Page 1 of That Thing You Brew
CHAPTER1
Xavier
The slush-filled Main Street of downtown Palmer City the day after Christmas matched my mood: on edge, mushy, and anxious as a skater on thin ice.
The traffic reporter advised an alternate route to the Old Town Bridge, which would’ve been the most direct route to my destination. Taking Canyon Pass Road to the South Bridge only took a few extra minutes, so I didn’t mind. I signaled to turn left at the church and onto Main Street, which was full of the same traffic I’d been trying to avoid.
So close.I could get out and walk. I wasthatclose to the Bevvie Bar and Café. Around the corner just up Main Street past the church and Sundae School Ice Cream Parlor, I could ask my teammate and passenger Jason to get my coffee for me, but I was afraid that would alter my routine and backfire. I was already struggling after missing the last three games.
Denver Edge starting goalie Jason Dexter was along for the ride today, having spent the holidays with his wife’s family in Palmer City, not far from my apartment. Jason lived on the northern outskirts of Elk Creek Falls, the neighboring town, about halfway to Denver. He kept looking over at me, concern etched on his face. I knew he was worried about my mental state, given my performance at practice and the imminent loss of my Opa. Jay wasn’t usually a funny guy, but his impressions of my grandfather were dead-on and hilarious, even capturing Opa’s heavy accent and playful tone.
“Zavey-boy, ve got to get you a vife. All your smart hockey friends have vifes. Vhy don’t you have a vife? Zeez muscles”—Jason poked my bicep—“Zeez muscles are strong. Your heart is big. Vomen like you. Pick one. Make Opa happy before he dies.”
I laughed. “You even sound like him. He asked me to grant his dying wish—to get married.”
Jason shrugged. “That’s wild. Glad I could make you laugh. I’ve had plenty of practice reading to Lauren’s students and to Quimby.” Quimby, his niece, was four and a half years old and had her uncle wrapped around her finger. “It’s been fun to play around with an accent. I must have readThe Nutcrackerat least a dozen times in the past month. And yesterday, I read the hockey alphabet book to the Bellies.”
Both Jason’s wife, Lauren, and her sister-in-law Lola were expecting baby boys in the spring and jointly referred to the boys as the Bellies.
“It sounds like good practice. You’re going to make a great dad,” I replied, surprised by the slight sting in my heart. Opa was getting in my head. He’d loved Oma so much and couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to be married—or even be in a relationship at this period in my life.
Ididwant to be married. Someday. But I wanted to make my mark in the NHL first and bank as much money as I could in case I fizzled out or got injured. I didn’t have a degree like Jason. I’d only ever played hockey; it was all I knew. And so it was my priority.
I pressed my lips together and leaned back in my seat. Being one of the younger members on the team—especially one who didn’t like to go out and party—I often felt like I was in a weird kind of limbo. I preferred hanging around with the older guys and their families or working out to spending nights barhopping and clubbing.
“I’m worried about you,” Jay said. “When you’re not laughing, you look like a peewee who had his championship goal taken away.”
I forced a smile. “Jay, I’m fine, really. I was lucky to have over two decades with my best friend. And I got to say my goodbyes.”
Jasonhmmm’dlike a teacher who didn’t quite believe you when you claimed not to have instigated the latest recess shenanigans.
My fingers tightened over the stick shift. This red light was taking forever.
“He’s a cool guy,” Jason reminisced. “The few times I met him, we could have chatted for hours. And that castle—whoa.”
“It’s achateau,”I corrected him for the thousandth time. The family chateau, tucked into a mountainside in the Bavarian Alps, wasn’t as grand as the word “castle” made it out to be. The grounds were extensive, though, with several small buildings and cottages that once housed family and were now used as offices or were homes for employees who lived on-site. Located in the tiny remote kingdom of Alpintraum south of Munich, it was small enough to miss if you didn’t know to look for it.
Over the years, much of the chateau’s main building had been closed off. Before Oma died, she’d worked to open parts of the chateau and grounds for interested tourists. It paid for the upkeep. But without her there to manage it, it had barely been sustainable. The staff was great, but it was a job to them. They weren’t and never would be as invested as a family member might be. These last five years, Opa’s health and broken heart had slowed him down considerably, and he refused to take money from my dad.
“Dude, ‘Schwannenschloss’ literally translates to ‘Swans Castle,’” Jason stated, like this was new information for me.
“Castle of the Swans,” I corrected. His smirk signaled I’d played right into his point. My jaw tightened. Of course my smarty-pants Harvard grad teammate would know that. “Just because you have a fancy Ivy League degree doesn’t mean you know everything.”
“Twodegrees, thank you very much.”
“Riiiight.” He’d just completed a master’s degree in data science to go with his bachelor’s in applied mathematics. “Nerd.”
I caught his eye and tried to keep a straight face, but neither of us could hold in the laugh.
Mine came forth from a deep place, and God knew I needed it.
Jason was a stats guy, and when I made it clear I didn’t want to talk about Opa, he pivoted and began contrasting my performance playing on the road—dismal—to my numbers at home. They still landed me first in the league for defensemen, even though I missed the last few games. But there had been several awkward pauses, like he wanted to say something more but refrained.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Just say what you want to say. Please.”
He took a deep breath. “I can tell you’re only half listening to me. But … there’s something you should know. There’s a reason I asked you for a ride this morning—not just because I missed your ugly face.”
I frowned and resisted the urge to reward his insult with an elbow to his bicep. This sounded serious. “Just spill it.”
