ChapterOne
Devon
The drive home to Nashville from Northport normally takes me about ten hours, with having to stop for gas, take a leak, and grab something to eat. For whatever the reason, this trip took longer, and I missed saying goodbye to my parents. As it was, we were going to see each other briefly, mostly so they can remind me about the house: what light switch does what, what’s on a timer, and when to feed their cat. All things I’ve known growing up, except the cat part. Rosemary, named after my mom’s favorite spice, is a new edition to the Cooper household. I wanted to name her hockey puck or slapstick, but since I don’t live at home, my choices in names were vetoed by my mom right away. I’m house sitting for a couple of days, but only until my sister arrives with her husband and kids. They’re “vacationing” in Nashville, which I don’t understand, while our parents take a ten-day cruise around the Bahamas. Or was it Mexico?
I’m exhausted by the time I pull into my parents’ driveway, and make sure to park off to the side out of habit. Maybe once I’ve had a nap, I’ll move my car and take the coveted first spot, the one closer to the door and always reserved for my mom. It’ll make me feel like a badass, like I’m breaking the rules or something, which means I’ll likely end up staying in the spot I used to park in when I lived here.
My brother-in-law on the other hand, will absolutely take Mom’s spot, and then proceed to tell me how I’m not worthy of the gum on his shoe (as if he’d ever step in gum) and ask me what I plan to do with my life. Hockey isn’t a sufficient answer for Chuck the fuck, but it’s the one he gets. I can’t stand my sister’s husband. She knows it and so do my parents. When they announced their engagement I prayed like I’ve never prayed before that their wedding would be during hockey season. It wasn’t, and I about cried. Chuck, aka Charles Barrington III, comes from money, a ridiculous amount, and isn’t afraid to let people know just how high and mighty he is or how everyone is beneath him and his family. He’s lucky he treats my parents with respect, otherwise I’d have to recruit my teammates for a little street hockey with his face. What my sister sees in him, I’ll never understand.
To make matters worse, they’ve procreated. My nephew, poor kid, is Charles Barrington IV. My sister and Chuck call him Les, which is French for “the”. The what? I call him Charlie and teach him all the stupid pranks I used to do to his mother. And then there’s my niece. She’s still a baby, one you carry around on your hip. Her name is Blair. Not a fan of her name, but that little girl has me wrapped around her finger. She just has to bat her baby blues at me, and I’m a puddle of goo.
My bedroom is now the kids’ room when they visit – or nursey as my wannabe posh sister refers to it. I set my bags down onto my former bed and pull my dirty clothes out. I brought everything home to wash because my mom always has the best smelling soaps. I don’t get it. I buy the same stuff, but my clothes never come out smelling like sunshine on a warm summer morning. Of course, it might be because the laundry room smells like a dirty-ass locker room, and I live with a bunch of stinky hockey players. Except, Thea. She doesn’t stink, and I’d really like to ask her to do my laundry because sometimes a guy wants to smell like flowers, but her brother would kill me. And if Jude doesn’t, Kyler will. I never would’ve thought in a million years my teammate would hook up with our other teammate’s little sister once she moved in, but it happened. Straight out of one of Thea’s books, from what Nolan tells me. He’s a teammate and roommate as well. Just one big house with four guys, Thea, and Millie—Thea’s friend who lives there but doesn’t.
After I get laundry started, I lie on the couch and turn the television on. I should do homework or start working on my term paper, but channel surfing, while subsequently scrolling through my phone, is a far better use of my down time.
When I see a post from my old high school buddy, I comment that I’m home for the weekend if he wants to hang. I say this knowing I have zero intentions of moving from the couch. Within seconds of my comment posting, my buddy’s name pops up on my phone.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I groan. As much as I don’t want to answer, I do. “Hogan, what’s up my man?”
“You’re in town?”
“Yeah, cat sitting for my parents until my sister gets here.”
“Best fucking timing ever. It’s my birthday, man. We’re having a party tomorrow. You’ve gotta come.”
But what about the cat?
“Yeah, text me the addy and I’ll stop by.”
“Shit, I’m going to do you one better. I’ll tell you the address as I’m on my way over. I gotta run some errands but I want to tell you about my girlfriend. Holy fuck, dude. I hit the jackpot, if you know what I mean.” Something tells me Hogan is winking even though I can’t see him.
I look around the house, at the television, and wonder what I’m doing. I’m away from school for a few days. No one here cares whether I come home or not as long as the cat gets some food. Homework can wait. Fuck it. “All right. Come get me.”
“On my way.”
After we hang up, I head into the bathroom and shower quickly. I kick myself for scrolling through social media when I could’ve taken a nap. I laugh at the thought of sitting in my dad’s recliner, with my feet kicked up, one hand behind my head and the other in my waistband, muttering, “I’m just resting my eyes.” I suppose this is what I have to look forward to when I’m old.
Hogan pulls up just as I get out of the shower. He lets himself in and I tell him I’ll be out in a minute. Back when were in high school, if he wasn’t here, I was at his house. We’d swap back and forth, depending on dinner or unless it was hockey season. Hogan played basketball so our winter schedules were pretty messed up. We’d party when neither of us had a game, and we definitely went downtown and hung out on Broadway with our fake IDs. Lucky for us, the bouncers weren’t real big high school sports fans, otherwise they would’ve beaten our asses for sneaking in.
Hogan and I bro hug when I come out of the bedroom. “Did you bring your girl?” he asks me.
I look at him oddly and my head shakes a little. “Girl?”
“I figured with you being a big hockey stud on campus, you’d have one.”
“Why have one when you can have them all?”
“Seriously?”
I nod.
“Damn, maybe I should stay single.”
“Nah, the single life can be lonely. Come on, let’s go. I’m starving and I’m fucking tired, so I need some coffee. Tell me about your girl while we run errands.”
Hogan and I head out to his car. I’m thankful he’s driving because I’m dragging right now. Our first stop is through Starbucks where I order the most boring coffee ever—hot black. The barista on the other end of the intercom asks me to repeat myself. I suppose she’s used to orders with four to five modifications.
After I get my coffee, Hogan gives me a few minutes to enjoy the caffeine intake, and then starts to tell me about his girlfriend and how he’s pretty serious about her. “I don’t know, I saw her from across the room and thought ‘there’s the mother of my children’ and the wild thing is, I didn’t know I wanted to have kids until I saw her.”