Page 43 of Puck Your Nanny

Brent nods as if he knows better. "Just saying, if you went a little harder on the forecheck, you’d create more turnovers. Might be worth trying."

Calvin leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "How long have you played hockey?"

Brent waves a hand. "Oh, I’ve never played. Just watch a lot."

Silence stretches across the table.

Peter is the first to break it, reaching for his wineglass. "Fascinating."

Brent either doesn’t catch the sarcasm or chooses to ignore it. He turns back to Nate. "So, about your power play setup—"

I cut in before he can get steamrolled. "Brent, how’s work? Still trading?"

He blinks, as if remembering I exist. "Yeah. Made a killing last week on a short sell. Market’s a mess, but if you know what you’re doing, there’s a lot of money to be made."

Freda smiles. "He’s being modest. He’s obsessed with the markets."

Brent grins, puffing his chest a little. "Risk and reward, babe. It’s all about timing."

Calvin lifts a brow. "Nice. And you still find time to analyze NHL plays? Impressive."

Brent misses the dry tone entirely. "Gotta have hobbies, man."

I push my food around my plate, feeling exhausted already. Freda and Brent didn’t come here for me. They came forthem.

And now I just want the night to be over.

Peter swirls his wineglass, studying Brent with a detached interest that makes me nervous.

"So, you make your living off day trading?" His voice is smooth, unreadable.

Brent perks up, mistaking it for genuine interest. "Yeah, man. You have to be quick, always a step ahead. One bad call and poof." He snaps his fingers. "You're screwed."

Peter nods slowly. "Ah, yes. One impulsive buy or an ill-timed sell, and suddenly, you're back in your childhood bedroom, explaining to your parents why your grand plan to beat the market didn't quite pan out."

Brent chuckles. "Exactly, man! It’s all about timing."

I glance at Peter. That wasn't a joke.

Brent, oblivious, takes another bite of food. "But I know what I’m doing. Got a system."

Peter hums, sipping his wine. "Of course you do."

The conversation moves on, but the tension lingers. Brent shifts his focus back to me, smirking like he’s been waiting for the right moment to pounce.

"Hey, you still leave all the cupboard doors open when you cook?" he asks, amusement laced in his tone.

I blink, thrown by the random comment. "What?"

"Yeah," he says, gesturing with his fork to the kitchen doors. "Back when you lived with us, every time you made something, you’d leave every single door open. It was like walking into a horror movie kitchen. Used to drive me nuts."

I stare at him. Of all the things he could bring up, that’s what he’s choosing to dig at me over?

"I—" I start, but Nate cuts in first.

"That’s what you’re complaining about?" His voice is even, but there’s a sharp edge to it. "Cupboard doors?"

Calvin scoffs, setting his glass down. "Yeah, man, howdareshe? Real menace to society."

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