18. Tate

“Garrison!” Coach Braddock bellows my name into the conditioning room.

We didn”t have on-ice practice this morning because we have a game tonight, but we have conditioning practice and mandatory video review sessions for strategy. But he is bellowing like I missed a pass or cost us a goal in a game or something. My whole body freezes, the dumbbells hanging from my hands. ”Yes, Coach?”

“My office for a minute. Now.”

Every single one of my teammates” eyebrows shoot up but no one says anything. I walk over to the rack put the weights down, grab my water bottle, and head straight to the coach”s office. Coach Braddock is already sitting behind his desk stirring a cup of steaming liquid. It”s not coffee, I don”t think. ”Ever had chai?”

“I don’t think so.”

I slowly close the door behind me but he waves at me to stop. Okay, that’s good, right? It’s not some super-secret conversation. He leans forward in his chair and sniffs the contents of his cup and makes a face. “I think it tastes like dirt and weeds but the wife insists this will make me live longer. And my kid has left me high and dry. Declan, my eldest turned her onto it. He’s a trainer. For the Winterhawks. Did you know that? Just started mid-season.”

I shake my head because I didn’t know. I should know because Grady plays for them and he could have said something. Although I haven’t been communicating much with anyone in my family since I found out about Dylan, and I’ve muted all the group chats so… maybe he did say it somewhere. “And Liam is a goalie with Portland, right?”

“As of this season, yeah.” Coach nods. “I left him a message to call me and weigh in on this chai debate but he hasn’t called me back. He’s the worst with communication.”

I nod, wondering why he’s telling me all this when Coach adds, “Kind of like how you’ve been lately.”

My eyes dart to his and I grip my water bottle tighter in my right hand. Coach sips his chai and makes the most comical face ever. He curses under his breath and moves the steaming cup to the edge of his desk. “Sir? Did you call me and I didn’t answer?”

“No.” Braddock leans back in his chair, his hands linking behind his sandy blond hair which is cut short and laced with silver. “But Adam had to come to me today and tell me that you haven’t returned one of Christine’s messages or phone calls. About the ceremony they want to do for the short-hand goal record.”

“I haven’t beaten the record yet,” I reply and my shoulders loosen. I mean, I’m still tense about the coach being called in to chastise me by PR, but this isn’t about my on-ice performance and that’s all that counts. “They want to make this a big deal, get my family involved, and it hasn’t happened and might not happen. We only have three games left and I have to score two shorties to beat my dad. Two normal goals, at the end of the season when everyone is pushing to make playoffs and beat our asses, is hard enough. But two shorties? Nearly impossible. And if I just tie his record, it”s not really worth throwing a big celebration. Tying isn”t a big deal. ”

Coach frowns, drops his hands, and leans on his desk. He”s in a team track suit and he”s still in good enough shape that he looks like he could be a player, except for the gray hairs and crow”s feet around his blue eyes. ”Is this a superstition thing? Or is there something going on with your family?”

Both, I want to reply, but I can”t. I scramble to figure out what I can say but Coach doesn”t give me a chance before he elaborates with more personal stories. ”I grew up with three younger sisters who made it their job to make sure I had little to no ego. It was all fun and games but sometimes… I needed space. Are you on a relative sabbatical? Because if you are, hate to break it to ya kid, but your timing doesn’t work for the team.”

“No sabbatical. I mean, not officially,” I reply. “I don’t want to have my dad here, and all the media see him in the stands and crap, and then I don’t score. You know? It’s bad enough that happens to players when they make it to game seven and don’t win. It feels ridiculous to add this pressure to a short-handed goal record. I mean, let’s just concentrate on playoffs.”

“We can and will do both,” Coach replies in a tone that leaves no room for debate.

“My parents… my family can’t come to Los Angeles right now,” I blurt out, the desperation in my voice is clear and shocking, to both the coach and to me. But I think I’m on the edge of a panic attack. Not that I know specifically what they feel like, but my heart is racing and my hands are so sweaty my water bottle is hard to hold. “Things are… I’m dealing with some personal stuff I don’t want them involved in.”

Coach Braddock looks deathly serious now, but also compassionate. There’s a softness in his stare I don’t think I’ve ever seen.

”I have to ask…” Coach pauses and gets up out of his chair. Walking around his desk he closes the door he told me to leave open earlier. I twist in my chair to follow him with my eyes. He looks down at me with even more compassion in his eyes. ”Do not hesitate when you answer this next question and know that your contract, your career, your future in hockey is secure as long as you answer honestly. Do you need the player”s assistance program?”

“No,” I reply quickly and firmly. “This is not about any kind of substance abuse. It’s… I’m fine. I promise you.”

“Okay…” Coach doesn’t actually seem like he means that word. He walks back to his desk with his arms folded over his chest but this time he leans the front of it instead of sitting behind it. “Well, please stop avoiding Christine. Go to her now. You can join us in video review when you’re done. Use us as an excuse to keep the meeting with her brief. But Tate, sorry, we’re gonna have to give PR something. They love the family dynamic of a player with your heritage. The fans love it too. You”re from a legend and you”re becoming one yourself. The PR bullshit comes with it part and parcel. Sorry, but I think you know what you signed up for, right?”

I nod. And when I think about it, once everything is settled with Dylan my parents will be my first call. But I don”t think that”s going to happen before I beat this record. Unless I just don”t try to beat the record. I stand up and walk to the door. ”Thanks, Coach. I”ll handle it.”

“And you know you can tell me anything,” Coach adds as I start to open the door. “And you kind of have to. The Quake can win the Cup this year and I need to know if something is going to get in the way of you helping us get there.”

“Nothing will stop me from getting us there, Coach.”

“And you can beat this record.”

“I can.” I nod and I walk out of the office.

“I won’t though,” I whisper to myself as I head for the elevators to go up to the offices where the marketing and PR departments are located.

Christine is great. She”s also a former bed buddy. Former I guess isn”t the best word for it as we never had an official start or stop date. I mean, start and end dates are something that people in relationships do. Bed buddies are a less structured thing. But that is currently biting me in the ass because Christine is flirting, hard.

“I really have to go back to the team,” I say for the second time since I got to her office twenty minutes ago. “We have videos to watch.”

“Speaking of videos, you never responded to the one I sent last week,” she replies and smiles.

I didn’t know she sent a video. I saw two texts about inviting my dad to come and watch the last game of the season, and asking me to do an interview with ESPN and that was it. I saw a third message later that week but I ignored it.

“I haven’t even opened your messages,” I say, trying to make it sound like I was ghosting more than just her. “I’m trying to focus on ending this season on top of the division.”

She sighs. “You are now officially a tease, Tate Garrison. And that’s no fun for my work or my personal life.”

She takes the clip she pulled out of her hair when I got to her office and grabs it off her desk. As she sits back down in her chair she twists her blonde hair back up the way it was. “So no Dad at the last game?”

“I mean, if I score a shorty in the next one, yeah. You can have him fly down and plan something. But that still doesn’t mean I will break the record in the last game,” I warn her. “And tying it means nothing.”

“God you athletes are this toxic blend of narcissism and insecurity.” She rolls her eyes. “Tying a record no one has come close to for almost two decades is a big deal, Tate.”

“Not to me.” I sigh. “How about we reassess after the next game.”

“What if you score both goals in the next game?” Christine asks and arches one of her pale eyebrows. “I won’t have time to organize anything.”

“Then you can kick my ass for ruining this media wet dream, and I will let you,” I retort. “You clearly don’t get how impossible that is.”

“We’ll talk after we beat San Diego,” she says firmly and shoos me out of her office with a wave of her hand. “Watch that video I sent, jerk. And stop ignoring my work texts.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

I take off and power walk it back to the video room. No one frowns or balks when I walk in late. Coach must have mentioned I had a meeting. I slip in and take a seat in the middle row next to Crew. He leans in when the goalie coach is highlighting a play for our goalie and whispers, “Movers texted and said they’re done. Both houses are swapped and it went smoothly.”

At least something is going great.

A couple seconds later, he also whispers, “And the guy said the lady of the house was very sweet and offered them lemonade.”

“That’s my Mallory,” I say before I can catch myself.

Dude, you’re a bit crazy, I chastise myself. I’ve only been sleeping with her for three days. Nights, actually. Three absolutely fantastic nights. Last night was my favorite. Doggie style on the couch. She initiated it too. And fuck me if I didn’t come so hard I saw stars. Mallory is bolder than I thought she would be. And comfortable with her sexuality. I thought that night in the hotel, the way she let go of her inhibitions was a fluke, but it’s the norm.

Mallory was always a topic of conversation between me and the hometown guys. She was undeniably pretty and smart. But most everyone blew her off because for some of them, she was too smart and they were intimidated. For others, she just seemed too reserved and shy. She was marriage material and nobody wants that… yet. That”s what excuse I told myself for not going for her when we were younger. I wanted a wild girl.

If I’d known she’d be comfortable being spread eagle on my bed, begging for my cock in her mouth, and letting me smack her ass while we fucked, and then trot off to her own room for the night, bare ass swinging like she doesn’t have a care in the world, I would have definitely made a play for her years ago.

“Your Mallory?” Crew echoes his deep baritone melancholy.

“No. Not like that.” I shake my head. “I mean… like that, but not.”

“You are such a cliché.” Crew covers his wide mouth with his tattooed hand to stifle his laughter. “You’re banging your nanny.”

I frown at him. And then Coach calls his name. “Westwood! You paying attention to this? Because if the co-captain isn’t listening then why should anyone else.”

“Yes sir,” Crew says, immediately focused and serious. “I’m listening.”

We both shut up until after the meeting. But then he’s back on me. “She’s a very pretty girl, but she also seems like marriage material not, like… your type.”

Ouch. That sounds mildly insulting even though he’s right. “We are both in a place where this works. She needs someone, and I definitely need someone, and it’s not like I can call on my regulars and say ‘Hey, just ignore the baby and let’s bone.’”

Crew laughs freely now since we”re not in a meeting. ”No, I guess you can”t say that. But are you sure that she doesn”t have… other ideas? That this isn”t more than just a mutual friendly arrangement for her?”

“I’m sure.”

I am so not sure. But Mallory willingly leaves my room every night, even on the nights when I”m cuddly after the sex and I foolishly entertain the idea of asking her to stay and maybe just doze off with me. So I”m fairly confident we”re on the same page.

“What are you two talking about that’s so important you catch shit in a meeting?” Nash asks, coming up beside his twin. He looks angry, which is rare for Nash who is always serious but rarely publicly annoyed.

“My move. His move,” Crew replies, ignoring his brother’s energy. “Today is the day we swapped places.”

“I still don’t get why that’s a thing that had to happen,” Nash gripes, still in a salty mood. “If you wanted to live somewhere new, sell your place and buy something else. Same with you, Tate. And why did it have to be done right now? We’ve got big stuff to focus on. Move in the off-season.”

“Are you fucking done being a Karen?” Crew snaps at his brother.

These two are rarely this aggressive with each other. They are definitely polar opposites and rarely see eye-to-eye, and they bicker, but they don”t fight. This is a fight. Nash is glaring at Crew now. His eyes, which are a slightly lighter shade than his brother”s, are narrowed and his mouth is set in a hard, flat line. He looks a lot like his dad, the world-famous Avery Westwood, right now. In general, he looks more like his dad than his fraternal twin, but that”s likely the attitude. My dad played with Avery and told me once Avery was more serious than a heart attack, all the time.

“If you’re going to be a co-captain then?—”

Crew stops abruptly and spins to face his brother. They”re toe-to-toe and both look more ornery than a wet cat. Crew is almost growling his words they”re so low and venomous. ”In case you forgot, my wife, who picked out that fucking house, also cheated on me in it, in my fucking bed. So, if you can”t get why maybe I need a change of scenery then fuck you, brother. I”ve done fine at my job and I”ll continue to do fine.”

Crew storms off and I’m left standing there with Nash, who isn’t as shaken by that face-off as I am, even though it was directed at him. The rest of the team has already disappeared from the long curving concrete hallway so nobody else witnessed that. I kind of wish someone had so I wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nash sighs, turns, and drops his back against the wall. The anger has left his face and he looks kind of remorseful. Tenley and I bicker and we’ve had an occasional full-blown fight and I’ve always felt like Nash looks right now.

“I didn’t realize that’s what went down between Crew and Anne-Marie,” I say and scratch the back of my head. “That’s fucked up.”

“It is. She is.” Nash shakes his head and stares at his feet like he’s never seen running shoes before. “And so is he. What you also don’t know is after she left he dragged that bed out into the driveway and lit it on fire.”

“What?”

“My dad’s media machine made sure no one found out,” Nash admits. “I mean, coach knows but he gave Crew a pass. His only pass. So he better get his shit in line. I’m so over his recklessness and so is everyone else.”

He stomps off before I can think of what to say to that. It was harsh. And shocking. Crew never told me the mattress story and I”m a little uncomfortable that Nash did without consent. I don”t have time to dissect the Westwood family dynamic though. I have to get home, have my pre-game nap, and eat a decent pre-game meal before heading back here. And I also have to make sure everything is cool with Dylan and Mallory at the new place.

Crew and I exchanged keys first thing this morning when we walked into practice so I head straight to my car and drive to Crew’s House. Which is now my house. This is going to take some getting used to. Crew’s house… my house… is a beige, three-story Tuscan-Spanish creation with dark wood balconies on every floor and a decent gated patio garden area overlooking the canal. Like every house in this area, it’s long and narrow and the only thing on the first floor that’s facing the street is the garage.

Above the garage is a door with a Juliet balcony, which was a room Crew called ‘the office’. Anne-Marie had been a lawyer and she worked from home a lot. I park in the short drive and walk along the left side of the house toward the front door, which is kind of in the middle of that side. I unlock it and step into the front hall, which almost immediately opens up to the left into the open-concept living-dining-kitchen area that overlooks the canal.

The floors are rich wood, the walls are white with a plaster finish, and there are ceiling beams that match the floors. I walk toward the living room, which has an incredible stone fireplace I can’t ever imagine needing in Southern California, and see all my furniture is perfectly placed. But also, there isn’t nearly enough of it. It looks ridiculously empty in this enormous room. My dining room table would be particularly teeny in such a cavernous space, but it’s not there. Crew’s giant farmhouse table with a resin and wood top is still here.

Mallory is at the kitchen island digging in a box on the countertop. She”s wearing cut-off jean shorts and a white tank top. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head. She”s barefoot, makeup-less, and so damn pretty I can”t help but stare.

“All good?” I ask, trying to fight the smile just seeing her brings to my lips.

“I have never had movers pack and unpack for me. It’s glorious,” Mallory announces. She holds up a plate from the box in front of her. “I asked them to let me do the pots and pans myself because I wanted to make sure they’re in the right place for the space.”

“There’s a feng shui to pots and pans?’ I smirk.

She levels me with a deadly serious stare. ”There is nothing worse than being in the middle of cooking and having to ruin the buzz by hunting down a pot.”

“I don’t cook all that much or anything too complicated so…” And then it hits me. She’s doing it because of her, not me. She will be cooking here. This is really going to be her kitchen. “You do whatever works for you. I want you to be totally Zen or in the zone or buzzed or whatever when you cook. Even if it’s just popcorn.”

I walk up behind her and circle her waist with my arms, pulling her into my chest and kissing the back of her neck. She lets out a little sound like a gasp and arches her back, but then slips out of my arms. “Your sister is here. Well, she’s in Venice. She took Dylan for a walk.”

“Brave considering the results the last time she tried that.”

Mallory smiles. “Tenley isn’t known for being easily scared off.”

“You’re not wrong,” I reply and walk over to her. She holds the plate she’s carrying out in front of her like a shield.

“She could come bursting in here at any second,” Mallory tells me. “I figure you don’t want her to know about… this.”

“I don’t want her to know I exist on most days, let alone who I am existing with and how,” I joke, kind of. Mallory shoots me another smile before turning to stare at the cupboards and drawers, which are all open.

“Do you want her to know?”

I don’t know why I asked the question. Mallory inhales sharply but doesn’t exhale for a long beat. “It’s your life, Tate. You make the decisions. Just like with this kitchen.”

”Nope. The kitchen is most definitely your decision,” I reply firmly and move so I”m standing beside her. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and hold her there when she tries to step away again. This is relatively harmless. If Tenley walked in right now, it would look friendly. ”You will be cooking for Dylan and yourself a lot. I”m on pre-made chef-delivered meals for playoffs. And I want you to be as comfortable here as possible.”

”I guess your permanent nanny can reorganize when that time comes,” Mallory muses as she pivots on her tiny bare feet and puts the plate in a drawer in the island. ”But you would have to be insane not to want the dishes next to the dishwasher. Super easy. Also love that Crew has… well, now you have… quiet closing doors and drawers. Felix used to slam the cupboards sometimes when Dylan was napping and he’d wake him up. Diana would get so pissed off.”

Mallory hasn”t talked much about this guy who was about to pretend to be my son”s father. I have this very odd, slow-burning rage for the dude. It simmers deep inside my chest when I think about him. Not only because he was willing to steal my son, but because he just as easily was willing to abandon him. ”Was he a total asshole?”

Mallory pauses, five more dinner plates in her hands. Her eyes find mine. The amber in them is really popping today. I think it’s all the natural sunshine that fills this place doing the trick. “No. Honestly, Felix was great for Diana, and to Diana. He was also amazing with Dylan.”

Mallory places the plates on top of the other one she put in the drawer and then walks back over to the box. Her motions as she gathers more things out of the box—drinking glasses this time—are slower. She bites her bottom lip. “I owe you an apology for not telling you about Dylan. I could have reached out and don’t think that I wasn’t torn about the whole thing. But by the time I showed back up in Diana”s life, she was engaged and almost to term and she didn”t even confirm it was yours until she was literally writhing in pain and he was crowning.”

”What?” I blink and try to push the image out of my head. Thinking about Diana is still equal parts sad and upsetting. Thinking of my child”s birth, which I was given no choice but to miss also sucks. ”Where were you while she was pregnant? You both went to England together, I thought.”

“We didn’t.” Mallory shakes her head and walks past me to put the drinking glasses in a cabinet by the farmhouse sink. “I left for England on an Au Pair visa. She followed two weeks later, but I didn’t ask her to. I wasn’t even talking to her. It had been our plan to do it together but after that weekend with you, here… I stopped talking to her.”

She glances over her shoulder and our eyes lock. She’s searching for something in my face. Understanding? Like I would ever forget that weekend. God, it bugs me she talks about it like we committed murder or something else unspeakable.

Mallory walks back over to the box. She carries two large pots I didn’t know I owned to the cabinets by the huge stove. It has six burners and a griddle. I have never owned something like this, but it’s similar to my parents’ stove. I own a parental stove now. Wild. “It had been her idea to move to England because her sister was there, but I decided to go ahead and apply for au pair jobs without her and I got one right away. She followed but didn’t contact me for months and then, out of nowhere, her sister Stephanie called and said Diana was in a hospital in London and wanted to see me. I ran.”

“Of course you did.”

She turns and stares at me. “Because I’m a pushover and a lap dog of a friend who just does whatever people want?”

“What? No.” I step directly in front of her, brushing a tendril of hair hanging at the side of her temple back toward the messy bun. “Because you’re an incredibly kind, compassionate, understanding, and empathetic human being. One of the best people I’ve ever known and you don’t abandon or punish people, even when they hurt you.”

Her expression softens but she ignores the compliment. “I thought she was sick but when I got there I found out it was bed rest. She had preeclampsia.”

I stare blankly. Mallory almost smiles. “High blood pressure, which complicates a pregnancy and can cause an early birth. And Dyllie Bear was early, but luckily only by a couple of weeks.”

“And you were there when he was born.”

“I quit my nanny job and stayed by her side pretty much from the day I went to see her in that hospital so yeah. I was there.” Mallory nods and again moves away from me to put more dishes away. ”I met Felix who was madly in love with her, coming to the hospital every hour he could, skipping work when it was possible. At first, I thought that Dylan was his. God rest her soul, but she might have slept with you and him within a short enough time frame to make it possible. It”s not judgment, just fact.”

I shrug. “If I was a woman and could get pregnant, there would be months where the father could have been nine different guys so, no judging here.”

She takes a second to absorb what I just said. I don’t know how she feels about it, but I’m confident she isn’t judging me. I’ve never hidden who I was from Mallory and she’s always been my friend.

“Is this one of the months where, if you were a woman and found out you were pregnant tomorrow, the potential father could be a multiple choice questionnaire?” she asks me, her eyes on the spatula and potato masher in her hand.

She’s asking if I’m still sleeping around in her cute, indirect way. I walk over to her, stand directly in front of her, and then lean in and cover her mouth with my own. She kisses me back without hesitation. When I pull back her cheeks are flushed. I’m breathing just as heavy as she is as her eyes flutter open and, still holding her head in my hands, I open my mouth to answer her silly question when?—

“No poop this time!”

Tenley. Of course.

Mallory leaps away from me like I’ve suddenly caught fire, dropping a spatula on the ground at the same time. I spin as Tenley enters the living room, Dylan on her hip, and turns to the kitchen. “Where’s Mal?”

“Dropped a spatula,” Mallory announces and pops back up from the floor where she had been bent over.

“Oh. Cool,” Tenley murmurs breezily, but she’s watching us intently. Studying us. Assessing us.

I round the kitchen island and walk over to take Dylan from her. He’s extra drooly, his teething is in high gear. “I have to go for my pre-game nap so let me say hello to my lil dude first.”

He doesn”t seem to want to come to me but he does, and there”s only a little grunt of hesitation. Dylan then settles against my hip. He looks up at me, blinking those big green eyes. ”Hey, Dylan. I have to take my nap, and then go to work but I wanted to get a hug from you. For luck.”

“Your dad here might beat a record your gramps set.”

“I won’t. Not today,” I tell Tenley and she immediately lifts an eyebrow.

“Is that humility? Some superstitious thing? Are you under the weather?” Tenley quips and tilts her blonde head.

I ignore her and give Dylan a squeeze. He reaches for my hair and tugs it. Hard. I wince loudly and he giggles and tugs again. I gently grab his chubby forearm and pull my hair free. “I need my hair so let’s get you something else to yank on.”

“I’ve got a frozen teething ring,” Mallory says. Opening the freezer part of the fridge she pulls it out and tosses it across the dining room right to me in the living room and smiles proudly as I catch it with my free hand. I wink at her.

As I settle Dylan on a playmat next to the brand-new indoor/outdoor play set I ordered this morning with an exorbitant same-day delivery fee, my phone starts buzzing in my back pocket. I miss the call because getting Dylan settled is much more important. The number is Christine’s. Shit. Well, she’s not going to appreciate going to voicemail.

Before I can excuse myself from my family and call her back, she texts.

ESPN Interview tonight before the game so show up half an hour early.

Wear your best suit.

And next time, PICK UP YOUR PHONE!

I type back quickly.

K. Sorry. Will be there.

I’m not thrilled with this because it will cut into my already dwindling pre-game nap and meal but it is what it is. I don’t want to piss off the coach or the communications department any more than I already have.

And then, as Dylan chomps on his teething ring at my feet, I bend to kiss the top of his head and walk toward the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms. Mine, the master, is the entire third floor. My sister and Mallory are talking together at the island. I’m about to shut my phone off when I see the video notification from weeks ago in the chain from Christine.

“I’m going to take my pre-game nap,” I tell them and stupidly hit play. To be fair the majority of videos Christine has sent me over the two years she’s been working for the Quake have been either team footage or funny TikToks. But this isn’t funny. It isn’t a social media video. Or Quake footage.

It’s a video that starts off black and then as the camera pulls back it’s black lace panties, with a red manicured hand in them. The camera flips and there’s Christine. She’s sitting on her bed, legs spread in nothing but those undies and matching bra and she’s masturbating, smiling at me in the mirror, and then she lets out a throaty moan. She’s coming. I know the sound. And of course, my phone volume is so high everyone in the room hears it. Hears her moan my name.