22. Denny

22

DENNY

N ews about the graffiti protest at the mill spread throughout Elmwood like wildfire. This was the final week of camp so the town was still in hockey mode, but the locals threw themselves into a hearty debate on the subject. By the time I'd wrapped up at the rink and headed to the diner with Trinsky and a few other coaches, Wood Hollow was a hot topic.

"I don't blame them for being leery of corporate takeover," Court said, popping a fry into his mouth.

"Yeah, but no one's done much of anything in Wood Hollow in the past hundred years. It's time to get with the program. I mean, look at this place." Vinnie gestured to the diner from his perch on a stool at the counter. "Look at the happy campers chowing on burgers and fries. This diner has been here forever, but it didn't look like this until Nolan made it happen and JC added to the menu. And JC is from fucking Quebec!"

"Trust me, I had a lot of angry customers who didn't want broken jukeboxes removed from the tables," Nolan added, resting his hand on his husband's shoulder. "They didn't care for the chandeliers I'd chosen, they wanted the ancient cigarette and candy bar vending machines to stay, and they were very leery of JC."

JC nodded sardonically. "Can you believe it? Me? I am a great guy. It makes no sense. But food makes sense and once they were finished hating my accent, they realized zee new menu was better than zee old. No one is complaining today. We have a full house every day, every night."

Even now the diner was bumping. Every table was spoken for, indoors and on the outside patio too…with good reason. The food was amazing and the atmosphere was a perfect blend of sophistication and small-town charm. The diner had been written up in travel guides, along with Rise and Grind and Henderson's Bakery.

Elmwood took pride in its revitalized identity. Wood Hollow had no identity outside of logging and no pride whatsoever. Maybe Hank's trip to Vermont had started as a quick fix way to make a few dollars and help his dad, but I knew Hank cared…probably more than he'd wanted to.

Buzz buzz

I pulled my cell out as I strode to the exit, answering on the second ring without checking caller ID. It had to be Hank. I'd texted him a dozen times since I'd heard what went down. No reply so far.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Great! Oh, man, I've got sweet news for you, Hotshot," my agent gushed. "Are you sitting?"

I combed my fingers through my hair. "No, um…can I call you back, McD?"

"This will only take a minute and you want to hear this. Are you ready? Denver upped your salary. Philly is in the race too, and their numbers are even bigger. We're talking into the stratosphere." McD named a number that didn't seem real…or possible.

"That's… Look, I can't talk right now. I?—"

"And that's not all. The endorsement offers are coming in faster than I can keep up. We've got men's razors, workout gear, beer, soda, soap, shampoo. Those are just the ones I can remember. I know you're new to the ad game, but you gotta do it while you can. Some of these campaigns are worth millions of dollars. Ask Vinnie and Riley if you don't believe me. We'll get you the best ones. My inbox is overflowing with options and?—"

"I have another one for you," I blurted.

"Another what?"

"It's a local thing." I paced to the corner and gazed out at the bistro tables with umbrellas in front of Rise and Grind, an idea churning in my head. I didn't think, I just…spoke. It probably sounded like gibberish, but I didn't stop until I'd shared this kernel of an idea.

"Whoa. That's nice, but you're a star, man. You can't put your name on shit like that. You gotta aim higher and?—"

"Nonnegotiable. I'm doing it. Put it in my contract."

"Wait up, Denny. I?—"

I hung up and hurried down the street to rescue my Bronco from the parking lot at the ice rink.

I drove to Wood Hollow, looking for Hank, but his receptionist told me he'd left for the day. It took another twenty minutes to get back to his house in Elmwood.

I knocked on his door. No answer. I skirted the house and went to the barn. The horses were there, but no sign of Hank. I returned to the house and sat on the top step of his deck, studying the landscape—the field of emerald and gold, the endless blue sky, and the red barn in the distance—then texted him again.

Where are you?

"Here I am."

I frowned when Hank plopped onto the deck beside me, his shirt hopelessly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his Stetson pulled low over his eyes. I set a hand on his knee.

"Hey, I heard about what happened."

Hank shrugged. "Yeah. It sucks. Feels like failure."

"Don't say that."

" Hmph ." He opened his palms and sighed. "It's true what they say about me. I don't have pure intentions. Never did. I signed up for six months and even if I don't complete the job as promised, I'll be compensated for my time and it'll be more money than any one person in Wood Hollow will make in ten years. Can you blame them for hating me? 'Cause I sure as fuck can't."

"You're not doing anything wrong. You're running a business. It's okay to have your own goals, you know. And I want to help. I'll do the commercial. I talked to my agent an hour ago and told him I'm doing it."

Hank quirked a tired smile. "That's nice of you, but I don't think that's going to be enough now."

"It's public support and it's worth a shot," I insisted. "I bet a few other hockey players will jump in too. Support is what you need, and you have it. You never know, it might start a hiring boom. Then you can go home early, open your practice, do what you love…and be happy."

He rolled his lips between his teeth thoughtfully, his jaw clenched. I got the feeling I'd tripped the wrong wire. This wasn't the reaction I'd expected.

"Happy," Hank repeated dully, yanking his hat from his head. "That's a nice sentiment, but don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

I pressed my knee against his. "Talk to me, Hank."

He closed his eyes briefly. "I don't know where to begin. I'm filling holes in a sinking ship with platitudes and phony bullshit, hoping for the best when I should be swimming like hell. I can't walk away now."

"You'd stay…here? What about your business in Denver?" I pressed.

"There's nothing there, Den. Just an idea."

"But that's your dream. Don't give up your dream for the mill. It's not right."

Hank squinted at something in the distance. "I'm not giving up. I'm changing course…making an adjustment."

"But you'll lose time and?—"

"It was never mine to lose," he intercepted.

Something in his tone set off an alarm in my brain.

"What do you mean?"

"I told you once that I've never committed to anything or anyone and seen it through to the end…and it's true. I'm always aiming for something just out of reach. And just as it gets close or something goes wrong or I get spooked, I fuck it up…and leave. Start over. Don't get me wrong. I love working with horses and I'm good at it, but it all began with me walking away. Here I am again. But I'm not running this time."

"I want to say that's good, but you don't seem happy."

Hank scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. "I'm not unhappy, I'm just…overwhelmed. I'm going to Denver to work shit out with the board and see what they'll need for a long-term plan. They might want to hire someone else. Who knows? You're leaving soon?"

"Tomorrow. But I can postpone my trip and?—"

"Don't do that. You have to do your thing now, sweetheart. You can do this, you know. You can handle the press, you can do whatever you set your mind to. You're going to be fucking amazing."

I frowned. "Why does it feel like you're saying good-bye?"

"I can't take the easy way out anymore, Den. I have to be a fucking grown-up and do the right thing. Just like you do. New team, new adventure. You won't be the rookie anymore. You're a star, and we can't pretend we can go on like this indefinitely. It's a nice dream, but it's not realistic and?—"

"Stop. I don't know why we're having this conversation, but there's a chance I'm staying in Denver, and we'll see each other whenever I'm in town…here or there. It doesn't matter where either of us lives…we'll still have this. We'll have us."

"Jesus, Den. It's not that simple."

"Of course it is," I insisted. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because I love you."

Holy fuck.

"I…"

He shoved his hat on his head again and grunted. "I didn't mean to say that. It's true, but I wasn't going to…never mind."

I opened my mouth like a fish out of water. "You love me."

"Yeah, inconvenient, huh? It's been there for a while, months. I thought I could talk myself out of it. You're too young for me, we don't live in the same state, you're not out…good reasons to walk away, but nothing has changed…except the way I feel. I love the way your eyes light up when you smile. I love that nervous tic in your cheek when you're in the saddle. I love your silly side, your wild hair, and the way you look first thing in the morning. I love you. And every day, I fall a little deeper for someone I can't have." He gave a humorous laugh. "The irony here is off the charts. I didn't want anything to do with this place, but I can't leave now and you have to go."

"You make it sound impossible," I whisper-croaked.

"Isn't it? Jesus, Den, everyone still thinks you have a girlfriend."

"That's…not for long."

Hank stood slowly, the brim of his hat casting a sharp shadow across his cheekbone. "It's okay. That'll happen when you're ready. But me…I'm in over my head, and it kills me to know I'm bad for you. Bad for your reputation, bad for your image. I don't want you to worry about the mill. I don't need you to save me, Den. As your friend, as someone who worships the ground you fucking walk on…I want you to be the greatest ever. You deserve nothing less."

He grazed his finger along my jaw and walked away.

I heard a screen door open and click shut, and then…nothing.

What the fuck just happened?

I let the sound of birds and the rustle of leaves take over, afraid to move and disturb the balance.

Or maybe I was afraid that leaving now would really mean this was over.

I wasn't sure what I'd expected. I'd thought we'd have more time before we had to contemplate future plans. I'd assumed he was content with being friends with benefits. I'd figured we'd revisit the terminology at some point in the future, but I hadn't thought that day would be today.

And now what? Was I supposed to let go? Just like that?

A grapefruit-sized ball of emotion swelled in my throat and brought tears to my eyes. I didn't know what to do or say, how to act or feel.

So I sat on the step, wrestling with old demons and the ugly voices in my head that insisted I was better off alone…and that maybe it was what I deserved.

Music thumped through the door and rattled the windows of my house. Shit . I forgot about Trinsky and the other guys staying with me. I stood on my front porch for a hot second and quickly decided I wasn't in the mood.

It was quieter next door at Grams's and her hearing wasn't great, so I doubted the incessant drumbeat registered at all. Of course, she'd ask what was wrong and why I'd shown up out of the blue. Not ideal, but it was better than getting shitfaced and spilling my guts to a teammate and a couple of strangers.

Yeah, Grams was safer.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I stood in the foyer, surrounding by faded family photos, unsure how to answer that question. I opened my mouth, hoping something clever would come out, but that fucking lump expanded.

"I…"

Grams cocked her head curiously, her gaze softening as she reached for my hand. "Come in, love."

I followed her into the living room, unsurprised by the flash of déjà vu of teenage me standing in front of her fireplace, lost and shaken, reeling from my mom's sudden spiral into darkness. I'd never felt more alone in my life, and this tiny gruff woman had seemed like the least likely safe space ever. I'd been wrong. She'd hugged me as if she'd known me all my life, not just an unknown kid she'd sent birthday and holiday cards to over the years.

She looked me up and down now and opened her arms wide.

I'd grown a few inches taller since high school, but I bent low and let her hug me. Maybe my eyes leaked a bit…so what? I was fucking wrecked, and I couldn't think straight. Nothing added up. Math failed me, words failed me. I was a walking bundle of emotions I couldn't compute. It was easier to lean on Grams.

She didn't fuss or ask uncomfortable questions that night.

She waited till morning.

I showered and got dressed for a day at camp, hoping to sneak out of the house without disturbing Grams, but she was up and serving coffee.

"Good morning," I mumbled. "I'm going to head to the rink and get some reps in. I'll grab a latte in town."

Grams pointed at the old wooden kitchen table. "Sit."

I obeyed. "Okay…one cup."

She handed me a mug and sat across from me. "It's okay, you know."

"What is?"

"To be sad."

I sipped my coffee. "I'm fine."

"Tell me about him."

My eyes snapped to hers. "Huh?"

"You're not the sharpest tool in the shed in the morning, are you? Did you really think I didn't know about you and the cowboy?"

I squinted, burying my nose in my mug in temporary avoidance. "Hank?"

Grams nodded. "Yeah, him. He's cuckoo about you. I knew it the first day he came to see me at the bakery. He smiled when he said your name. It was cute. At first, I felt bad for him. I thought, ‘That man is barking up the wrong tree. Too bad, 'cause he's handsome as all get out.' But after a while, I noticed it wasn't so one-sided."

"Oh." Yeah, I'd lost command of the alphabet.

"Are you gay or the other one…" She tapped her fingers on the table. "The one where you like both."

"Bi. Yes."

"Okay. Well, I don't know if you need to hear it, but I love you no matter what."

"Thanks, Grams."

"I know I'm being nosy now, but I don't see the problem. You like him, he likes you…what else is there? Hockey?" She waited a beat for me to respond. When I didn't, she continued. "Does anyone care about who's schtupping who anymore?"

I snorted my coffee. "Jesus, Grams."

She pursed her lips primly. "As long as you're happy and no one gets hurt, why does it matter?"

"I don't know," I said…just to say something.

Grams shook her head, suddenly looking small and fragile. "You don't talk about your feelings, never have, and I understand. It hurts. Life can be cruel, but Denny…it can be beautiful too. Don't close yourself off. Don't hide behind a hockey stick your whole life. It might be satisfying for a few years, but if you're not careful you'll wind up with a cold bed and a stick up your ass."

I chuckled around that stupid ball in my throat. "Thanks for the visual."

"You're welcome." She leaned on the table as she stood and set her gnarled, thin hand over mine. "Be brave, my boy…on the ice and off."

"Thanks. I'll try."

She squeezed my fingers and toddled to the refrigerator. "Good. Now I'm making pancakes. You might as well invite those morons next door. It'll give me a chance to yell at the tattoo boy for playing his damn music so loud."

"You got it. Hey, Grams…"

" Hmm ?"

"I don't know if I've ever told you this, but…you're my hero." To my horror, my voice cracked, and that was the kind of display that mortified my stoic grandmother.

Grams grinned through a sheen of tears. "And you're mine. I love you, Denny boy. Very much."

I hugged her till she squawked and shooed me out the door.

Once upon a time, I would have gone straight to the rink to lose myself on a patch of ice. Hockey hadn't solve my problems, but it had given me purpose and had introduced me to some amazing people.

Including Hank.

Yeah, I was still sad, confused, and I had no idea how to make things right, but the sun was shining, there were pancakes on the griddle in my grandmother's kitchen, and a group of campers waiting for me at the rink.

It was a start.