I wanted to insist that a relationship ending didn’t mean someone was a bad partner. It often meant theyhada bad partner. Or it just didn’t work out. Or any number of things.
But I didn’t actually know why Trev’s marriage ended, so I didn’t want to offer up some platitude that hit him in a tender spot.
Fortunately, he didn’t give me a chance to say something awkward, and he nodded toward the house. “Let’s go back in. I’ll show you the kitchen, and then we can bring your stuff in from your car.”
Grateful for the subject change, I followed him inside.
On the way through the house earlier, I’d noticed a number of framed photos on the wall, but I hadn’t actually stopped to take them in. As we went back down the hall toward the kitchen and living room, I slowed and stopped, gazing at the various pictures.
Trev halted as well, watching me take in everything on the wall.
They were photos of him and his kids, from back when they were tiny infants until some more recent shots of them in soccer uniforms and school clothes. The last week had been such a damn whirlwind, I hadn’t even seen pictures of the kids I’d be tasked with watching, so I’d had no idea what they’d look like. They both had near-black hair and big brown eyes, and they had a more Mediterranean complexion than Trev, who was fair-skinned.
“So these are your boys,” I said.
The smile that broke out on Trev’s face almost made my balance waver. “Yep, that’s them.” He pointed at them each in turn. “Zane and Zach.”
I squinted. “How do you tell them apart?”
He chuckled. “It’s a lot easier in person. Zach is the extrovert. Zane is very much… not.”
I peered at some of the photos, and now that he mentioned it, I could see the difference. One of the twins was usually making faces or some silly gestures, while the other seemed content to just smile for the camera. I picked out one with them dressed for soccer—one in a regular jersey, one a goalie. The goalie held the ball under his arm and smiled. The other had struck a funny pose with a giant, toothy grin.
“So, Zane?” I pointed at the goalie.
“You’ve got it.” Trev laughed with obvious fondness. “It’s funny, if they were playing hockey, Zane wouldn’t be the one I’d peg for a goalie.”
“Didn’t you say hockey goalies are a little nuts?”
He snorted. “A little. But in soccer, Zane isreallygood at it. He tracks the ball so well, and it’s hard for anybody to get anything past him. They’re both a bit smaller than some of the other kids, but they’re fast as hell. Plus Zach is fearless, so he’ll just mow through the other players and score.”
“Wow.” I hooked my thumbs in my pockets and studied my old friend. “I’m surprised you don’t have them playing hockey.”
The smile faded a bit. “They know how to skate—I wanted them to learn as early as possible—but my ex-mother-in-law convinced Bryan that hockey was too dangerous.”
I inclined my head. “She knows you play professionally, right?”
“Yep. And she hated that her son was with a pro hockey player.” Trev made an irritated sound. “Doesn’t help that sheand Bryan had the conversation about the kids playing hockey while I was recovering from a pretty bad concussion.”
“Oh my God. Seriously? Did she leverage your injury to scare him out of it or something?”
“That, and she took advantage of me being out of it to strong arm him into pulling them out of the program they were about to start.” Trev’s lip curled with disgust. “At that age, they weren’t even going to be doing anything dangerous. But she got to him, I was too fucked up to say anything, and then by the time I could make an argument, there were too many other things to fight about.” He sighed. “They haven’t missed their window to try it or anything, but it’s just such a bone of contention with my ex and his mother.”
“Good Lord,” I muttered.
“Right? So if the boys come to me and say they want to try it, I’ll sign them up. But I don’t want to push them and get them into the middle of an argument between their dad and me.”
He sounded utterly defeated and heartbroken, but could I blame him?
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “Does this mean I’ll be taking them to soccer practice and games?”
His smile returned, and he chuckled. “Practices are Tuesday and Thursday, and games are Saturday.” He clapped my shoulder and grinned mischievously. “Have fun.”
I just flipped him off, which had him cackling. He knew how much I’d always hated soccer.
“Anyway,” I said. “They’re seriously cute. And you said they’re, what, six now?”
“Yeah. They’ll be seven in December.” He laughed, gazing at a photo of the boys as toddlers. “Time really flies, let me tell you.”
