Brenna looks up from her spot on the couch next to Brett, her coloring kit scattered on the coffee table. “Yeah, Mommy?”
I sigh. She’s just so innocent, I can’t be angry with her. “Make sure you don’t accidentally bump Brett’s leg, okay? You’ll hurt him.”
“I know.”
I can avoid Brett’s gaze for only so long before I feel compelled to meet it.
“The drive over was fine?” he asks casually, as if my daughter didn’t just basically make me look like a crazy woman who sits in her living room and watches tapes of him late into the night.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, it was great. But did you know there’s a big storm coming in? I feel bad for making Donovan drive in it tonight.”
“We’ll wait it out. Come, sit.” He points at the tall glass of SunnyD sitting on the coffee table, right beside him, a knowing grin touching his lips.
I settle in, wondering exactly how much space I should leave between us.
“Hey, Jack and Brenna, come and help me pick out a few pizzas here,” Richard calls out.
Brenna’s on her feet and running toward the kitchen before Jack even has a chance to finish his sip.
“Brenna likes broccoli and sardines,” he teases, earning her shriek of disgust and my laugh. It’s all so comfortable, so easy. And, I think, as Brett lifts an arm up and over my shoulders, intentional on Richard’s part.
Brett pulls me into his chest in a hug. “I’m glad you came,” he whispers, his lips grazing my cheek.
I inhale the scent of his cologne and sigh, my blood stirring instantly. My fingers toy with the hem of his soft cotton T-shirt, desperate to slide under, to graze the chiseled plane of his stomach again. “I missed you.” I thought it would be hard for me to admit that out loud, but the words just slip out.
He pulls away just a touch and his aqua-blue eyes drift downward toward my mouth. I lean in, desperate for a kiss.
“One with chicken, Cath?” Jack hollers, startling me.
I sit back and clear my throat. And silently curse my brother. “If you’ll eat some, too.”
“You know I will.” Jack will eat anything.
Brett shifts to his original spot and settles his hand on his thigh, his pinky stretched just far enough to drag along my bare skin, teasing me mercilessly.
“He’s having a great year, huh?” Jack wanders over, tipping his bottle to the TV screen, where they’re showing highlights of Toronto’s team captain.
“Incredible year. He stole three goals from me at my last game against them.” Brett turns the volume up.
They start talking about points and assists, and plus-minus scores, things I don’t understand and am not going to pretend to. I’m glad I brought Jack, though. It makes this feel that much more low-key. I sit and quietly listen, observing as Brenna colors her book, and Richard fills bowls with chips and popcorn and other snacks, and everyone waits for the game to start. No cameras, no media, no stress. No talk of heroes and saving lives.
And I let myself imagine us doing this all the time.
“No, no, no . . .”
“Pass it!”
“Get it out of there!”
Brett, Richard, and Jack are all yelling at the TV as the little clock in the corner counts down the last seconds of the third period. Much like they’ve been doing for the past two and a half hours. I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to talk about during the game, that conversation would be stalled, but there’s been very little conversation at all. Just a lot of hollering and cheering.
And yet it’s easily been one of the best nights of my life.
When the clock expires, Toronto has squeaked by with a one-point win. There’s a pile of sweaty hockey players crashing into each other on the ice, Richard is on his feet, congratulating them all through the TV, Jack is twirling a sluggish but giggling Brenna around in the air, and Brett is quietly contemplative, an odd mix of resignation and happiness on his face.
I give his thigh a gentle squeeze. “Next year, it’ll be yours.”
He answers that with a tight smile before seemingly shrugging it off, draping his arm casually over the back of the couch behind me. “I still can’t believe this is the first hockey game you’ve watched from beginning to end. That’s appalling, actually.”
I merely shrug, earning his headshake and chuckle.
Brenna frees herself from Jack’s grip and crawls onto the couch beside me. “I’m tired.”
I can’t help the small sigh of frustration that escapes. I don’t want the night to end. It’s only nine thirty, but we have a long drive and Brenna’s been curled up on the couch in her pajamas for the past half hour, the built-up excitement of coming here tonight having finally worn her down.
“You and me both, kid.” Richard stretches his arms over his head. His gaze drifts to the wall of window, where rain is drizzling against the glass. The storm doesn’t seem to be in any rush, though; the bursts of lightning are slowly becoming brighter, the rumbles of thunder only now beginning to grow deeper and more frequent. Heavy rain warnings have scrolled across the bottom of the screen repeatedly, advising motorists in the Philadelphia area to stay off the roads for the evening. “Looks like you’re stuck for a while, at least. Why don’t you take this spot right over here where there’s lots of room?”
Richard stretches a gray knit blanket over Brenna, who has settled in comfortably. He gives the top of her head a playful rub to mess her hair. “You know, there’s a free room upstairs, if you’d rather just stay the night.” Kind gray eyes peer to me. “Probably a better idea than dragging her home so late tonight.”
Stay overnight? Here? With Brett? My heart begins to race. And his dad, Brenna, and Jack, I remind myself. “Thank you. I guess we’ll see how the storm is.” I climb to my feet. “But just in case we go, I should say goodbye now.” Brett said that Richard was flying home to California on Thursday.
I’m about to offer my hand when Richard pulls me into a tight hug that lasts a good five seconds. Oddly enough, it feels natural. “We will see you again, and soon,” he assures me. “Need anything before I turn in, Brett?”
Brett declines with a thanks.
Giving Jack a firm handshake, Richard disappears down the hall.
“Hey, Cath?” Jack is pulling on his jacket, his eyes on his phone. I’m still amazed by how much he’s grown. “I’m actually going to head out. I’ve got a friend from school who wants to meet up.”
“Out in that storm?”
“It’s just a few blocks away.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. I half expected him to ditch us at some point. When you’re nineteen years old and single, why go back to a sleepy town when you’re in the city on a Saturday night? “Okay. But what about getting home?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “She said she’d drive me tomorrow.”
“She. Uh-huh.” I roll my eyes. “Just don’t forget to text Mom to let her know not to expect you.”
He groans. “Nine months of freedom and now I’m back to doing that.”