One More Shot (Hometown Players #1) (5 page)

T
hanks for picking me up,” I tell my dad as he hugs me.

He nods and takes my bag off my shoulder as I hobble out the airport doors with him. He glances at my booted foot.

“How’s it coming along?” he wants to know.

I shrug. “The infection in the incision is almost gone. And the bone is pretty much set. Now it’s just finishing the antibiotics and some conditioning and physical therapy.” I try not to look as frustrated and pissed off as I am.

Last season, I broke my ankle blocking a shot during playoffs. It should have healed before the summer ended. As luck would have it, one of the bones set wrong and I had to have surgery to fix it. Then the surgical incision got infected. All this made me miss the start of the hockey season, so I was ready to snap.

“When do they think you’ll be back in the game?” he asks as he tosses my bag into the back of his old pickup truck.

I raise an eyebrow. Devin and I pitched in and bought him a brand-new Ford F-150 last Christmas. Where the hell is it?

“They’re thinking mid-October. Where is the new truck?” I ask as I hop into the cab beside him.

“We lent it to the girls,” he informs me quietly. “Your mom didn’t want them to have to pay for a rental, and I didn’t want them to have this one. It’s old and the tires aren’t as good.”

I smile. I can’t help it. My parents were never rich. Growing up we were barely middle class, but our lives were never hard. They provided us with the best in hockey equipment, even when my dad’s blueberry farm struggled and money was low. They kept us in line—not with threats or violence, but with chores, rules and good old-fashioned groundings. Our house was tiny, drafty and crammed two boys in every bedroom, but they always made room for anyone who needed some help—whether it was a stray cat, my best friend, Luc, or the orphaned daughters of my mom’s high school best friend. I’m lucky. I know that.

“That was very nice of you guys,” I tell him, and then chew on my bottom lip.

“It’s so great to see them all again, even in these unfortunate circumstances.” He smiles lightly. “Callie is still a firecracker. Your mom and I picked her up at the airport. She hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Where is she living now?” I can’t help but wonder as the familiar scenery of my youth drifts by outside.

“Venice Beach. California. She’s a wardrobe designer assistant person or something like that. She works on commercials and music videos and stuff.”

I nod. I could totally see Callie doing that. She always used to love to style her sisters and pick out clothes for us guys. Sometimes her selections were too weird to wear, but there was no denying she loved doing it. And she always said she would live somewhere with no snow. Good for her.

My dad turns up the long, winding road where our house is located, along with the humble family blueberry farm that kept us in hockey equipment.

“And Rose?” I prompt.

He smiles even bigger, hazel eyes twinkling a little. I think Rose was always his favorite. “Little Rosie isn’t so little. She’s almost finished her bachelor’s degree and she’s applying to master’s programs. She works part-time tutoring kids. She’s…you know…Rosie. She’s a gem.”

“They’re all here now?” I ask, but I know he knows what I’m
not
asking.

“Yep. All of them. They were at the funeral home this morning arranging everything and now they’re meeting your mom for an early dinner.” He explains this swiftly and as matter-of-factly as he can. “Funeral is ten tomorrow morning.”

She’s here. My stomach twists with dread at the confirmation. I really don’t want to see her again. It’s going to do nothing but bring back all the anger and rejection I felt back then. My dad keeps his gaze level on the driveway and adjusts the brim of his baseball hat as he eases the truck to a stop. “Does she know you’re coming?” he asks quietly, putting the truck in park.

“Not unless Mom told her.” I take my Seattle Winterhawks cap off and scratch the back of my head.

“Your mom is definitely not doing that,” he announces with a wry shake of his head as he opens his door. “She knows better than to stick her nose in that dog’s breakfast.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “If that was true, she wouldn’t have guilted me into coming here.”

He shoots me a serious look across the hood of the truck. “Your mom simply suggested you support an old friend. If you felt guilty about that…well, that’s on you. Besides, I think she may be regretting that decision. When your mom mentioned you said hello, Jessie looked like she might throw up.”

Wow. Harsh.

“So now I’m just making things worse by being here? Fantastic.” As we make our way to the unassuming Craftsman I grew up in, I wonder if I can find a flight back to Seattle tonight.

He looks skeptical as he opens the front door and a wave of happiness hits me despite everything that’s going on. Devin and I have told our parents we’ll support them if they want to give up the farm and retire early. We offered to buy them a more modern home closer to town, but they refused, and every time I come home I’m secretly glad. This house is a sanctuary filled with my happy childhood memories. It’s hard not to feel good when I’m inside it.

I hobble by him and take my bag out of his hand. “I’m going to hop on the Internet and see if there’s a flight to Logan later today. If I can get to Boston, I can find a flight to Seattle.”

He drops his keys in the lopsided ceramic bowl on the hall table that I made in the 4H Club when I was eight and then crosses his arms over his chest. “Jordan Jonathan Garrison. I don’t know what the heck happened between you two. I never knew and I don’t want to know now, but her grandmother died. That’s got to be painful, especially with the messed-up relationship they had with the old woman. You spent your entire youth looking out for Jessie and she did the same for you. This is your last chance to honor that friendship. I think you should.”

“I don’t want to stir anything,” I argue, and try to look innocent.

“Stir anything in her or in yourself?” my dad shoots back with an arched eyebrow. I don’t answer him. He takes off the Brooklyn Barons baseball cap I figure my brother must have given him, rubs his nearly bald head, and walks up the stairs and disappears around the corner into the kitchen.

As I carry my bag down the hall my dad calls out, “Last chance!”

“I get it!” I reply tersely, and head into my old bedroom, dropping my bag on my old bed. I can’t believe they haven’t changed this place yet. I glance around. Two walls are a bright indigo blue and two are a dark hunter green—this is because I shared my room with my younger brother, Cole, and we couldn’t agree on a color. He got two green walls and I got two blue. I remember Jessie helped me paint the room. I also remember she tried to convince me to paint it orange because that was her favorite color. I almost agreed because I loved to see her happy.

I shake off the memory and limp back out of my room. “Dad! I’m going to go to town, grab a beer and see Cole, okay?”

“Sure thing. Be safe.”

Twenty minutes later, my younger brother Cole is grinning at me from across the bar as he pours me a pint of Sam Adams. He pours one for himself and we clink glasses.

“Aren’t you working?” I ask as I take a sip.

“I’m not working, I’m managing,” he corrects me with an evil grin on his freckled face. “And fuck it. How often do I get a visit from you after August?”

I smile. Cole is awesome. Always has been. Sure, Dev and I used to bust his balls all the time—that’s what older brothers do—but he’s probably the best person out of the three of us. Two years younger than me, four and a half younger than Dev, Cole followed in our hockey footsteps. Looking back, I think he did it because it was expected, not because he had the same drive Devin and I do.

Cole was a natural just like us, but unlike us, he decided not to go straight into the NHL draft after high school. He wanted to go to college. I couldn’t imagine wasting three or four years with more school when I could be just playing hockey. Neither could Devin. But Cole wanted it. He got into the University of Maine on a full scholarship and played hockey for them while earning a business admin degree.

In his junior year, he took a brutal hit in the middle of a playoff game. He went headfirst into the boards and snapped two vertebrae in his back. After almost six month of rehab, he was all right, but his hockey career was over. He would never play in the NHL. I think Devin and I took it harder than he did. We wanted him there with us. He worked just as hard as we did—harder, because he was getting a college degree on top of everything—and it didn’t seem fair that his dream was taken away. But Cole never became bitter or angry, he simply adapted.

He moved back to Silver Bay after college, started working at the local pub and coaching the high school hockey team. He moved back in with Mom and Dad. He seemed happy. Devin and I thought he was crazy, but he had a plan. Billy, the old guy who owned the pub called O’Malley’s where Cole worked, was ready to retire. Living with Mom and Dad, Cole had managed to save a ton of money, and he got a loan from the bank to buy the place. Cole renamed the pub Last Call.

O’Malley’s had been a dive. In a year, Cole had turned Last Call into a rocking attraction for tourists and locals alike. He was even working on plans to add a dining room and full kitchen to the back.

“So, I don’t know if you heard, but Callie, Jessie and Rosie’s grandmother died,” Cole informs me.

“Why do you think I’m here?” I give him a look like he’s a moron.

He scratches his head full of ginger hair and tries to look confused, but the smirk on his face says he knows he’s being a smartass. “Why would you come home for that? You hate each other.”

“Hate is a strong word, Cole,” I mutter, and take another sip of beer. A big sip.

“Yeah, I know,” Cole muses with a nod and a smile. “And their anti-Jordan feelings are strong. Callie uses cuss words to describe you that even make me blush.”

“Good to know she’s expanding her vocabulary,” I snark, and roll my eyes.

“Didn’t Callie punch you?”

My smile fades at that less-than-perfect memory. “Sort of.”

Cole laughs and slaps the bar. “I remember now—at the bonfire, down by the lake. She freakin’ got you good in the gut! Man, she was pissed. And Rosie was so drunk she puked in the fire. Good times.” He grins at the memories.

I shake my head because my little brother is a moron. “Look, Mom thought I should be here, so I’m here. And when I tried to back out earlier today, Dad laid into me. So I’m going to the damn funeral.”

Cole swallows a big gulp of beer and then opens his mouth like he is going to say something, but he freezes and his jaw just hangs open. Then he points behind me. “Speak of the devils! They’re here!”

My heart starts to hammer so suddenly it startles me. Everything moves in slow motion as I place my beer on the bar in front of me, spinning around on my bar stool as a familiar voice rings over the crowd.

“Little Cole Garrison! Look at you, all grown up!” Callie is bouncing toward us, Rosie skipping along behind her.

They both freeze at the sight of me. I try to smile but it probably looks more like a grimace. It feels like one.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Callie hisses vehemently, her big brown eyes glaring at me.

I raise my hands like she’s pointing a gun at my chest and stand up. “My mom told me what happened. I came for the funeral. She wanted me to support you guys.”

Callie blinks, stunned, but it only lasts a second. Then she storms through the space between us and comes right at me. For a split second I worry she’s going to hit me again, but her arms remain firmly crossed over her chest. Her face is so flushed with anger that even the freckles on the bridge of her nose look pink.

“We don’t want your support.
She
doesn’t want it.”

She pushes past me and reaches across the bar to hug Cole. He smiles easily and returns the hug. I watch Rose as she stands a careful distance from me, behind her sister. I glance past her, searching, my heart still hammering.

“She’s not here,” Rose says flatly. “I mean, she’s
here
in the Bay, but she isn’t here in the bar.”

“Oh.” My heart slows and my chest fills with a new feeling. I thought it would be relief but it is, without a doubt, disappointment. I am disappointed she’s not here. Why the fuck am I disappointed she’s not here?

Rose is still staring at me with her wide, dark eyes. “Do you want to know how she is?”

“He doesn’t get to know that,” Callie snaps, interrupting my conversation with the littlest, most rational Caplan sister. Callie grabs the beer Cole poured her and smiles at him. “We’ll be sitting over there. Come join us when you’re done with the Evil Garrison.”

“Evil? Really?!” I call after her, but she ignores me and keeps walking over to one of the girls she graduated with who’s standing over by the pool tables.

Rose reaches over and hugs Cole, taking the beer he pours her, but she doesn’t run off to follow her sister right away. Instead, her tiny hand raises the beer to her lips and her almost-black eyes bore into me over the foam as she sips it. I drop back down onto my stool.

“How are you?” I offer, knowing full well I could be setting myself up for another tirade.

“I’m good, you know, considering,” she replies quietly.

I nod. “Sorry about your…about Lily.”

“You know we weren’t all that close,” Rose says quietly, licking her full lips that look so much like Jessie’s. “But thank you.”

I nod and give her a small smile. Rose has always been the softhearted one. The fact that she’s not walking away makes me cautiously optimistic.

“So you don’t hate my guts anymore?” I ask tentatively, hopefully.

She swallows another sip and her pretty lips almost turn up in a smile. Almost.

“I never hated you, Jordy. I was hurt,” she confesses in a cheerless voice. “Hurt for her.”

I nod solemnly. “I know. But, Rose, Jessie took off before I could explain. She abandoned me. I didn’t abandon her.”

She raises her dark, narrow eyebrows showing her doubt, but before she can respond Callie screams her name.