Page 77 of In Too Deep
I smile and kiss the top of her head before scooping up a forkful of sauce-drenched rice. The alpha in me preens, overjoyed that she’s adding our scent to her nest. I haven’t seen one at her house, so I can only assume she has one at St. Charles. Curiosity has been eating me up since Eli tried to ask me to donate clothes a while back, but this is what I truly wanted. Tori needs to pick out her nesting materials, not have them handed to her. Maybe now, she’ll invite me to see it, but I know better than to push or demand entrance into an omega’s nest before she’s ready.
“Then it’s yours, baby,” I reply, nuzzling her hair with my nose before giving her another bite.
The mood in thearena on the day of our game against Detroit is cautiously optimistic, which is wildly different from how it’s been at this point in the season in years past. Last season, we were already mathematically eliminated from the playoffs, but now we’re looking very good a week out from the deadline. It’s been a mixed bag of wins and losses, but there’s still plenty to hope for as we round out our homestand.
Tonight’s game is going to be tough, as Detroit is doing well for itself, but also because the national broadcast team is coming into town again. And with them, my dad. And it’s extra special because he’s a former Red Wing himself and won them more than one Stanley Cup.
Unlike last time, when I had to wait for Dad to get free of his duties to meet up, I’m waiting with Dee at the loading dock to help coordinate the delivery of their equipment. Not that my boss is doing much. He’s becoming more and more hands-offwith each passing day, especially now that he’s officially set a date to announce his retirement.
“Chip! So good to see you!”
At the sound of my dad’s voice, I turn and smile widely, my body relaxing. He closes the distance between us in a few strides of his long legs and scoops me up in a tight hug. Warm teakwood and sweet tobacco roll off him in waves, as familiar as my reflection. When I pull back and look him over, I find his hair a uniform dark brown, the few gray hairs I remember gone for the moment, but his eyes are as bright as ever. His smile is whiter, and his grin straighter, like he’s wearing false teeth.
“You look good,” I say, confused laughter slipping out before I realize what’s happening.
A little pink spreads over his cheeks as he looks away with a shrug. “The network wanted me to...” Dad gestures vaguely to his face.
I nod sympathetically, taking his hand and squeezing it. He’s in front of the camera constantly, and I can’t imagine the sort of pressure that puts on his shoulders. Hockey players can almost be as rugged and feral looking as they want, and no one bats an eye. Missing teeth, scraggly beards, crooked noses, tangled hair... all of it adds to the charm. But broadcasters aren’t so lucky.
“Happy Mardi Gras, by the way,” Dad jokes, smoothly changing the subject as he lets go of my hand and shifts it to my low back to guide me away from the loading dock.
I look back at Dee, not sure if I should be leaving. But he just gives me a nod and a smile, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against to take over. I relax and take the lead through the tunnels and out into the Zamboni doors, which are partially open, letting in light from the rink. The chirp of a whistle and the scrape of skates fill the air as the team finishes up practice.
Dad and I come to a stop at the gap, standing shoulder to shoulder in silence. My eyes immediately find Spencer, Oli, and Eli as they wait in line for their turn to execute the drill. Logan has his back to me, watching his players with supreme focus.
“They’re really good, better than I’ve ever seen them,” Dad says with a wistful sigh.
I nod, not sure how to respond. Everything I could say feels like too much and not enough all at once.
“You know, Paul’s been driving me crazy, trying to make me get a straight answer out of you about all these trade rumors floating around,” Dad starts again.
I sigh, silently cursing myself. I’d forgotten Paul Evans, the high-level reporter who is basicallythesource for inside hockey news, works for the same network Dad does.
“I have given him answers. They just aren’t the ones he’s after,” I retort, carefully dodging around the question.
Dad doesn't reply, so I turn my head to see him giving me a supremely skeptical stare, with his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. Rolling my eyes, I shift my weight, crossing my arms over my chest.
“When something happens, Paul will be my first email,” I say, looking back to the ice.
“When, not if?”
Fuck. He’s too good at reading people if he could catch that slipup. And judging by the heat of his stare on the side of my face, he’s not going to drop it. So I change tactics, hoping to throw him off the scent.
“Are you and Mom in a pack with Aunt Connie and Uncle Kevin?” I blurt, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind.
Dad splutters for a moment, not expecting that response. Clearing his throat, he shifts restlessly beside me, pulling my gaze back to his face. He’s blushing a much darker shade of pink, and very specifically not looking at me.
“We are, yes. Have been since before you were born. I assumed... well, I would have thought you would have asked your mother about this already,” he says, stumbling a little over his words.
I shake my head, frowning as the wheels turn in my head. They’ve always been very close, but until now, I didn’t consider any other possibility except that all the adults were just really good friends.
“Are you and them—”
“That’s not something I think I want to talk about right now, Chip.” Dad cuts me off and confirms my suspicions all in one go.
“Wasn’t Uncle Kevin on the Red Wings staff while you played for them?” I ask, recalling stories told at holiday parties after a few glasses of eggnog.
Dad nods, suddenly very serious. “It’s how we met. He worked in equipment management, maintaining skates. He used to say I had the worst smelling ones on the whole team,” he says fondly.