Brett chuckles. “Don’t miss those days.”
“Tell me about it. Listen, it was amazing hanging out with you.” Jack leans in and clasps hands with Brett. “If you’re gonna be around this summer and on the ice, I’d love to get out with you.”
“Definitely.” Brett smiles, but I sense him stiffen. My chest pangs for him.
“Talk to you tomorrow, Cath?”
“Call me if you get into trouble. But don’t get into trouble.”
He leans down to kiss the top of my head. “Night, favorite sis.”
“Be safe,” I tell him, watching him gently ruffle Brenna’s hair and then saunter out the door.
And now it’s just the three of us.
Brett turns the volume down on the TV until it’s just a low murmur. He watches Brenna closely. “Will that bother her? Should I turn it off?”
“That kid can curl up in a booth at Diamonds and fall asleep within minutes. The noise actually puts her to sleep.” A crack of thunder sounds and her little body jolts slightly. “Though that might wake her up if it gets worse.”
Brett’s warm hand drags lazily over my bare thigh, one of many fleeting touches and gentle nudges he’s stolen tonight, when attention wasn’t on us.
Does he realize what he’s doing to me?
My heart feels like it’s about to explode in my chest.
“Sounds like my dad. He’ll be out cold and snoring within thirty seconds of his head hitting the pillow. My mom’s convinced he’s narcoleptic.”
I steady my shaky breathing, trying to shift my focus from climbing onto Brett’s lap right here—with my daughter five feet away—to Richard. “I like your dad a lot. He just seems so . . . normal.”
Brett’s eyebrows quirk. “And that surprises you?”
“Yes. I mean, no! I mean . . .” Ugh, I sound like an idiot. “I feel like I might run into him at the grocery store on a Tuesday afternoon and, if I did, we could talk about . . . I don’t know . . .” A crack of thunder sounds. “The weather. Or the news, or . . . you know, normal stuff.”
Brett squeezes my thigh, his skin hot against mine. “I knew what you meant. I just like seeing you get flustered.”
“That’s not funny,” I mock-protest, even though I’m smiling. I poke him in the ribs, my finger digging into hard muscle. He doesn’t even flinch, grabbing my hand and holding it for two . . . three . . . four seconds before his eyes flicker to Brenna.
With a heavy sigh, he lets go. “My dad’s the best. He kept me and Michelle grounded while we were growing up. Not saying that my mom’s not great, too. It’s just that her life is insane. She gets recognized everywhere. She can’t go out without her bodyguard.”
“How does she deal with it?”
“A lot better than my dad does. He hates the cameras. He hates Hollywood. But they don’t bother with him anymore, because he doesn’t give them anything worth reporting about. He actually wants to move east again. He’s been working on my mom for a while now. She was holding out, but since the accident . . .” He shrugs. “He thinks she’ll give in soon. Plus, Michelle got that role so she’s moving to Miami. My mom and her are really close. They do everything together.”
What must that be like, I wonder, a spark of envy flaring inside. “You guys lived in Canada for a while, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” He sighs, smiling. “Feels like so long ago. But it was the best thing they could ever have done for us. I got the coaching and the competition that I couldn’t get anywhere else. At least, not in California.”
Another crack of thunder sounds. The rain is pelting against the glass in sheets now, the wind picking up. Yet inside Brett’s condo, curled against his side, listening to the dull rasp of his voice as my daughter snores softly nearby, I couldn’t feel more at ease. “How long were you there for?”
“Until I was fifteen and my sister was fourteen. Then we moved to New York. It was just him a lot of the time, with my mom off filming somewhere. He took me to every practice, every game. He built a rink in our backyard every winter, just so I could practice more.” Brett shakes his head. “My dad sacrificed everything for all of us. For my mom, so she could have her career and I’d have a shot at the NHL, and my sister could chase after what she wanted, which turns out to be acting, too.”
“He sounds like an incredible father.” I think mine would have been, too, had circumstances been different. I see the closeness between him and Jack. And there’s definitely a shift in my relationship with him in recent years. I actually feel like I’m starting to have one.
“He is.” Brett’s brow tightens. “It kills me that, after all that, that he has to sit here and watch another team in the play-offs.”
“Meanwhile, all he’s thinking about is how happy he is that he gets to sit and watch a game with you.” Every time I think of Brett not surviving that accident, an uncomfortable burn blossoms in my chest. It’s unbearable to even imagine.
Brett sighs. “I know you’re right. I have to just shut up and get over it. I’m sure Seth would rather be alive and sitting on this couch right now.” His jaw tenses.
Somehow, in all the hype around Brett and me, Seth Grabner’s death became a quiet, accepted loss for the media, fading to only a line mention within weeks. Instead, they’ve chosen to focus on the miraculous part of the story—how Brett survived in the first place. Seth’s story is finished, over. A tragedy but an unfortunate death due to his own carelessness, I’ve heard many times over.
Even I’m guilty of settling my focus almost immediately on Brett—and myself, selfishly.
I rest my hand over where his sits on my lap. “You were good friends, weren’t you?”
A sad smile curls his lips. “When we first met, he was playing for Tampa and I was playing for the Bruins. He would ride my ass on the ice. Every pass, every block, every goal, he was on me, ready to fuck it”—Brett glances at Brenna—“to take my chance away. No one’s ever pressed me like him.” He chuckles softly. “I wanted to punch the bastard in the face. And then the Flyers brought me on and, a year later, him. We were in sync from the first day on the ice. I can’t imagine playing without him now.” He picks at the label of his beer bottle, the one he’s nursed through the entire night. “His girlfriend came by yesterday.”
“That must have been hard.”
“She pretty much sat here and cried on me the entire time.” His throat bobs with a hard swallow.
“Were they together long?”