2. Chapter 2

The sun is down, and my fingertips are black with grease when Molly and I pull up to my house. She needs a bath as much as I need a shower, but Grandpa's truck is in the driveway. He's inside, so I have the perfect opportunity to talk to him about the shop.

The only problem with my plan to ask him what he's thinking selling the shop out from under me is that the old man scares me. I know he thinks I'm lazy and unmotivated. He's implied it multiple times, saying things to Dad such as, "Send that boy to my house, so I can teach him how to really work instead of playing with dogs."

Dogs are my hobby, not my job. I've bred Molly and trained a few dogs for a little extra cash, but mostly I do it because dogs are awesome. So much better than people, mostly.

Grandpa has the opinion I'm treating my actual job as a licensed plumber like a hobby and it doesn't help that he always seems to drop in when I'm not working. Which, granted, has been a lot over the past few months, as Mom's health has been rapidly deteriorating. But if anyone could understand those reasons for not working, it should be Grandpa.

He also doesn't think much of my idea to convince Paradise's city council to use the federal right of eminent domain to buy his shop and the acre of land behind it that includes the hockey-rink-sized irrigation pond where my team can practice.

If I had the money, I'd buy it, but then again, the benefit isn't for me—it's for my team, which is part of the county recreational department. To me, it makes sense and I'm pretty proud of myself for having put it together when our last conversation about this ended with Grandpa saying, "Figure it out."

I figured it out. If it works, the city can demolish the shop and turn the alley into green space that will extend to the pond; maybe Idaho Fish and Wildlife will stock the pond with trout. Residents and vacationers will have a fishing park in the summer, and I'll have my outdoor hockey rink in the winter.

But Grandpa thinks if I want it, I should find a way to buy it instead of relying on the government. I have the money for a down payment, but there's no way to make money on what I want to do with the shop and the land. Financially, it would be a terrible investment, even with the huge "payoff" of providing girls the chance to play competitive hockey.

And, as it turns out, it takes a long time to get this sort of approval. It's been almost a year since I started the process and I haven't had an update for a few months. I probably should have followed up with Lester, my contact with the city council, although I know every single member.

Darlene Voglmeyer better not be part of the holdup. She's never forgiven me for driving her son Lyle's snowmobile into the lake. In my defense, he said I could, and the attached tow rope was supposed to pull it back out.

I was only thirteen. How did I know the idea would end with his snowmobile at the bottom of Smuk Lake and me mowing the Voglmeyer's lawn for free all summer?

You'd think she would have moved on by now, but from the way her whole face pinches into an unspoken scolding each time she sees me, I'm guessing she hasn't.

Too bad she's also the mayor of Paradise.

I take a deep breath, then climb out of my truck with Molly close behind. The faint notes of The Sound of Music drift from inside. It's Mom's favorite movie. With her very progressive form of early-onset Alzheimer's, she doesn't remember how many times she's already watched it from one day to the next. She only knows it's familiar.

I, on the other hand, know how often it's on. So often, I have the entire three-hour musical memorized, including the dialog. Every time I hear them, the songs offer me reassurance Mom is still here, even though I'm tired of hearing them.

The one thing that distracts her from it is when I read to her. Medieval fantasy is her favorite—always has been. Mom tried to get me to read some of her books for years. I wish I would have done it before she got sick, not just because she was right that I'd love the genre, but also because I recognize now that our shared love for it could have been a connection point. Now it's too late.

I'm about to open the front door when it swings wide and my cousin's three-year-old, Charly, jumps into my arms with her dog, Uncle Rad, behind her. I crouch to scratch Rad's ears, then throw Charly into the air, making her squeal. She's my cousin, Sebastian's, soon-to-be step-daughter, but in the few months she and her mom Hope have been in Paradise, they've melded into our family faster than gelatin in water.

Molly runs inside, and Rad—picking up on the playful energy—bounces on her. Uncle Rad is Molly's pup, and they yip with a happiness loud enough to drown out the sound of I Am Sixteen. I toss Charly in the air a few more times, grateful for the sound of laughter that's become too rare in this house. When I stop, she clasps me in a hug that's closer to a headlock.

When she pulls back, she pats my cheeks and bushy beard. "You hay-wee."

"The Miners are on a winning streak. I can't shave." I scrunch my face and rub my nose against hers, making her burst into giggles.

I've tried to teach her as much about hockey as I can, including the no shaving superstition. Not that she'll have to follow that rule when she's on my team in a few years—none of the girls will—but it's important that she grow up to know every aspect of the game.

Charly squirms from my arms and dashes toward the TV room, calling for Papa Sparky and yelling that Uncle Big is here. I smile—as I do every time—at the nicknames she's given us in the past month since Hope got engaged to Sebastian. But even the sunshine Charly brings everywhere she goes isn't enough to banish the dread that's settled into my chest since seeing Georgia and her friend at the shop.

That dread only grows as I follow Charly into the TV room, where I know Grandpa will be with Mom. I've seen a much softer side to him since Mom's diagnosis five years ago, but he's still scary with his buzz cut and steely gray eyes. The only person who's never feared him, besides Mom, is Charly, who's already snuggled in his lap by the time I catch up. Following her lead, both dogs drop at Grandpa's feet.

I kiss the top of Mom's head and get a confused glance in return. Her eyes search my face, looking for the memory of who I am. My breath catches, until finally, her mouth slowly spreads into a tight smile of vague recollection.

"Bjorn. Nice to see you again." She turns back to the TV, and I rub my fist against the tightness in my chest.

For some reason, my given name is the one that sticks with her lately, not the name everyone's called me my entire life. That, more than anything else, gives me the sensation of being a stranger to her.

No one calls me Bjorn… except Cassie Lee, apparently. But I wouldn't want her to use Bear, anyway. We are not friends. Now less than ever.

I turn to Grandpa, who quickly looks away from me, but not before I see the tension in his mouth. He presses his lips to the top of Charly's head, she snuggles closer to him, and I know he's remembering doing the same with Mom when she was a little girl. He's never said as much, but more than once, I've caught him close to tears when he looks at Mom.

"How's she been today?" I ask in a low voice, then sit perpendicular to him on the big sectional sofa.

He shrugs and shakes his head, but says nothing.

So…not good.

Also, probably not the best time to talk to him about the shop, but there's never going to be a best time. Mom will continue to decline, and his property taxes will keep rising as long as people keep moving to Paradise, raising property values. I know he's tired of cold winters, but he won't leave Paradise for months at a time before Mom…

I don't dwell on why Grandpa believes he could be in Arizona by next winter.

"Can we talk, Grandpa?"

He glances at me, then back at the TV. "I'm listening."

"Maybe in the other room?"

"I don't want your mom trying to stand on her own. She could fall."

I suck in my breath, debating whether to wait until Dad or Britta get home, but who knows when that will be. And Grandpa usually leaves as soon as Dad shows up. He's never liked Dad much. None of us can figure out why, but since Mom's been sick, I've decided it's because Dad took Grandpa's little girl away from him. And now she's really going away … a little bit further every week, it seems.

"It's about the shop…"

Now he looks at me. "Did you finally hear from the city council?"

I pause, then shake my head.

"Georgia showed it to her friend today," he says, sounding almost repentant about it.

"I wuv Geoja," Charly pipes in.

Grandpa nudges her off his lap and hands her a plastic bowl with a few kernels of popcorn at the bottom. "Take this to the kitchen for Grandpa, please Charly girl. Then find a story for us to read with your Great-Aunty Heidi."

After she dashes out of the room, he turns back to me. "If Georgia's friend Cassie makes an offer, I've got to sell. I can't give the land to you."

"I know, Grandpa." I lean my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands. "But can you give me a little more time? The proposal process takes a while. It's been close to a year since I submitted it, so I'm sure the city will consider it soon."

Grandpa's eyebrows go up, and he scoffs. "Soon in government time is not even in this century. You want the city to listen, you'll have to speak, not just send in a proposal."

A tight knot lodges in my stomach. I know I need to be more assertive about my proposal. I should go to the monthly city council meetings to state my case in person. But I hate speaking to people, especially a room full of them. And I thought I'd have more time.

Which is the story of my life.

I thought I'd have more time to play hockey my freshman year of college. More time to bring my grades up. More time with Mom after I dropped out to move home and help with her care.

But the past five years haven't been enough. The further she slips away, the more determined I am to make sure she's the one not forgotten.

That's why I want the park with the hockey rink. The pond she loved and the green space surrounding it will be named after her.

Seb's the only person who knows this, aside from Grandpa. But Grandpa isn't in favor of the idea. He said parks are named after dead people, and Mom's not dead yet. I hadn't thought of that until he said it, and now I don't want to tell anyone else my idea in case they have the same reaction. But it's in my proposal.

"Does Charly need some help in there?" I rise, but Grandpa grabs my arm before I stand all the way.

"Let her be. Your dad's got child locks on everything." His words catch, and we exchange a look of understanding. The locks aren't to keep Charly safe. They're for Mom.

With a breath, I sit down again and Grandpa continues. "Hope keeps saying everybody needs to quit babying her. Charly's learning to do things by herself."

His steely eyes hook mine. "Same goes for you. Giving you that property won't teach you to work to get what you want or to do things that make you uncomfortable."

"Didn't ask you to give it to me, sir." I force the words out through clenched teeth. "Only for a little more time. At least until the hockey season is over."

Dad reminds me all the time Grandpa was a military man back in the day. Giving orders is how he communicates. There's love in his words. It's just hard to hear them sometimes.

Grandpa lays a heavy hand on my knee, pulling my eyes back to his. "I know that team is important to you, but you should spend more time with your mom. We don't know how much time she's got left where she'll know who we are. She needs us."

I swallow hard and nod. Not because I agree—Mom barely knows me already — but because that's the only thing I can do. There's no use explaining to him that with the full-time nurse we've hired for Mom, I need something to do. I won't be taking care of her as much as I have been. Not because I don't want to, but because I can't. She needs someone with medical training.

Even though my days caring for Mom leave me emotionally wrecked and physically exhausted, I fought giving them up. I'm the youngest in our family. I've had the fewest years with her. But taking care of her brought back memories of when I was too young to go to school, but my siblings were gone most of the day.

Mom and I were together from morning until late afternoon. First, we'd go to Breakfast at Britta's, which was still Granny's. I'd eat ebelskiver for breakfast, then she'd give me little jobs in the kitchen to "help" her. Then we'd go to the Garden of Eatin' and prep for lunch and dinner.

Some people might say what Mom did was dangerous—taking me to work in restaurant kitchens—and she should have left me with a babysitter. But Mom made sure I was safe while also making me feel important enough to do a "big boy" job. She protected me without sheltering me.

And I hate I can't protect her or keep her safe.

I could still be here during the day, even with the nurse. The problem is, the nurse Dad hired is my ex, Grace. That's good for Mom, because Grace is a familiar face, but not for me. Grace would like to get familiar with me again, and that wouldn't be good for either of us.

But even if I could find the words to explain all this to Grandpa, the emotions I can't show him catch in my throat.

Noises come from the kitchen, and I push myself from the couch. "I'm gonna check on Charly. Just wanna be sure she's okay. I won't help her or anything," I add with a touch of sarcasm.

I get a sharp, "Bear!" from Grandpa, but I do something I've never done before: I ignore him, walking right by him and my traitor dog Molly, who stays put with Rad at Grandpa's feet.

When I get to the kitchen, sure enough, Charly's made a mess. The large bowl is on the floor, surrounded by a trail of popcorn that leads to a half-empty bag on the counter. She has her back to me, scooping up the popcorn with her tiny hands and putting it in the bowl.

A few pieces go straight from the floor to her mouth, and I rush to take them from her. "Don't eat that, Charly."

She jumps at my voice, and tears spring to her eyes when I pull the popcorn from her hands.

"It's dirty, Charly." I crouch to get eye level with her, and she cries harder. "Did I scare you?"

She turns her back to me and nods.

At the same time, voices carry down the hall. Zach and Georgia. No doubt they'll have Cassie with them, and I don't want to see her again. Especially not today.

Not ever, to be honest.

She's been rude to me since the first day we met. From the moment I saw Cassie, I couldn't take my eyes off her. I've always had a thing for dark hair, and hers is almost black. I've imagined more than once how it would look if she didn't have it pulled back. The few locks of hair she leaves down frame her sharp cheekbones and accentuate her green eyes. And it's her eyes I can't scrub from my brain.

I wish I could. Whenever she comes to mind, I try to replace thoughts of her with math problems. Making up my own equations calms me down. It gives me a different problem to focus on besides the one that's frustrating me.

And currently, Cassie Lee is one big, frustrating, and unsolvable problem.

Along with forgetting her eyes, I wish I could erase our first meeting from history. That day at Georgia's wrap party.

After watching Cassie from afar for days, I'd worked up the nerve to talk to her. Before I could say a word, I spilled my stupid iced coffee all down her shirt. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, then she'd accused me of doing it on purpose and called me a pervert in front of an entire group of people.

And she used that I'm-a-cop voice they all have. The one that means you're a criminal, and I'm in charge here, so don't mess with me.

I hate that voice.

Darlene Voglmeyer uses that voice.

A month later, I get a bill for a new shirt. A hundred dollars.

What cop wears hundred-dollar shirts?

LA cops who believe coming from a big city makes them smarter than guys like me. That's who. LA cops who then go on to treat a grown man at his brothers' double wedding as if he's the six-year-old ring bearer just because she's a few years older.

Cassie made one comment after another about me spilling coffee on her.

When I finally returned her sarcasm with some of my own, she got totally offended and called me a creeper. I thought cops were supposed to be tough—have a thick skin.

Not Detective Lee.

The point is, I don't like Cassie. I don't care how hot she is, she's not nice.

But I didn't mean to be rude when I saw her today. I was surprised, is all. I'd only gone to the shop because I needed something to keep busy while Grace was here with Mom. Mondays, Wednesdays and part of Saturdays are usually my days to take care of Mom. Britta takes the other afternoons and Dad and my brothers split up the mornings.

Everyone in town knows which days I'm available for plumbing jobs. I don't have appointments on the days I have Mom. They call the plumber fifteen minutes away in Fish Haven if there's an emergency. And hockey practice is Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I decided to work on the car Dad and I haven't touched in at least six months. Probably longer.

Not since Mom really started going downhill.

No one was supposed to be there. Especially not someone wanting to buy the shop. And especially not someone who thinks I'm a "creeper."

Sure enough, Georgia, Zach, and Cassie walk into the kitchen, and Charly runs crying toward them, wrapping her arms around Georgia's legs.

"What happened?" Georgia asks Charly, then looks at me.

I stand, keeping my eyes on Georgia and trying hard not to let them drift to Cassie. "I scared her. I didn't mean to."

"Sure, you didn't," Zach says as he walks past me.

His teasing rarely bugs me—it's just older brother stuff—but Cassie's gaze implies she believes Zach's accusation. After the way I snapped at her this afternoon, she probably thinks I did the same to Charly.

Georgia scoots past me to Charly, and my eyes inadvertently find Cassie's. I know I should apologize for going off today, but the hard set of her mouth doesn't give me any encouragement.

Finally, I force words out. "Sorry about Molly and your pants." It's not much, but it's a start.

"I'll send you the bill." Her mouth twitches in what might be a smirk or a smile.

I can't tell, but Zach's laugh makes it feel like a smirk, and my entire face heats.

I swallow the rest of my apology and push away my embarrassment. I don't care what she thinks of me. She's already made up her mind, anyway. It's also not in my best interest to make Cassie feel welcome and wanted here. The opposite, in fact.

I turn toward Georgia and Charly, whose head is buried in Georgia's shoulder.

I'm not needed here anymore.

"I'll be downstairs if anyone wants me," I say to no one in particular. I whistle for Molly, then both of us take the stairs, two at a time, that lead to my bedroom in the basement.

I try hard not to think about the fact that I'm twenty-four years old, living in my parents' basement. Meanwhile, there's a beautiful woman in my house who's got her stuff together enough to buy the shop my grandpa can't even wait a couple months to sell.

So… not my best day ever.

As I gaze around the room, that's been mine since childhood, I remember Grandpa's remark about talking to the city council. Both my room and his remark make my stomach ache.

The posters on the wall are the same ones I put up in high school, even though my hockey allegiance has switched from the Anaheim Ducks to the Utah Miners. My bedding is black and orange—I really loved the Ducks—and worn threadbare. I haven't fit in the desk chair for at least five years.

And I haven't spoken in front of a group of people since … high school, probably. The persuasive oral report I gave on Why Hockey is the Best Sport, a topic I knew well. But I stammered my way through it and was grateful to get a C.

How am I supposed to stand in front of the city council and convince them to make major changes to Paradise when I'm still living in my fifteen-year-old self's man cave? This is not how a man lives… stuck in the past. Afraid of talking in front of other adults. Unable to explain myself to my own grandfather.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, remembering all the instances where I have let myself down. Feeling relieved I could use Mom's Alzheimer's as an excuse to drop out of college and come home. Staying together with Grace for too long because it was easier than breaking up with her. Letting my nerves not only get in the way of starting a conversation with Cassie but also make my hands shake so much, I humiliated myself in front of her.

I'm tired of it. I decide right then and there to make a change.

I open my eyes again and take in this teenage-boy room. Dad's been telling me for months that I should move into the apartment above the garage. Zach built it after Mom's diagnosis and lived there for a few years, but it's empty now that he's married Georgia and moved into her place. For the months since he moved out, I've been thinking that maybe I'd move in.

Why stay here when I could be there?

I walk out of my room to the storage area, where I find a couple of empty plastic bins. Then I go back to my room and yank my top drawer out of the dresser. I'm about to dump everything into the bin when I see a T-shirt I haven't worn since at least high school.

I set the drawer on my bed then hold up the shirt, a Killers concert tee Grace got me when we went to the show. She thought I loved them, so she loved them and got us tickets, then bought me the shirt.

I only ever wore it for her.

I toss the shirt to the top of my bed, then sort through the rest of the clothes in the drawer. There's a mix of shirts, sweats, jeans, and underwear. Before Mom got sick, she couldn't stand the mess in my drawers, so she'd put my clothes away for me. I guess I keep hoping she'll be able to straighten things out for me again.

She won't. I have to come to terms with that.

An hour later, my dresser and closet are empty. I have two full bins of the stuff I want to keep, and another pile of things that need to go.

I carry both bins up the stairs, debating whether to go out the front door to avoid my family or out the back door, which is the more direct route to the apartment.

I man up and take the direct route.

Most of my family is at the table when I get to the kitchen, plus Cassie, of course. I force myself not to make eye contact with her.

"There he is!" my Granny says.

She must have shown up while I was packing, but her greeting makes me wonder if I've been the topic of conversation. Maybe Cassie is rehashing how rude I was to her or Georgia's telling everyone how I think I deserve the shop.

Before my brain can really double down on my paranoia, Granny pushes back her chair and rises high on her toes to kiss my cheek. "Put your boxes down and eat. I made roast and mashed potatoes."

Molly Dog has already found a spot under Charly's feet with Rad, where she'll get plenty of bits of food. I should follow her lead. Not by getting under the table, but by enjoying Granny's dinner. She's a good cook.

But I shake my head. "Later, Gran. When I'm done."

"What's with the bins?" Zach asks around his bite of meat and potatoes.

"I'm moving into the apartment above the garage," I answer without putting down my armload or looking at him. Instead, I find Dad's eyes. "If that's still okay."

Dad's look of surprise quickly disappears into a smile. "Of course it is! Zach's not living there anymore."

I glance at Zach, who nods. "I'm not taking any of the furniture, but I'll get the odds and ends out of there this week. Just push it into a corner somewhere."

"It's about time." Georgia elbows him. "We've been married for two months. I was wondering if you were holding onto your bachelor pad in case we didn't work out."

Zach laughs, then narrows his eyes with a sultry look. "Or a love nest for the two of us."

The entire room, including me, erupts into cries of "Gross! Get a room! TMI!"

When things go quiet again, I turn to Britta. "You okay with me moving there? Did you have plans for it?"

I should have thought to ask my sister first if she wanted the apartment. I should have thought of a lot of things. Like how awkward it would be to move out of my parents' basement all the way across the yard to the apartment above their garage, in front of Cassie. Definitely doesn't give the impression that I've got adulting all figured out.

Britta answers my question with a shake of her head. "Even if I did want the apartment, I don't anymore. The love nest image is now burned in my brain."

I shoot her a smile. "Thanks, Sis."

"Put the boxes down and eat," Dad says. "I'll help you move your stuff after dinner."

I rarely turn down food, but I do tonight. I thank Dad but tell him I'll eat later. Now that I've got some momentum, I need to ride that wave.

I'm ready for a change. It's time.

And necessary.

I need to feel like a man if I'm going to stand up in front of the city council. And I have to if my team is going to have their own rink. I have to be able to convince them to buy Grandpa's shop and the pond for Mom's park.

There are other places in Paradise for Cassie to open a bookstore, but there's only one place my girls can play hockey.

There's only one place where Mom taught me to play hockey.

And I'm not letting that place go without a fight.