Page 41 of The Best Parts of Him
The dogs bounced around Kinsey’s feet, tails wagging. Kinsey squatted, giving them each some attention, and giving Ryland a minute to find his brain cells.
Why did he find Roman Kinsey intimidating? It wasn’t like he was overly big. In fact, he was similar to Ryland in build and height, had a shaved head, green eyes, and wore a wedding ring on his left hand. Ryland goggled for a minute at the full sleeve of tattoos revealed on Kinsey’s right arm when he removed his leather jacket.
None of that was intimidating. That came from the way Kinsey gave off an air of don’t fuck with me mixed with calm confidence sprinkled with a dash of I know my place in the world. Do you?
Ryland shifted on his feet. Well, now that you ask . . .
He’d played against Kinsey before the man had retired, and he’d found him intimidating on the ice too. He couldn’t recall them ever having a conversation, though.
“I met your brother a few months ago,” Kinsey told him as Cosmo tried to climb up his leg.
“You . . . did?”
“Bellamy brought him to a team function.”
That was . . . interesting? Sort of. Though totally irrelevant.
“Is Dabbs around?” Kinsey asked. “I wanted to check in, see how he’s doing.”
As if Kinsey had summoned him, footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment before Dabbs appeared, slightly hunched over. It’d be another day or so before he could stand fully upright.
“There’s the man of the hour,” Kinsey said, sweeping Dabbs’ body up and down in a way that was purely clinical. “How are you feeling?”
Ryland did the same, though there was nothing clinical about his own sweep.
“Not bad,” Dabbs said. “Tired, a little bit sore, and already bored with the liquid diet I’m on, but overall, I can’t complain. Come in. Can I get you anything?”
“I’ll get it, whatever it is,” Ryland insisted. He jerked a finger in Dabbs’ direction. “You sit.”
Dabbs’ smile was very indulgent.
“I can’t stay long,” Kinsey said as he and Dabbs settled on the couch in the living room. The dogs jumped up between them. “I’ve got to pick up my kids at school soon. But speaking of kids . . . ”
As Ryland returned with a glass of water for both of them, Kinsey handed Dabbs what looked like a homemade card.
“Quinn insisted I bring it over today,” Kinsey said.
“Is that one of your kids?” Ryland asked. He placed the water glasses on the table and sat in the armchair across from the couch.
Kinsey nodded. “My son. He’s five. Ella’s seven.”
“Same ages as my nieces. That’s a fun age.”
“Is it?” Kinsey asked, though his expression held nothing but love. “Things that made them cry this week include me not letting the cat drive them to school, my husband not letting them have maple syrup for breakfast—just syrup; they didn’t want the pancakes. My daughter got annoyed because her younger brother kept looking at her, and my son wants shoes like his friend Jacob. Spoiler alert: there is no Jacob.”
Ryland laughed, but when Dabbs made to rise, he cut it short and shot to his feet. “What do you need? I can get it.”
Dabbs shot him an amused look. “I need to take a piss.”
The wind went out of Ryland’s sails. “Right. Sure. I guess . . . you can do that by yourself?”
“Been doing it by myself for years.” Dabbs winked at him as he ambled past and exited the room, the dogs following after him.
“How’s he doing really?” Kinsey asked quietly.
“Good.” Ryland sat. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s taking his recovery seriously.”
“And how are you doing?”
