Page 58 of Hate to Love You
Brody doesn’t say anything more about my dad, which is a relief. His eyes go back to the movie playing on the screen. Instead of releasing me, he settles in. I’m pressed against the hard lines of his body. There’s nowhere for my head to go except against his chest. The fresh, clean scent of his aftershave batters my senses. I can’t help but inhale more of him.
Why does he have to smell so good?
And why does being held in his arms feel surprisingly...nice?
Little by little, my rigid muscles loosen.
How can I feel so at-ease with Brody when we’ve always been at odds with one another?
Not wanting to dwell on that thought, I push it from my mind and focus on the movie. With my head nestled against his chest and my body pressed against his, I realize there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Brody clears his throat and says, “My mom died when I was ten.”
My breath catches as shock floods through every part of me. I scramble to find adequate words, but there are none. I’m left giving him platitudes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Other than the snippets I hear around campus—which usually entail his antics on and off the ice—I don’t know much about Brody’s personal life. Certainly not something so important.
He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, but the tensed way he holds himself says otherwise. “It happened a long time ago.”
Thirteen years is a long time, but not enough to take away the sting of that kind of pain. I’d be devastated if something happened to my mom.
“Do you have any siblings?” Again, I have no idea.
“I have a two-year-old sister named Hailey.”
Like a kaleidoscope, my image of him shifts. No longer is Brody the one-dimensional, hockey-playing jerk I assumed him to be. He’s a man who has suffered great loss.
Unsure what to say, I remain silent, and he continues. “My dad remarried a few years ago. His wife’s name is Amber.” He shrugs. “As far as stepmoms go, she’s a pretty good one. I can’t complain.”
This is the first time I’m being allowed a true glimpse of Brody. I get the feeling he doesn’t let many people inside. I can appreciate that. Most of the time, I feel the same way. But the difference is that Brody is constantly surrounded by people—teammates, girls, fans—who want to get close to him because of who he is and where he’s going in life.
Forgetting about the movie, I turn in his arms so I can fully meet his gaze. “Are you and your dad close?”
“Yeah, we are. After my mom died, it was just the two of us. He didn’t get together with Amber until I was already out of the house and doing my own thing, so I wasn’t very upset about it. I meet with him every Sunday morning at the ice rink, and we run through drills for a couple of hours. Then we have brunch at the house with Amber and Hailey. Because of my schedule, it’s the only time I have to spend with them.” He adds, “My dad owns a sports management agency. He played in the NHL for a decade. When his hockey career ended, he decided to rep other athletes. He started out with a few teammates and made a name for himself, and now he owns a company with about twenty-five agents working for him. He mostly oversees the operational side of the company, but he’s repping me.”
“Wow.” I had no idea. About any of this.
After a few beats of silence, he admits, “My dad wasn’t too happy when he found out about you.”
Surprise washes over me. “Really? Why?” I can’t see what difference it would make. Brody’s a twenty-three-year-old man. What he does is his own business.
“He wants to make sure I stay focused on school and hockey. This is my last year before moving up to the pros. He doesn’t want me getting derailed.”
A thought occurs to me. “Is he the reason you’ve never had a girlfriend?”
“I guess.” He shrugs. “But it’s not like I’ve ever met anyone either. Hockey takes up so much of my life. I don’t have the time to devote to a relationship at this point.”
What he says makes perfect sense. But still…It seems weird that his father would be so overly-involved in his son’s personal life.
“I guess it’s good that we’re not really dating,” I say lightly. For the first time, I’m not sure how I feel about that. There’s so much about Brody that I’m only just discovering.
“I tried explaining the situation, but he didn’t get it. I told him I was just helping a friend out.”
I snort. “Friend…” Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have considered Brody McKinnon my friend.
He chuckles. “What? We’re friends, right?”
“I don’t know. We’re more like,” I pause, racking my brain for the right term, “frenemies.” But even that doesn’t fit anymore.