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I buried my nose in her hair for a few breaths and let out a laugh that was more of a sigh. “I know. Sorry, baby.”
“No, it’s okay. You smell like you.”
And there it was. I was the mommy who usually smelled like bear shit. This was my life.
“We should get going to bed. And to shower,” I told Mrs. Remington.
“So we’ll see you Thursday night?”
“Thursday? Sorry?”
“You said you wanted to repay me.”
“Oh, right.” I was happy to help her out with whatever. She probably needed some help moving the boxes she’d been mentioning in the attic over the garage. “Happy to help. What time?”
“Six o’clock should be good.” She smiled, and I caught another glimpse of that look, but was too tired to consider it. “Dress up a little. We’ll have dinner.”
Oh. Dinner. Maybe she was just lonely, seeing as how Sam rarely moved out of his chair by the TV since having a heart attack a few months back. “Um, sure. See you then,” I told her, turning with my arms full of little girl.
I could feel her watching us head to our house as she stood on the doorstep until we were safely inside. That was the kind of people the Remingtons were. The kind that cared enough to see you safely inside your house. Most of them were like that, at least.
CHAPTER3
SLY
FACE OFF WITH A SPIDER MONKEY
By the time Thursday rolled around, I was in a good place. I’d managed to turn in an essay and had just wrapped a group project that was due Friday. I had a lecture tonight that I was going to miss, but there was little chance it was going to be important, since we’d just turned in a project. I didn’t blow off school often, but I felt pretty confident that missing this one lecture wouldn’t be a big deal.
So I headed home for the weekend with a clear schedule and only twelve months to go before I could throw some fancy initials after my name. And those letters? They were my insurance plan. The team owner, Steve Rhinolakis—who we obviously called “Rhino”—had confided he was on the hunt for a business manager slash head of finance, and that he hoped maybe one day he could step away. I’d mentioned to him once that I was looking for something as a next step, and he convinced me that I’d be a contender, though heaven only knew why. The MBA was his only reservation, so I’d promised to make it happen. I didn’t know if I wanted to actually own the Wombats eventually, but I did know that hockey was my past, present, and future. And if I couldn’t play, I could at least find a way to stay close.
But right now I needed to head home. Alone.
As if I would have taken a date to Mom and Dad’s house to stay. First of all, that would have broken one of my rules for dating, which was that you never got into a situation where you couldn’t easily say goodbye if things took a turn. And sharing my childhood bedroom out of town? That would just be complicated. And possibly awkward.
Besides, my family had been pretty clear.
I thought about their request as I drove, feeling slightly more irritated about it with each passing mile.
But I suspected the annoyance I was feeling came more from knowing they were right than from being told not to bring anyone. I dated people I knew would never turn into anything serious. Things were easier that way, and I liked keeping the lines clear. Plus, I had no illusions about the things women liked about me. The athletic skill, the status, the money, the muscles. Maybe not in that order.
It was a gorgeous blue-sky day as I pulled into the driveway at Mom and Dad’s house. The green lawns of the neighborhood lined up like squares on a Monopoly board, each one exactly like the others. The driveways formed a series of parallel lines, the uniformity of the scene challenged only by the enormous trees that grew near the curb, arching out to drape the street in shade.
This neighborhood was old and quaint, and the second I drove into it, a deep sense of nostalgia filled my gut. This was home. This was childhood and high school. I couldn’t stop myself from imagining Mom’s SUV, stuffed to the gills with hockey gear, parked in the driveway.
Of course she didn’t drive that car anymore. Ten years of carting me and Beckett and all our sports gear around had left the thing with a permanent funk, and as soon as I’d gone pro, I bought her the Tesla she’d had her eye on.
Lots of things had changed, but some hadn’t. As I guided my car past Mom’s prized hydrangeas, my eyes wandered to the little blue house next door and I did my best not to dwell on thoughts of Clara Connor.
I hadn’t seen her in years. Beckett said she got married and moved away, but it was hard not to picture her sitting on the front steps with her friend—what was that girl’s name? Andrea? Amy?—and laughing as they watched the neighborhood go by. Sometimes, when I was feeling particularly alone, I could almost conjure the sound. It was full and light, like sunshine and bubbles and something so, so sexy all wrapped together.
Mom told me recently that Clara’s folks had died a year ago, but last I heard the house was empty. I imagined Clara was living a happy life somewhere else, with her husband and family. Man, she was hot. An old crush simmered inside me as I considered the brainy girl next door.
I parked, pulling the keys from the ignition, and stepped out of the car to inhale the familiar scents of the neighborhood in summer. Some kind of flowery musk hung in the air, and I didn’t know what it was, but it made me think of swimming pools and long summer days. I grabbed my backpack and my duffel, and headed to the front door.
“There he is!” Mom threw the door open as I raised my hand to try the knob, and a second later, she was wrapping her arms around my middle, hugging me for all she was worth.
“Hey Mom,” I chuckled, doing my best to hug her back without dropping all my stuff.
