Center Ice (Boston Rebels Book 1)

“You really don’t have to help me like this,” my mom says, and I pause with one hand on her elbow and one on her lower back. I don’t want to be overbearing, but at the same time, she seems less steady on her feet today than is normal. I don’t know if it’s because her doctor’s appointment and her physical therapy appointment were back-to-back today and she’s tired, or if maybe taking her to her favorite bookstore and out to lunch was just too much. But something’s different.

“Let me get the door for you, at least,” I say, stepping in front of her to unlock the door and push it open. I step through it so she can follow, and because if she trips coming over the raised threshold, I want to be in front of her to catch her.

“I’m fine,” she says, trying to shoo me away once she’s inside. She turns and shuts the door behind her, and she seems more at ease now that she’s back in her home. I try not to spend too much time imagining how scary the world and the future must feel when you’re a Parkinson’s patient. My mom doesn’t let herself go down that path of negativity, so I won’t let my mind go there either. I know that depression is a serious side effect of this disease, but we’ve been lucky so far. “Why don’t you go get a little more work done outside before the sun goes down?”

I glance out the window at the backyard, thinking about how much I could accomplish in the next hour or two. At the same time, I’m a little worried about leaving her, given how she’s been presenting this afternoon. Unsteady. Distracted.

“How about I set up a chair with some blankets for you and you can read out there?”

“You don’t think it’s too cold?” she asks.

“We were just outside, so what do you think? Is it too cold for you?”

I think about all the hours my mom spent in frigid hockey rinks during my lifetime, all the days we built snow forts outside during the winter. It’s a brisk fall day, but it’s nothing like the temperatures this hardy New England woman is used to. But that’s not what bothers me. It’s how frequently she’s unable to make up her own mind about things, or how she second guesses herself, that’s hard to watch.

“We can try and see,” she says after pondering it for a moment.

“Alright. Want me to make you some tea or something?”

“Sure,” she agrees, and I wonder if it’s only because she wants me to feel useful. “That would be nice.”

While the tea steeps, I head outside and set up one of the chairs on the deck. I drag it into the sunshine so she’ll get some warmth, and I pull the cushions out of the big storage bin. Mom comes out with her tea, a book, and a blanket slung over her arm, and gets herself situated in the chair.

Meanwhile, I drag the tools out from where I’ve stored them in the shed, and I get to work. I’ve cut exactly one piece of wood trim when Mom starts offering me what my sisters and I like to call her “helpful suggestions.” Normally, this kind of nit picking would drive me crazy, but I’m so relieved that she seems sharp and astute that I just agree with everything she says. Cut a little more off that piece…sure (I pretend to make another pass with the miter saw). You need to move that ladder over a bit…will do (I move it an inch). You should paint that blue, so it matches the house…great idea (I already got the paint in that exact color).

I’m standing under the tree, admiring my handiwork, thinking all that’s left to do is paint, when Mom scares the shit out of me by stepping right up beside me. I was so lost in thought, thinking about Graham and whether he’ll like this little surprise, that I didn’t even hear her approach.

“Missy and the boys are going to stop by,” she says after I finish clutching my chest from the shock. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to put all this away first?”

I understand the opportunity she’s giving me to keep this project a secret. “Thanks for the heads up. How much time do I have?”

“’Bout fifteen minutes.” Mom watches me pack up the table saw and the wood, and finally she asks, “Are you going to tell Missy about Audrey and Graham?”

“Caitlyn didn’t tell her?”

“Not that I know of. But what do I know?”

“Audrey and I haven’t told Graham yet, so I don’t want Ryan and Finn to know they have a cousin yet either. I want to bring them both over so everyone can get to know them, but it’s hard if everyone knows Graham’s my kid except for him. So I really need to talk to Audrey about it first and figure out how we want to handle this together.”

“I’m proud of you. You know that, right?”

“In general?” I ask. “Or about this, specifically?”

“Both. I’m proud of how you’ve worked through tough situations, and I’m happy you’ve found the right team for you. But also, I’m proud of how you’re managing this. A lot of men wouldn’t have handled this as well as you have, especially since you didn’t know about Graham from the beginning.”

“I wish I had,” I say, shoving my hands in the back pocket of my jeans. “At the same time, what would twenty-two-year-old me have been like as a father? How would I have played hockey in Vancouver if Audrey and Graham were here? Maybe…” I look up at the deep blue sky with orange streaks above the trees from the setting sun. “I don’t know. Maybe it happened this way for a reason. Audrey would never have left Boston⁠—”

“Are you sure?” Mom asks.

“She’s so close with Jameson and Jules, her siblings. They all basically raised Graham together. She and Jules own a company together, and it’s doing so well—they’re just getting started.”

“Why do you sound sad about that?”

“I’m thrilled for her,” I say, as Mom and I start walking across the lawn toward the back deck. “She and Jules have worked really damn hard to make this happen. But the reality is, there’s still a reasonable chance I won’t end up playing for Boston next year, and there’s no way she’s leaving.”

“She said that?” My mom’s question literally stops me in my tracks, so she turns to face me. “Or did you assume?”

“I mean…why would she leave all that behind?”

Mom stares at me, but doesn’t respond, then she shakes her head and turns toward the house.

“What?” I call out as I take a few steps to catch up to her.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, if she feels the same way about you that you do about her, she’d move so your family could stay together?”

I actually had never considered that possibility…not because it isn’t what I want, but because I didn’t dare hope that it would be possible. She’s still so tentative about our relationship.

“She’s used the fact that I might have to leave Boston after this season as a reason for us not to have a relationship, Mom. So I’m not really sure she’d consider moving.”

“Maybe because you haven’t asked her if she would?” Mom’s voice is so hopeful. “You can’t expect her to consider it if you don’t offer it up.”

“Hmmm.” She might be right. Or that might freak her the fuck out. I feel like I started off a little too intense for her, and maybe I need to dial it back a bit. That said, I don’t want her to doubt my feelings. So it’s quite a conundrum.

“What if⁠—”

“Hey, anyone home?” Missy’s voice carries through the house and out the door to the deck, which I’d left cracked open.

“We’re out here!” I call to her, giving Mom a look that says, We’ll have to finish this conversation later.

“You can’t stop! You have to keep drawing until you die!” Ryan’s peals of laughter ring out as he watches me draw what’s probably my thirtieth Uno card in a row. Meanwhile, he and Finn have about five cards each.

“It’s not fair,” I make my voice intentionally whiny, playing up the completely lopsided rules my nephews have set because they’re finding it hysterical that I’m losing so badly. “If adults have to draw until they get a card they can play, you should too. Why is there a three-card limit when you guys draw?”

“Our hands are too small to hold that many cards,” Finn says, his face so solemn I think he might actually believe himself. Really, they just want to win, and I’m the unbeatable Uno king of our family. But with rules like this, I’m definitely going to lose.

I chuckle as I draw, and then play a Draw 4 card on Finn. “Hope your little hand can hold at least four more cards. And the color is now green.”

Ryan cackles away next to his brother, until Finn plays a reverse, making it my turn again, and then I hit Ryan with a Draw 2 card. Now Finn’s laughing, and they’re feeding off each other’s energy and getting themselves all wound up.

“Drew,” Missy says, her voice stern, “it’s almost bedtime for these two. You weren’t supposed to get them all wound up.”

“I’m playing a card game with them,” I say, but I wink at the boys, which just throws them into another round of giggles. “They’re the ones getting each other wound up.”

“It’s not our fault you’re so funny,” Ryan says as he rolls around on the floor near the coffee table.

“I think we might need to wrap this game up,” Missy says. “Dad’s on his way over to get you two and bring you home for bedtime.”

“No way!” Finn says. “We have to beat Uncle Drew!”

I look at my hand, and even though there are a lot of cards, I’m still pretty sure I could beat them if I’m smart about it. But we’d be here for another half hour, at least. “Nah,” I say, trying to sound defeated, “I think you already won. Look at all these cards. There’s no way you aren’t going to beat me.”

“So you’re just going to forfeit?” Finn asks.

“What’s forfeit mean?” Ryan asks.

“It means I know I can’t win, so I’m giving up,” I tell him as I reach over and ruffle his hair.

“But what about your twenty-year winning streak?” he asks. At four, he only started playing my favorite card game this year, but he’s watched Finn play for a couple of years, and my winning streak is legendary in this family.

“Guess everyone has to lose once in a while,” I tell him.

“Alright, boys,” Missy says. “Get your shoes on. Dad will be here in just a minute.”

“Aren’t you coming home, too?” Finn asks.

“Yeah,” Missy says, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a sip. “I’m just going to finish my wine, and then I’ll walk home.” Perks of living only a few doors down, I guess.

Once the boys leave, Missy turns toward me. “Okay, spill it.”

I’m just opening the fridge, but I pause and turn toward her. “What?” I can guess what she’s talking about, but I want to make sure.

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring up the whole I have a kid thing all night, and you’re like a freaking vault.”

“Caitlyn told you, I take it?”

“Yeah, but she didn’t give me any details. What the hell? How have you not said anything about this?”

I reach into the fridge and swipe a beer off the door. “I didn’t want to say anything about it in front of the boys.”

“Why not?”

“Because Graham doesn’t know I’m his dad yet.”

“Okay,” Missy says, pulling out a seat at the kitchen table for Mom, then taking the seat next to her. “I’m going to need you to rewind and tell me this whole story. Because I’m assuming it’s a good one.”

I sit and nurse my beer as I catch Missy up on the past few weeks, and when I get to the part about what I told Caitlyn, she says, “I can’t believe you freaking did that!”

“What part can’t you believe?”

“I can’t believe that the first time you indicated how strong your feelings were was to your sister, who you don’t even like, and not to Audrey!”

“I see whose side you’re on,” I tease.

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” she says. “I just want you guys to end up together, and if you keep doing stupid shit like that, it’s not going to happen. Just show her she matters to you instead of telling her. Trust me, that’s what every woman wants.”

“I’m working on it,” I assure her. “And I’m hoping you can meet her soon.”