Page 42 of Common Goal
“Do you go back there at all?” Eric couldn’t stop himself from asking.
The smile fell from Kyle’s lips. “Haven’t been back in years.”
“Oh.”
“Mom and Dad send money. They paid for this place.” He swept a hand around. “But, no. I haven’t been invited home.”
Eric couldn’t understand why Kyle’s parents wouldn’t be eager to see him as much as possible. He was brilliant and lovely, and working on a master’s degree from Columbia. Surely his parents were proud of him?
He opened his mouth to say...something, but Kyle cut him off. “Are you ready to go?”
Eric decided not to push it for right now. At least the mystery of the very nice apartment had been solved. “Sure.”
Kyle grabbed his jacket and scarf from where he’d tossed them over a chair. His smile was back, and he winked at Eric as he said, “Let’s go turn some heads.”
They didn’t speak until they reached the street, and then Eric thought of a question that had nothing to do with Kyle’s family. “How many languages do you speak?”
“How do you know I speak more than one?”
“The books on your shelf. I saw a few different languages there.” Something occurred to him. “Or maybe those were Maria’s.”
“Youweresnooping,” Kyle teased. “They’re mine. Maria speaks Spanish too, but I also speak Italian and French. One of my undergrad majors was Latin, so I can read that. Some ancient Greek as well. I’m working on modern Greek.”
“Holy shit.”
Kyle shrugged as if he’d just rattled off a list of movies he liked. “I’m a quick study when it comes to languages. Always have been.”
“You’re lucky. I know enough French to get by, but languages definitely don’t come easily to me.”
“We all have talents. I’m not much of a goaltender.”
Eric laughed. “Have you ever tried?”
“God no. What kind of maniac lets people shoot pucks at them?”
“Someone whose cousin had goalie gear they didn’t need anymore.”
“Is that where it started?”
Eric nodded. “We were poor. I was lucky to get that hand-me-down gear.” He still remembered how thrilled he’d been the first time he’d strapped those heavy pads to his legs. He’d loved being a goalie from the very first puck he’d stopped. He’d taken the game seriously, because he took everything seriously, even as a child, and by the time he was a teenager he saw it as a way of solving his family’s financial struggles. Of maybe having a chance to go to university.
“Where are your parents now?” Kyle asked.
Eric smiled. “Living very comfortably on the shores of Lake Ontario. I bought them their dream house when I signed my first NHL contract.”
“That must have been one hell of a contract.”
“Their dream house isn’t anything extravagant. Just a nice little Cape Cod outside Hamilton, Ontario. That’s where I grew up. Hamilton, I mean.”
“Are you their only child?”
“I have a younger brother and an older sister. They both still live in Hamilton. I’m glad for it because I rarely make it home. I’m a bad son.”
“Bad sons don’t buy their parents houses.”
“It was the least I could do. They sacrificed a lot so I could stay in hockey. Dad was working days at a Mr. Lube and sometimes nights unloading trucks at a grocery store. Mom worked at Walmart for most of my teen years. My sister worked there too, when she was old enough. We were always struggling to pay the bills.”
“And now you take care of them all.”
