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I’m not entirely sure how to answer his question. But I suppose the best way is with the truth. It’s not like there is anything to hide.
“My brothers and I are not close,” I say. “None of us are, at least not as whole. My father was married three different times.”
“You’re all half-brothers then?” Ander asks. He’s staring at me like I’m telling him the most interesting story he’s ever heard. His eyes are wide and focused right on me, listening intently as I speak.
“Yes. Half-brothers. My mother was first wife. She died giving birth to me.”
Ander’s face falls. “That’s terrible.”
“Yes, terrible, but Dad was great.”
“You speak about him like he’s no longer alive.”
“He died right before I came to America to play.”
His lips press tightly together, and his eyes turn down. I’ve never once seen Ander look like he’s regretted asking a question. I hate it. An unhappy Ander is something I never want to see. But I also don’t know how to turn this around. This was supposed to be a joyous occasion. An in-person dinner. A night spent with the man I’m currently infatuated with and whose company I’ve been craving more than I’ve ever craved from anyone in my life.
“Is okay,” I say. “Life happens. But I have no reason to go back anymore. And I like it better here.”
“You don’t miss your brothers at all? I can’t go a week without talking to Brandon.”
“A week?” I challenge him.
I’m rewarded with a smile. “Okay, five days.”
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Three days.” He blushes and all I want to do is reach across this table and brush my knuckles across his cheeks.
“We were never like that,” I say. “Alexei and Evgeny, the two who play in KHL, were raised mostly by their mother. Sergei and Sacha were babies when I left. Twins. They do not know me at all.”
“I hate this story,” Ander says.
I reach across the table and place my hand on his arm. “Then let’s not talk about it.”
“Isn’t that what friends do though? Talk about stuff like this?”
“Not in my experience,” I say, and there’s no bitterness there. I’m a private guy. I always have been. Strangely, though, Ander is somehow managing to coax me out of that. It’s nice. Comfortable. Natural, like I’ve known him for years.
But also, that’s what Ander does. That’s what he is known for. Bringing people together.
I drag my hand back across the table and resume eating my food. “This is good,” I say. “Best Thanksgiving I have ever eaten.”
“It is good,” Ander says. I can see the gears turning in his mind as he locks on to my abrupt turn in the topic of conversation. “My mom makes a better one, though.”
“I am sure she does,” I say, feeling very sure about his declaration. His mother, Momma B as she insists everyone calls her, is a warm woman. The type to make everyone feel welcomed. There is so much of her in Ander.
He takes a forkful of his turkey and uses it to scoop up a massive helping of mashed potatoes as well, then puts it in his mouth. “You should come to Green Bay for Christmas. She’d love to see you. You can ride up with Brandon and Ryan for the break.”
My chest swells with emotion at his invitation. It’s an incredibly generous offer. But how can I take him up on it? Christmas is for families. Ander, Brandon, Ryan, they’re all family. I’m not. Not even close.
“Come on,” he says. “It’ll be fun.” He takes another bite of his food. “Besides, what else are you going to do with the three-day break?”
“Honestly. Nothing.”
“Then it’s decided. You’re coming to Green Bay.”
THIRTEEN
