“Anyway,”Cooper rushed on, “I want you there, of course. Emily and I both do. We pickedmid-June next year, after your season. But, ah, she’s a little worried, whatwith her folks, so I told her I would ask you … if you could come alone.”
“What’sthat?”
A sharpbreath in. “Well, the women you run with, Beck, I don’t think they’d exactlyfit in.”
“Thewomen I run with?”
“Notthat I mind them. I don’t mind them at all. But the skankysupermodel-types, the look-at-me drama queens might steal the show, if youcatch my meaning.”
“Skankysupermodels?” Beckett reminded himself of a parrot.
“Unlessyou’re seeing a nice girl,” Cooper quickly added. “You know, the kind you’dhave brought home to meet Mom.”
Beckettpressed his thumb and finger into his eye sockets. He suddenly felt tired. Old.“So I take it Emily is the type of girl Mom would have wanted to meet?”
“Ohyeah. Absolutely. She’s smart, she’s beautiful, she’s—”
“Okay,okay. I get it.”
“Soyou’ll come? Alone, I mean?”
Beckettglanced over his shoulder. Kim Kardashian’s tall twin was still checking himout.
“Yeah,I’ll come alone. Unless I meet a ‘nice girl’ before then.” Whatever the hellthat is. “Hey, look, I gotta go. Congrats again, Coop. I mean it.”
“Thanks,Beck. Take care, man.”
Beckettheld his phone away and looked at it as if it might explode. Then he eyed thewoman eyeing him.
“You’rea professional athlete, aren’t you?” she said with a wicked smile.
Longlegs. Thin. Tanned. Wearing a top way too small for her, not that she had muchto show off. No way was this a “nice girl” Mom would have liked. This girllooked like she wanted to eat Beckett alive.
“Yeah,”he replied. She seemed to stretch and purr like a sleek cat. She probablydidn’t know a damn thing about hockey.
Beckettfingered the napkin again, then stood and dropped it in a trash can. Walkingpast the woman’s table, he said, “Have a nice day,” and briskly strode to hisnew ride, the one he’d replaced his AMG with: a twelve-year-old pickup coveredin hail divots. As he slid behind the wheel, he saw the woman turn away, fold herarms, and stick her nose in the air.
Heshook his head.
Why didhe go for that type? The ones whose “check engine” light always came on? Themaintenance would begin, and he never wanted to hang in that long. Therelationship forever soured, along with the sex, which left nothing else. Overthe years, they’d gotten younger. Or had he gotten older? Whatever it was, hefound he had less in common with them, which made filling time between fucksunbearable.
Trafficcrawled along South Colorado Boulevard. Another accident or more roadconstruction. He turned on the radio, and “Cool Change” by Little RiverBand rocked the tinny speakers. The words came back to him with ease, and hecranked up the volume. A blown-out speaker reverberated, so he sang out loud tocut the noise.
A tightband constricted his chest, and he fought a swell in his throat. He coughed,hummed a few bars until his voice cracked, and swallowed hard. He pressed hisknuckle into one eye, then the other. The stab, that unexpected slice he thoughthad finally dulled, was back, just as sharp, as raw as ever, snatching hisbreath away.
“Ahshit,” he whispered aloud when the song finally ended. He swiped the back ofhis hand across his moist cheeks.
If Momwere still alive, what would she think of him? He cringed. And then anotherpang nailed him. God, he missed her. Though it had been a long while, heremembered how she’d smelled, how she’d cheered at his peewee games, and howher chocolate chip cookies would “fix everything,” as she used to say.
Iwish I had some now, Mom.
Beckettparked the truck in his empty twelve-bay garage. He walked into the house, hisfootsteps reverberating off the walls. The empty spaces had driven him to pullout old family pictures for something to look at, and as he dropped intoa lone recliner, he picked up a gold-framed photo of the four of them inhappier days. It was a posed studio picture, but Mom’s broad smile was real.They had gone for ice cream after the session. He remembered her brown hairshimmering, catching the sunlight and reflecting red highlights. He had nearlypassed her in height by then. Now he’d probably have to fold over her—twice—tohug her.
Whatcolor had her eyes been? He studied the photo. Brown? Green? Hazel.
Lightgreen eyes flashed through his mind, startling him. Where the fuck had thatcome from? He’d seen those eyes before. Paige. What kind of name was that? Whatkind of name is Beckett? Red hair. No, it’s auburn. Auburn, darkcopper.
Well,fuck me!
Herlast name was Anderson, not Paulson. Andie. From DU.
Thegirl who said no.
Thefirst time he’d met her was at a party his senior year, where she’d drawn himto her like white dog fur is drawn to black pants. Irresistible. He wasn’t surewhat it had been about her because she wasn’t the kind of girl he went for. Atall. Like now, he’d liked them tall and dark, and she was all about petite anddelicate, wavy hair framing fair skin. A pixie.
Asthey’d talked, she’d reminded him of a fluffy, cuddly puppy he’d wanted to pickup and hold despite a needle-toothed bite—a bite she obviously hadn’t lost. Herblatant dislike for him hadn’t dissuaded him from trying to discover theintriguing contours beneath the baggy sweatshirt she’d worn that night, though.If anything, her reluctance had spurred him on.
Whenthe party died down, a group of them went to breakfast, and he elbowed anotherguy out of the way to claim the seat beside hers. Her gorgeous eyesflashed—with disgust or panic, he’d never been sure—and that’s when he reallysaw them. And they hadn’t changed. They were still wide, full of spark, lightgreen, and bottomless, just like pools he’d seen at Yellowstone on the rarefamily vacation before Mom died.
In therestaurant, Andie only ordered a cup of tea because her “month had run out ofmoney.” So he mentally counted the bills in his wallet and doubled his order.
Soonplatters of eggs, bacon, hash browns, and pancakes the size of dinner platescovered the tabletop. He invited her to eat all she wanted and laughed inwardlyat the blush that pinked her cheeks. And like a persistent mouse, she nibbledher way through a surprising amount,
