Page 16 of Twisted Shot
“Dude,” he says, climbing out and spinning in a slow circle as he takes in Theo’s house. “Are you sure this is your place? You didn’t break in and start squatting here, right?”
“It’s a rental,” Theo says, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.
It’s not. But that version is easier to sayout loud.
Jesse lets out a low whistle, eyes tracking the white trim, the black shutters, the wide porch with its inviting wooden swing Theo hasn’t sat on once. “You’ve been holding out on us, Tilly. Why don’t you host more parties?”
Theo doesn’t answer. It’s easier than trying to explain that his parents bought the house as an investment property and let him borrow it while he’s playing in Hartford. They’d rather he was wearing a tailored suit and working in the city like the rest of the family. Instead, he’s lacing up skates for league minimum and living in self-imposed exile.
“Bro,” Jesse says, dragging his battered duffel up the stairs, hitting every one on the way. “This place looks like a magazine cover.”
Theo opens the door and gestures for him to go inside. “Guest room’s on the left. You’ve got your own bathroom. Sheets are clean.”
Jesse dumps his bags on the floor, completely missing Theo’s attempt to change the subject. “This is like a grown-up’s house. Did someone die and leave you this place?”
“Not yet,” Theo mutters.
Jesse snorts and throws himself onto the bed without taking off his shoes. Theo resists the urge to tell him to stop.
Maybe it’ll be good for him, having someone around.
“Seriously, man,” Jesse says, arms spread like he’s about to make a snow angel. “Are you sure this is okay? I can find a place. I just figured?—”
“You’re fine.”
Jesse grins. “You are saving my life. You’re like…a secretive, gym-addicted fairy godmother.”
Theo rolls his eyes but doesn’t smile. Not outwardly. Inside, though—he feels fuzzy warmth, even if it makes him uneasy.
They spend the next half hour hauling in Jesse’s remaining stuff, including a mysterious cardboard box labeled “do not judge me,” and setting him up. Jesse talks non-stop—about training camp, his new stick curve, the girl he hooked up with whose name might’ve been Caitlyn. Or Katie. Or something with a Y.
“So,” Jesse says, cracking open a can. “You ready for the first road trip?”
Theo glances out the kitchen window at the mapletree, its leaves already reddening at the edges. The oaks along the property line need a few more weeks before they change to their signature gold.
It feels good to be back. Hartford may not be home—not exactly—but it’s far enough removed from his family’s scrutiny to breathe.
He exhales. “Yeah. I think so.”
Jesse raises the can like a toast. “Gonna be a good year. I can feel it.”
Theo nods, but says nothing. He hopes Jesse’s right.
The doorbell rings as Theo folds his last clean T-shirt into a precise square.
He pauses, still holding the cotton in both hands.
He wasn’t expecting anyone.
He has his usual routine on his days off—an early trip to the driving range before it gets too busy, then laundry, yard work, groceries, meal prep. He ends the day in the hot tub with ESPN playing on the waterproof TV he mounted last fall. Best decision of his adult life.
“Yo, you gonna get that?” Jesse calls from the hallway, a spoon in hand, the rounded tip dripping with something thick and suspiciously peanut-butter colored.
Theo shoots him a look as he starts toward the door, pulse ticking higher. He usually doesn’t answer the door without knowing who’s on the other side. It’s easier that way, cleaner, fewer surprises waiting to knock the air out of him.
“I’ll get it. But you live here too, man.”
The second he opens the door, he regrets it.
