“It feels like I never left,” I fire back. Then I turn my back and drop my towel.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” she asks my naked ass.
“Pretty much.”
“Fine. You want to give me a better quote?”
“Not really. That flying saucer of a goal speaks for itself, don’t you think?”
“Okay, modest one. Do you have any comment about the racist fan who heckled you tonight?”
“Racist? Did I miss something?”
“He called you ‘brutha.’”
Rolling my eyes, I pull up my boxers. Then I turn around and shrug. “Is that a thing? I’m sorry, but I didn’t have any opinion about him at all, other than he was irritatingly loud and I was in a grumpy mood. It faded the second I got the sweetest goal of my life. Then I forgot all about him.”
She eyes me sullenly. I’m sure her job is more fun when the athletes take her bait. But she can peddle it elsewhere tonight. “Good game,” she says eventually. “Have fun with your parents.”
“My parents?” What bullshit is she spinning now?
“They’re in the hallway. You look exactly like your dad.” She walks away to bust someone else’s balls.
Good Lord, but that woman is nosy. Before I make it out of the locker room, two more journalists corral me. But all these dudes want to talk about is team readiness, my awesome goal, and our next game against Philadelphia. They don’t try to psychoanalyze me.
When I finally sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and walk out, the first people I see are my mom and dad. “Hey!” I shout. “Look who it is!”
“Sweetheart!” Mom shrieks. I get a bracing hug. “Great goal! Like threading a needle!”
“Thank you for noticing.” My parents might not love hockey, but they do pay attention.
“Good work, kid,” my dad says. “Sorry we didn’t call.”
“Eh, Silvia warned me that you were planning a surprise attack.”
“We got cheap airfare. Two hundred bucks!” Mom gushes. She loves a bargain. And since I always send my comp seats for home games to my parents, they don’t really have to plan ahead.
“No hotel, though,” my dad says with an apologetic smile. “Hope that’s okay.”
“No problem,” I say immediately. That’s why I bought the pull-out couch in the first place. “Where’s your luggage?”
“Right here,” he says, showing me a backpack. “We travel light.”
“Great. Okay.” I’m wrapping my head around this change of plans. Heidi is going to have to wrap hers around it, too. And that’s going to cause a stir. “Let’s get out of here. But first I have to find someone.”
I pull out my phone and text Heidi. Still here? Where can I find you?
She doesn’t respond right away. “Hungry?” I ask my parents.
Mom shakes her head. “We ate dinner before the game.” Of course they did. Mom would rather lose a limb than pay twelve bucks for an overpriced stadium cheeseburger.
“Wouldn’t turn down a beer, though,” my father says, proving that in spite of our differences, I’m probably not adopted.
“Okay. We could go to the tavern or have a beer at home. Let me see what Heidi wants to do.”
My mother’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. “Who is Heidi? Jason Lucas Castro—do you have a girlfriend?” Her voice gets a little higher with every word.
And that’s when I notice that Miranda Wager has left the locker room and is leaning against the wall, watching us.
“No,” I say immediately. “A friend.” I’ll be damned if I give a reporter any fodder to write about my personal life.
Mom frowns and Dad chuckles.
“Let’s go,” I say, heading toward the players’ exit.
My phone chimes with a text as soon as we get outside. I’m by the front doors, she says. I have five more minutes on the clock and have to grab my things.
“Mind if we walk around the stadium?” I ask.
My parents follow me gamely around the big structure. “I thought we’d go out for brunch tomorrow morning,” my mother says.
“Sure,” I say, mentally crossing off the leisurely morning I’d planned in bed with Heidi. But my parents only get two or three nights with me during the season. I always spend a week in Minnesota with them during the summer. Sometimes we rent a cottage in Ontario, near the place where I grew up.
I love my family, even if they aren’t good at planning their visits. Although I suspect that’s intentional. Castros are nosy. Every one of us.
When we round the front of the building, I spot Heidi outside. That ought to be good news, except she’s still wearing her skimpy Ice Girls uniform and I can see her shivering from fifty paces away.
“Hey!” I say, breaking into a trot. “What are you doing out here wearing that?”
“It’s the r-r-rules,” she says, her teeth chattering together. “We have to work the d-doors.”
I don’t even think, I just pull her against my chest. “Jesus. Do they know it’s forty degrees out here?”
“The g-girls are allowed to stand inside when it dips below freezing.”
“That’s some serious bullshit,” I grumble, tugging my trench coat off and wrapping it around her. “Take my coat. Your lips are blue. Jesus.” I pull her hands into mine, and they’re like two popsicles.
“N-no need,” she says with a shiver. “Mine will do. I can punch out now and change.”
“Jason?” My mother comes huffing towards us. “Do we get to meet your friend?”
Heidi peers around my shoulder. “Wait. Are those your—”
“—parents,” I confirm. “They surprised me tonight.” And I’m sorry in advance for all the unwanted attention you’re about to receive.
Heidi steps back and smiles politely, prepared to greet them properly. But then she looks down at her getup—the tiny, tight sports bra and nonexistent skirt. Her smile fades. “Oh Lord,” she says under her breath.
“Mom, Dad,” I say brightly. Because Heidi has nothing to fear from my parents. “This is Heidi. She needs to change out of her work clothes before you can chat her up. But say hello before she freezes solid.”
“It’s l-lovely to m-meet you,” my girl says in her perfect charm-school voice. She pulls my coat more tightly around her. “If you’ll just excuse me for a m-moment…”
“Oh, sweetie!” my mother squeals, lunging for her, and hugging Heidi so tightly I’m a little worried for her spine. “It’s amazing to meet you! Jason is a terrible son, obviously, because he failed to tell us he was dating such a delightful, beautiful girl.”
“Well, um,” Heidi says, her charm-school training failing her as she meets my gaze with nervous eyes. “It’s, uh, new.”
I smile apologetically. No girl should have to meet the parents until a relationship is at least forty-eight hours old. That ought to be a rule.
“This is Matheus, Jason’s father. He’s just as excited to meet you, but I probably won’t let him get a word in edgewise.”
“Not an exaggeration,” my father mumbles, shaking Heidi’s cold hand.
“It’s lovely to meet you both,” Heidi says again. “Let me just change out of this. I’m not usually dressed like a member of the Hooters tennis team.”
I bark out a laugh, and wrap an arm around poor Heidi. “You are a great sport, do you know that?” I’m as attracted to her attitude as I am to her rocking body.
My mother watches us, her face in an expression of rapture. “I can’t believe this. It’s been years since I’ve seen him like this.” Jesus, I knew she’d make a big deal out of me being with someone again. “Matheus! Isn’t this amazing?”
“Well—”
“We have to celebrate!” my mother declares.
“Can you let the poor girl put on clothes?” I beg, cuddling Heidi a little closer. Then I release her. “Go on. Make a run for it.”
“Yes!” Mom agrees. “Sorry, honey. Go warm up. Or you’ll catch your death!” My mother takes a breath. Then she realizes what she just said.
Then she bursts into tears.
26
Heidi
Jason shoos me toward the doors and hugs his sobbing mother. “Take a breath, Mom,” he says. “You’re scaring Heidi.”