Page 38 of Love of the Game
“Mmmhmm.” I put the phone back to my ear. “Papa.”
“You hear that? Your papa is nice.”
I stuck my tongue out at Drake, then spoke. “I’ve never ever said you weren’t!”
That got me another bark of laughter, then Papa sobered. “Your Drake is nice, too.”
I took a deep breath. “I know. Papa—” I paused. “You know when you met Mom…”
“Oh,” he said. “Jon.”
“Yeah. Only, I don’t know what I’m going to go when…” I waved my hand, fully aware that he couldn’t see me, but Drake could, and the latter was looking at me with creased brows. But Papa understood. He knew Drake would get called up eventually.
“Jon,” he said. “You’ll do what your heart tells you to do. You’ll do what you need to. If you love him like I love your mother, you’ll walk off the end of the world for him.”
I turned away from Drake as moisture welled in my eyes. “Yeah, it’s like that.”
“Good,” Papa said. “You deserve someone who makes your heart sing.”
My laugh had a little choke to the edge of it. I knew Drake was watching me, but I didn’t turn around until I was sure I wasn’t going to lose it. When I did, I smiled—and he relaxed.
“Speaking of your mother—” Papa said.
Then Mom’s voice sounded in my ear. “So, tell me about this young man of yours!”
This time, my laugh was higher. And then I expounded on all Drake’s virtues—in English—and watched him blush, then drop his head into his hands.
“Okay, okay, you can go back to talking in Swedish.”
“Mom’s Canadian.” I said as I sat back down on the couch.
He threw his hands up and headed back into the kitchen to snag a leftover cookie.
“I’ve driven him to sweets,” I said to Mom.
“You’re just like your father.”
Our conversation after that was more about family—how my cousins and my sister were doing. Sofia wasn’t with them this Christmas, but with her partner’s family. Then Mom filled me in with the various goings on of neighbors and funny stories from Papa’s charity events. “You need to come out here this summer. Your father and I would love to see you. Bring Drake, too.”
I didn’t know if Drake had summer plans. I didn’t know if we’d even be together by summer, what with him likely back on the Lions roster by then. I didn’t say that, though. “The bar?—”
“Can take care of itself. Aren’t you always praising Ella? Saying you should see if she wants to buy in?”
I scratched the back of my head. “Okay. We’ll see what we can swing.”
“Good. I want to meet this man of yours. There’s only so much you can glean from pointless interviews about getting pucks deep and playing on your toes.”
I laughed, because Mom knew. She’d had years of listening to Papa answer media, and not much had changed in terms of canned answers.
We chatted a little longer, then I wrapped the conversation up and ended the call, since it was now past midnight, and while we had Christmas off, we’d be back at it the day after.
And I had a little planning to do for a few days afterthat—because Drake’s birthday was coming up and I wanted to finally go on that dinner date we’d meant to go on before we’d fallen into bed.
Evidently, Drake also had more plans for tonight, because he came to a halt in front of me, hands on his hips. “You done?”
I peered up at him. “Yeah.”
“Good. Because It’s Christmas, and there’s a package I want to unwrap.”
