Page 36 of Mile High Coach

“That’s…” I take a breath, still thinking about the time, the resources, but seeing what he’s talking about. If I was on the outside—not judged for the team’s performance this year, not looking so microscopically at the data—I’d be pushing for it, too. “I think it’s a good idea. For those kids to have something like that.”

“So, what?” he glances at me, then pushes a plate of pasta my way. Little tendrils of steam rise from it, and the smell literally makes my mouth water. “Did you lose your family fortune or something?”

“No,” I laugh and glance across the room, at the dining table that’s strangely empty. “Should we move over there?”

Harrison glances too, then the corners of his mouth go down as he shrugs, “Nah—we’re already here.”

I won’t argue—I’m hungry and ready to eat. “Okay.”

Together, we dig into the food, and I have to purposefully keep myself from moaning at the taste. It’s not just that it’s good—it’s the first home-cooked meal I’ve had since moving to Baltimore. Chrys is the chef at home, and since getting here, I’ve mostly been eating bagged salads, microwave mac n’ cheese, and soup from the can.

“You avoided the question,” Harrison teases, looking at me from under his eyelashes. “Did you grow up rich or something?”

It takes a moment for my brain to come out of the food haze.

“Oh,” I say, shaking my head and wiping my mouth with a napkin. “No—pretty middle class, I think. I never had to think about money, and we pretty much always got to go on a vacation. My mom saved up and took me to Paris when I graduated, and we worked together to pay for Chrys’ trip to Japan. I think things were easier for them when we moved out, but my dad was laid off shortly before the accident.”

“The accident?”

I freeze, hand halfway to a glass of water, realizing I casually mentioned something so un-casual. This is not something that I should be sharing with a man I’m using as a sperm donor.

It’s something that’s become such an integral part of the fabric of my life that I completely forgot he wouldn’t already know what I was talking about.

“Uh,” I stall for a second, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t think I can handle pity right now. But when I look up at Harrison, there’s no pity in his eyes. Just curiosity and concern. Setting the glass down and grabbing the fork again, I say, “My parents were in a car accident about…well, almost a year ago, now. My mom didn’t make it. My dad has been dealing with some pretty serious issues, some balance and processing stuff from his head injury.”

I take another bite, force myself forward, and when I glance at Harrison again, his eyes are still on me, his food forgotten.

“That’s why you’re so pressed for money?”

“What?” It’s not what I was expecting him to say.

“Your dad lost his job. I’m guessing that also means he lost his insurance.”

“Yeah, actually. He was still job searching, and hadn't signed up for new insurance in the meantime. I was doing consultations for some big firms in Maine, and the money was good, but it didn’t come anywhere near touching…everything he needed.”

Harrison is nodding, returning to eating his pasta. “That sucks. And you stepped up.”

“I guess,” I swallow. “Chrys is the one at home, taking care of him?—”

“But you’re footing the bill?”

I nod, biting my lip, not knowing how to negate that.

Harrison nods, reaching out and taking another drink from his water. “So you’re stepping up.”

That settles between us, and I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. “What about you? Are your parents living in Baltimore, too?”

“Mom did. She died—cancer. About ten years ago, now.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nods. “It sucked, but at least she got the time she did. Dad was never in the picture, but she did enough for two.”

He goes quiet for a second, and I have the strangest feeling, sitting in my seat, that he’s had an entire life already when I’m basically just starting mine. Is he thinking about his ex-wife? What it was like the day his mother died?

Ten years ago, I was fresh out of my bachelor’s degree, going into my MBA program. A baby. Ten years ago, Harrison Clark was ten years deep into his NHL career and staring down the hall of fame.

I think about what Chrys said on the phone.

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