Page 116 of Center Ice
“Well,” Drew says, “not sure how much studying happened, but we met here a couple times, right at the end of the schoolyear. Like right now”—he nods to all the students as we walk Graham’s bike along a path through the grass—“all these people are getting ready for finals. Because at the end of the school year, you have a big test called a final in each class. Your mom helped me get ready for my final in my math class.”
In reality, we got about as much studying done on the BU Beach as these students are doing now. Which is why we’d inevitably end up next door, in the library, where Drew would comment on how the coconut scent of my sunscreen was distracting him.
“Because she’s the smart one?” Graham asks. I know he’s just repeating Drew’s words, but I hate the perception that his dad isn’t smart enough.
I give Drew thestop saying that shitlook over Graham’s head. “Because while there’s lots of things your dad is great at, I happen to be particularly good at math.”
“Like me,” he says. He’s learning to add in kindergarten and it’s coming very easily. He’s able to subtract, too, even though they haven’t really started learning that yet.
“Like you,” I confirm.
“And I’m good at hockey like Dad,” Graham says, looking up with the same stars in his eyes that he had the first time Drew skated onto the rink at his practice. The fact that his dad is a professional hockey player hasnotgotten old for this kid.
“Very true,” Drew says, reaching down and patting Graham’s shoulder.
We walk down Bay State Road, showing Graham the brownstone that served as my dorm junior and senior year, and then the larger dorm that housed basically the whole hockey team a few blocks away. The fourth floor of that dorm wasn’t officially the “hockey floor,” but that’s how we all referred to it.
By the time we’re back to Beacon Street, a text from Jules comes in.
Jules:
I’m here with the food, so get your butts home.
After all the cleaning and prepping for the party this morning, we really needed to get Graham out for a while. I know Jules is happy to help, and that she’s undoubtedly already got Colt and Jameson carrying dishes and trays of food into our place, but we also need to get back and help with the final touches.
Plus, it’s hotter than I expected out here, and now I’m kind of a sweaty mess. “I’d love to grab a quick shower when we get back, before everyone else gets to our place,” I tell Drew.
Drew looks at me over Graham’s head and mouths,Can I help?and I widen my eyes in theStop it!look I find myself giving him often. It’s useless, though. I don’t think he’s ever going to stop wanting to get me alone and naked. And I find that I’m perfectly okay with that fact.
“Go ahead.” He shrugs. “Graham and I can make sure everything’s all set so you can shower, right, Bud?”
The two exchange a look I can’t decipher, which seems to be happening more and more these days, almost like they have their own father-son language.
“Sure, Dad.”
DREW
“Where’s Audrey?” Jameson asks as he comes into the kitchen.
“Still getting ready,” I say.
Across the island, Jules rolls her eyes as the buzzer rings again, signaling more people arriving, while her sister is still in our bedroom. I don’t know what the big deal is. Audrey wants to look nice for our party, and it’s not like we don’t have everything under control out here.
“I’m going to check on her,” Jules says, and heads down the hallway toward our bedroom. She stops to bend down and says something to Graham, who nods and gives her a little smile. Then she continues down the hall to our room.
Next to me, Colt’s eyes track Jules before sliding back toward me. “So I’m stuck with you for six more years?”
“Like you’re still going to be around in six years, old man.” I elbow him in the side, and he doesn’t even budge. He’s a fucking brick wall, even in the back half of his thirties.
“Hey now,” both Colt and Jameson growl, and I burst out laughing.
“Is that, like, the old man thing to say when you’re called on your age?” I’m pretty sure Jameson’s a couple of years older than Colt, but they’re both still a lot older than me. At this point, Colt has been playing for Boston for going on two decades. I don’t know how the man’s knees still work.
“First of all,” Jameson says, “you better cut that shit out if you want me to keep getting contracts for you.” In addition to the contract with Boston, he recently negotiated my first big endorsement deal—and that alone will pay for any medical care my mom will need for the rest of her life. “And second, stop acting like a child. You’re almost thirty.”
I huff out a laugh. “I turned twenty-nine two weeks ago.”
“It’s so cute listening to you guys argue about your ages,” Lauren teases as she walks up behind Jameson, circling her arms around his waist and squeezing. “I think it proves you’reall just the same level of immature, so your ages don’t really matter.”
