Page 51 of Someone to Have
“There are worse things to go stupid crazy over,” I tell him. My mom never cared about holidays—never cared much about anything unless it involved whatever dirtbag boyfriend she had at the time. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you? Talk to your mom about the next steps.”
“She’s still at work, and I know what to do,” he assures me.
“Coach Toby is going to check on you later. If you need anything, let him know. Anything.”
“Thanks, Coach.” He sighs then climbs out of my truck. I want to pull him back, hold on, and find a way to convince him he’ll be okay, but how can I promise that? How can I promise something I’m not even sure I believe?
Taylor parks Hudson’s ancient Jeep in front of the house and meets him at the back of my truck, where he’s looping his duffel bag over one shoulder. It’s clear her words are having what I’m coming to recognize as the Tinkerbell effect. I can almost see an invisible weight lifting off his shoulders. It’s like watching her sprinkle fairy dust over him.
He waves as he walks by, and then Taylor climbs into the passenger seat.
I can’t help taking a deep breath, the lavender scent she carries everywhere washing over me. It’s calming in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
“What did you say to him?” I ask as I shift the vehicle into reverse.
“I told him about how my dad broke his leg in two places his rookie season. The docs told him he wouldn’t come back the same, and he didn’t.”
I raise a brow. “That’s what you shared with the kid?”
She rolls her eyes like I’m slow on the uptake. “Dad came back better, stronger and faster. Everyone who plays hockey in Skylark is well-versed in the legend of Marty Maxwell. He’s like Paul Bunyan and John Wick all rolled into one.”
I laugh, picturing Marty with a massive axe in one hand, his face painted blue. “It’s better than a Santa Claus-Easter Bunny mash up. Thank you for helping get his car home.”
“Of course.” She lets out a quiet sigh. “Toby and Elise both had injuries at different points during their high school sports careers, and it always felt like the end of the world.”
I swallow the knot in my throat as I flip on my blinker to turn onto the two-lane road that’ll take us back to the rink. “I wish there was a way to convince Hudson this isn’t the end. Do you know him well?”
“Not well, but I know he’s a good kid. He’s one of the students who spends lunch hours in the high school library studying when they’ve got upcoming tests. He’s smart, popular,and has plenty to offer the world beyond his skating skills.” She eyes me, waiting for my response, as if she understands something more is coming. I shouldn’t appreciate her ability to read me as much as I do.
“You don’t know anything about his home life?”
“Not really, but my brother cares about his players. He’ll make sure Hudson is taken care of and help his family with whatever they need.”
I nod, not wanting to voice my fears about Kent Kircher’s potential reaction to Hudson’s injury and what it might mean for the kid.
“I filmed a quick video when Rhett took the ice. He looked good,” she reports. “Right at home with the team.”
“It blows my mind that he’s a hockey player, and my sister never mentioned it. It’s like he picked up the sport all on his own.”
Taylor breathes out a quiet laugh. “I’d bet my life it wasn’t on his own. Sometimes it’s in the blood. A kid just knows where they belong.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and force a smile I don’t feel. Guilt niggles at the back of my mind, the way it has since I returned to help my sister and nephew. “I haven’t come back to the States for over a decade. I wish I’d paid more attention or kept in touch with Jen. Maybe I could have intervened or helped or…”
She reaches across the console and places a gentle hand on my arm. “You’re here now.”
Her touch grounds me, and I feel my chest loosen, just a little. “I hope that’s enough.”
We pull into the rink parking lot as players and their families exit the arena.
Rhett approaches with Toby and Mike Russell, the other freshman player who swings up to the varsity squad. Mike is a hell of a goalie and the backup for our starter.
“We won,” Toby reports, clapping Rhett on the back. “Yournephew had a beautiful assist. Threaded the needle like a pro. He does the Anderson legacy proud.”
“That’s awesome, buddy,” I say with a smile. “Congratulations.”
Rhett looks embarrassed at the attention, shoulders drawn up like he’s bracing for rejection. “I’m gonna sleep over at Mike’s house tonight.” There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes like he’s waiting for me to shut him down.
Toby thumps him gently on the head. “I think what you meant to say is, ‘Uncle Eric, would it be okay if I spent the night at the Russells’?’”
