeze on a post out front.

The Kirchers clearly aren’t wealthy, but they’re taking care of the property.

“My mom goes stupid crazy for holidays,” he mumbles as I pull into the driveway.

“There are worse things to go stupid crazy over,” I tell him. My mom never cared about holidays—never cared much about anything unless it involved whatever dirtbag boyfriend she had at the time. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you? Talk to your mom about the next steps.”

“She’s still at work, and I know what to do,” he assures me.

“Coach Toby is going to check on you later. If you need anything, let him know. Anything.”

“Thanks, Coach.” He sighs then climbs out of my truck. I want to pull him back, hold on, and find a way to convince him he’ll be okay, but how can I promise that? How can I promise something I’m not even sure I believe ?

Taylor parks Hudson’s ancient Jeep in front of the house and meets him at the back of my truck, where he’s looping his duffel bag over one shoulder.

It’s clear her words are having what I’m coming to recognize as the Tinkerbell effect.

I can almost see an invisible weight lifting off his shoulders.

It’s like watching her sprinkle fairy dust over him.

He waves as he walks by, and then Taylor climbs into the passenger seat.

I can’t help taking a deep breath, the lavender scent she carries everywhere washing over me. It’s calming in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

“What did you say to him?” I ask as I shift the vehicle into reverse.

“I told him about how my dad broke his leg in two places his rookie season. The docs told him he wouldn’t come back the same, and he didn’t.”

I raise a brow. “That’s what you shared with the kid?”

She rolls her eyes like I’m slow on the uptake. “Dad came back better, stronger and faster. Everyone who plays hockey in Skylark is well-versed in the legend of Marty Maxwell. He’s like Paul Bunyan and John Wick all rolled into one.”

I laugh, picturing Marty with a massive axe in one hand, his face painted blue. “It’s better than a Santa Claus-Easter Bunny mash up. Thank you for helping get his car home.”

“Of course.” She lets out a quiet sigh. “Toby and Elise both had injuries at different points during their high school sports careers, and it always felt like the end of the world.”

I swallow the knot in my throat as I flip on my blinker to turn onto the two-lane road that’ll take us back to the rink. “I wish there was a way to convince Hudson this isn’t the end. Do you know him well?”

“Not well, but I know he’s a good kid. He’s one of the students who spends lunch hours in the high school library studying when they’ve got upcoming tests.

He’s smart, popular, and has plenty to offer the world beyond his skating skills.

” She eyes me, waiting for my response, as if she understands something more is coming.

I shouldn’t appreciate her ability to read me as much as I do.

“You don’t know anything about his home life?”

“Not really, but my brother cares about his players. He’ll make sure Hudson is taken care of and help his family with whatever they need.”

I nod, not wanting to voice my fears about Kent Kircher’s potential reaction to Hudson’s injury and what it might mean for the kid.

“I filmed a quick video when Rhett took the ice. He looked good,” she reports. “Right at home with the team.”

“It blows my mind that he’s a hockey player, and my sister never mentioned it. It’s like he picked up the sport all on his own.”

Taylor breathes out a quiet laugh. “I’d bet my life it wasn’t on his own. Sometimes it’s in the blood. A kid just knows where they belong.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and force a smile I don’t feel.

Guilt niggles at the back of my mind, the way it has since I returned to help my sister and nephew.

“I haven’t come back to the States for over a decade.

I wish I’d paid more attention or kept in touch with Jen.

Maybe I could have intervened or helped or… ”

She reaches across the console and places a gentle hand on my arm. “You’re here now.”

Her touch grounds me, and I feel my chest loosen, just a little. “I hope that’s enough.”

We pull into the rink parking lot as players and their families exit the arena.

Rhett approaches with Toby and Mike Russell, the other freshman player who swings up to the varsity squad. Mike is a hell of a goalie and the backup for our starter.

“We won,” Toby reports, clapping Rhett on the back. “Your nephew had a beautiful assist. Threaded the needle like a pro. He does the Anderson legacy proud.”

“That’s awesome, buddy,” I say with a smile. “Congratulations.”

Rhett looks embarrassed at the attention, shoulders drawn up like he’s bracing for rejection. “I’m gonna sleep over at Mike’s house tonight.” There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes like he’s waiting for me to shut him down.

Toby thumps him gently on the head. “I think what you meant to say is, ‘Uncle Eric, would it be okay if I spent the night at the Russells’?’”

Toby’s gentle ribbing knocks some of the stiffness out of Rhett’s posture as a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

Honestly, I hadn’t thought about how he asked me.

I’m too goddamn happy about the win and the fact that he maybe made a friend.

When I told him he was switching schools and moving from South Denver to Skylark, Rhett had been adamant that he’d hate it here and vowed to spend every free minute he wasn’t playing hockey alone in his bedroom.

And based on his track record, I figured that was our future—until now.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Can I sleep over at the Russells’ house?”

The hope in his voice catches me off guard.

A woman who looks to be in her mid-forties has joined our little group. She smiles at me and sticks out her hand. “Mike’s dad is picking up pizzas now. I’m Susan Russell.”

Toby wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Mike’s older brother, Kevin, was a senior my first year coaching and Susan made my life a lot easier. Never underestimate the power of a good team mom.”

“I appreciate the invitation for Rhett,” I say, shaking her hand. “I’m Eric Anderson, his uncle.”

“Star defenseman who can stop a breakaway like he was born doing it.” She smiles. “You were Kevin’s favorite college player back when he was in Pee Wees. We’re excited to have you helping out with the team this season. Rhett, you did such a good job today.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Russell.” My surly nephew sounds downright polite. If I’d known all it took was a compliment and a sleepover invitation to bring out the manners, I would have tried the tactic weeks ago.

“I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of coaching tips over the years from your uncle.”

Rhett’s eyes meet mine, and his expression goes completely blank. “Sure…lots,” he says.

The lie is so blatant it almost hurts. The kid deserves someone in his corner, and I wish it had been me before now.

Susan Russell frowns slightly because that sounds like the lamest agreement ever uttered by a teenage boy—and that’s saying something.

“Can I pitch in for the pizza or bring by donuts in the morning?” I ask, wondering how this whole thing is done.

My mom sure as hell wasn’t hosting sleepovers, and I’d been pegged as trouble from a young age, so there weren’t a lot of invitations coming my way. Not until I got into college, and my teammates took pity on me. Plus, I stopped being such a punk ass…mostly.

“We’ve got it covered,” she assures me. “We’ll drop Rhett off around ten tomorrow morning if that works?”

Mike groans. “Dude, we won’t even be up by ten.”

“I’m your mom, not your dude,” she says with a laugh then turns to me. “I’ll have Rhett text you when these two sleeping beauties awaken.”

“Sure, thanks.” It all sounds so normal. Like we’re in a damn sitcom or something. And if I’m being honest, this level of normal is blowing my mind.

Susan and the two boys walk away, leaving me staring after them until Toby claps a hand on my back. “Hey, man. You aren’t sending him off to be inducted into a cult. It’s just a sleepover.”

“Yeah, I know.” I nod and smile. I want to believe normal can be easy. I really do. “But I gave my word to my sister that nothing would happen to him while he’s under my care.”

“They’re going to play video games, stuff their faces with pizza, and probably do some dumb stuff like pantry roulette.”

I arch a brow.

“You know, when you have to eat something from the pantry without seeing it or knowing what it is.”

“Not a game I ever played,” I say. The choices in our pantry growing up were chicken or beef-flavored ramen. Pantry roulette would have been boring as fuck.

Toby smiles as Taylor approaches, but her shoulders straighten like she’s bracing herself for whatever casual dismissal comes next. It’s subtle, but there.

“Thanks for driving Hudson’s car back.”

“You’re welcome. It’s a tough break for him and the team, but the boys looked tight today.”

“Yeah,” Toby answers, but it doesn’t sound like he’s paying attention. “Anderson and I need to talk through some things, Tink.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Don’t you have some…pirate book to read or whatever?”

I catch a glint of hurt in her eyes, although she covers it with an eye roll. But I can see her disappointment simmering just beneath the surface.

“Actually,” she says, her voice soft but steady, “I noticed Eldridge isn’t dropping back for coverage as quick as he should. That could be a problem if you’re running zone defense.”

Toby’s expression is a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “Decent insight.” But then, just as fast, he brushes her off again. “Seriously, Eric and I need to get this sorted. I’ll see you tomorrow at Dad’s.”

She nods, her shoulders dropping the tiniest bit. It’s practiced, the way she pulls back into herself like she’s used to this. I feel it like I’m the one getting slammed into the boards.

I want her to call him out for being a dismissive jackhole, or for Toby to engage at little more. Hell, the hope and expectation on her face is obvious. He could throw her a bone—one perfunctory question about her week. Neither of those happens.

The silence that follows feels heavier than it should.

“Sure, see you tomorrow.”

She turns on her heel and walks to her car without looking at me. I watch her go, my jaw clenched so tight I can feel it throb. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

“How bad is it?” Toby demands when we’re alone again. “What’s the plan if he’s out the whole season?”

“Dude, did you have to be such a jerk to your sister?”

He tilts his head, staring at me like a golden retriever who can’t understand why he just got scolded for trash-surfing when someone was dumb enough to leave the bin open. “I said thanks for giving Hudson a ride.”

He’s either completely oblivious or just that comfortable with brushing her off. Either way, I don’t like it. “You know she had a good point about the coverage.”

He blinks like he’s considering that for the first time. “Sure. We can work on that. Tell me you aren’t suggesting I make Tink, who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time, my play caller?”

“No asshole, I’m saying you should treat her like she’s a person and not just your annoying kid sister.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t pull them back.

“She is my annoying kid sister. I’m not trying to join her book club so not sure why you think I should welcome her inserting herself into my life. Give me a break, okay?” His tone is defensive, but there’s a trace of guilt in his tone even if he won’t admit it.

I know I’m not in the running for brother of the year, but I expected better from a member of the close-knit Maxwell clan.

I can’t let it go—something else I’m unwilling to examine too closely. Instead, I ask, “Did you know she tried out for the community theater’s newest production?”

“Tink on stage?” His look is comically incredulous. “No fucking way. She gets tongue-tied answering a question at Dad’s Sunday suppers.”

“Maybe that’s because nobody in your family gives her a chance to talk before barreling right over her.” The words are out before I can think better of them.

“Why do you know or care what my sister is doing?” There’s a flash of suspicion in Toby’s eye.

Shit. How do I explain why I care?

“I mostly don’t,” I lie. “But she lives across the hall and is tutoring Rhett, so I hear things. It’s not a big deal.”

My friend doesn’t look convinced.

“Without Hudson, we need to pull in the two wings and go to a neutral zone trap,” I say.

Toby’s shoulders relax, and he nods. “I knew you’d have a plan. You always do.”

I always have a plan when it comes to hockey. Life? That’s another beast entirely.

Toby and I talk through ideas for switching up practice and the lineup. He reminds me that with Hudson out, Rhett will get more playtime than he normally would as a freshman, and that I need to make sure my nephew’s grades stay on track.

“I’ll talk to Tink about it tomorrow at dinner. Dad’s making chili. You and Rhett should come over again.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, man. And I’ll send her a text congratulating her on the part. Maybe grab her a pack of saltine crackers to keep her stomach steady.”

He chuckles at his joke. I laugh, but it’s forced. My mind’s still stuck on the look on Taylor’s face when Toby brushed her off. And the conundrum of why I care so much.