Page 26 of The New Guy
“Yeah, I get that a lot. It’s a long story.”
He stares at me with that broody gaze for a beat. Then he opens the door wider, inviting me in. His expression is wary, though. Like he’s not sure if this is a good idea. “Tell me. I have something for you, anyway.”
Gulp. I follow him inside.
“Jordyn is, um, adopted,” I say, following him inside. His door opens right into the living room, just like mine does. “My husband—Eddie—he was older than me by nine years. He and his long-time girlfriend were going to adopt, but she broke up with him before it went through.”
“Whoa. And he adopted anyway?” He crosses to his sofa—it’s charcoal gray. No throw pillows. It’s also the only place to sit in this room, unless we’re counting the stools at the kitchen counter across the room.
“Well, yeah. I didn’t meet him until Jordyn was almost two. But she doesn’t remember her life without me in it.”
His broody eyes soften. “So you’re her only family now.”
“Well, almost. There’s also my overbearing in-laws, and my sister. But, yeah. Eddie and I only got three years together before he died. After that I quit my job and stayed home to take care of her. She needed a lot of attention, and he had good life insurance.” God, I’m rambling again. That’s what Hudson does to me. “That’s our story. It’s a little unusual. But Jordyn is a great kid, and you made tonight special. So thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.” He grabs his phone off the coffee table. “There are, like, a hundred pictures of you on here. Maybe more. But I promise I’m not a creeper—Jordyn wanted pictures of ‘Daddy at work.’”
“Oh!” I laugh awkwardly. “And I’m supposed to save them for her?”
He makes a gun shape with his hand and shoots me. “That’s the idea. Do you have your phone?”
“Yeah, right here.” I cross the room and sit on the other end of the sofa. I put my phone on the cushion between us, and he does the same, and then initiates the transfer.
“There’s a lot,” he says. “You’ve been warned.”
My phone vibrates, and my inner teenager can’t help but think that our phones are basically exchanging bodily fluids right now. My phone even makes a little grunt each time a photo lands.
This is what happens when you’re widowed. Everything reminds you of the sex you’re not having.
The photos transfer slowly. So I glance around at his apartment, which is almost completely bare. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
He waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. The longest I’ve lived in any apartment was eleven months. I’m hoping to break that streak, although I don’t want to jinx anything by furnishing it just yet.”
“So you’re basically a nomad?”
“Not by choice. You know how trades work in the NHL?”
I shake my head.
“Most players can be traded at any moment. One time I got traded on my birthday. My teammates were arguing about which restaurant to take me to, and the GM saidhey, I’ve got some news for New Guy. Another time I found out I was traded while sitting on the john. Somebody leaked the trade before they could find me, and I read about it on Twitter.”
Ouch. “Well that sounds awful. Does that happen all the time?”
“It does if you’re me,” he says, his cool eyes ducking mine. “I’m sort of special that way. But it’s the reason I've never, uh, come out. I mean, I tried once.”
My heart leaps with anxiety. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. Big mistake.” He clears his throat. “I was twenty years old. First round draft pick. Big expectations—partly because my dad was a big name in hockey.”
“Oh.” There’s a lot I don’t know about hockey.
“Yeah, so, I was playing for Colorado on my first national league team. It had also been my father’s team before his retirement. Lots of Newgate history there. And during my first season I met this great guy. He was, um,” Hudson looks suddenly embarrassed. “A trainer I met at the gym.”
My laugh is sudden and a little loud. “You’rekiddingme.”
He shakes his head. “He wasn’t employed by the team, though. Just someone I met before training camp. Great guy. He made everything fun. Kind of like you. Hooking up with him answered a lot of questions I’d been having. I felt a lot of relief. Like, okay—I like girlsandguys. I can stop wondering why I like to jerk off to Maroon 5 videos.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth to try to stop my laughter. It doesn’t quite work.
