15. Chosen Family

CHAPTER 15

CHOSEN FAMILY

STEFAN

We won in Ottawa last night, and I was restless for the whole plane ride back to Detroit this morning. Now I'm finally home, and the last person I want to deal with right now is Rachel Winters. I'm glad she's been staying with Francine, and keeping me posted on how things are going, but I just want some time with Francine, all to myself.

"Morrow," she meets me at the front door with Stevie clipped to her leash, "we were just getting ready for a walk. Come with us."

I don't know Rachel well, but I know enough to know that arguing with her is a bad idea. So I drop my bags just inside the front door before turning around and following her out of the house.

"Good game last night," Rachel says as we head down the driveway. Stevie leads, and Rachel dutifully follows. "Nice to see you back on your line."

"Thanks," I respond with a laugh, "it felt good to be back. Helped to know she was in good hands."

That earns me a half smile from Rachel, transforming her features. Rachel doesn't offer smiles freely, at least not to me. She smiles a lot when Francine is around, and who wouldn't? Francine's joy is infectious. When Rachel smiles at me I feel as though I've earned more than just a smile.

"Franny and I have been through a lot together," Rachel says, eyes straight ahead. "I've seen her through a few injuries. She's seen me through my share of tough times, too."

A shadow crosses Rachel's face as we continue to walk, and a litany of questions pass through my brain, but not any I can ask her. I haven't earned that right. Not yet.

"Listen, I know I gave you a hard time," Rachel turns to me when Stevie stops us at her favorite mailbox on the street, "but I know you love Franny. And so do I."

"She has an amazing capacity for love," I remark as we resume our walking, "and I hope I'm not overstepping when I say I think you do too."

"Thank you," Rachel's voice is soft as she responds. "My brand of love isn't usually well received. I have a tendency to be…"

"Bold."

"I was going to say pushy," she gives me the full weight of her smile this time. "I think I like yours better. You're not so bad, Morrow."

"You're not so bad yourself, Winters."

"You know we can never tell Franny about this, right?" Rachel asks with a laugh.

"It'll be our secret."

Stevie leads us around the block until we're back in my driveway, greeted by Francine at the top of my front porch steps, hands on her hips as she watches us approach. Today she's in leggings and a Canadian National Team sweatshirt with a tear at the collar betraying the fact that she found it in my closet, her hair piled haphazardly at the back of her head, a few loose curls making their escape.

"Looks like I'm no longer needed," Rachel steps toward the house, a note of sadness in her voice. "I'll grab my things and head out."

"Rachel wait," I stop her before I think too hard about what I'm doing, "stay for dinner. Hangout for a bit. If you want to."

Rachel walks up the steps with Stevie, her hand reaching for Francine's, giving a small squeeze, and once Rachel is in the house, the door shut behind her, Francine walks slowly down the steps toward me. Her hands find my waist, and my lips find hers, crashing together as we hold onto each other.

"Good game last night," she smiles as we break the kiss, one arm wrapped around my waist, her other hand pressed against my chest as she laughs, "I'm a little offended that you spend time in other people's penalty boxes."

"Yours is the only one for me, Stats."

Somehow Rachel and I end up in the kitchen together, working side by side on Francine's favorite comfort meal: breakfast for dinner. Rachel renders bacon while I scramble eggs, and Stevie settles near Rachel's feet, no doubt waiting for someone to slip her a bit of food. And Rachel does, setting aside one strip of bacon to cool and carefully crumbling it into small bits. Offering two to Stevie when she thinks I'm not looking. I smile to myself and hope Rachel doesn't notice that I noticed.

"I have a request." Francine is seated on the couch after dinner, her leg propped up, Rachel and I on either side of her, her head leaning on Rachel's shoulder. "Donuts and hockey."

"You're not playing hockey!" Rachel says at the same time I respond, "I could go for a donut."

"So it's decided," Francine slowly, carefully, extracts herself from the couch, standing and turning to Rachel and me. "We're going for donuts."

"I'm not," Rachel stands and takes an awkward step toward Francine, "but you two have fun."

"Are you sure?" Franny asks.

"Positive. I have to go to work early tomorrow. I should head home. You two have fun."

"Fine. But you're gonna miss hockey with the guys."

"You're introducing Morrow to the guys?" Rachel's eyes flit to me as a sly smile spreads on her lips. "I'm not missing this."

It's a bit of a drive from my house to Donut Worry, but completely worth it. Every time I've been in this shop, it's been busy; regulars gathered around tables, no matter the hour. Tonight, we walk in and wait in a line that stretches right to the door. Donut Worry has been open in Hamtramck since the late sixties, a local staple for autoworkers, staff at the nearby medical centers, and blue collar men and women across the city working all three shifts during the day and night.

These days, they are still open across all shifts, but are closed on Sundays to offer their own staff a chance to rest. Francine makes a beeline for the long table in the middle of the bakery, surrounded tonight by a group of older men and women who greet her with great enthusiasm and insist that she sit down. One of the women stands and arranges a chair so that Francine can elevate her leg, amid Francine's many protests.

"You're up," Rachel's voice is pitched low behind me. "She's fine. Gladys will take good care of her, I promise."

Stepping up to the counter, a familiar face smiles back at me.

"Your usual?" Ursula asks, her eyes tracking, no doubt, to Francine behind me. "Two?"

"That would be great. Thanks Ursula." With a maple bar and buttermilk glaze in hand, I sit beside Francine and divide each donut in half, passing a plate to her and looking up to find every pair of eyes around the table laser-focused on me.

"Francine…" the woman across the table from us sing-songs Francine's name, a slow smile spreading across her lips, "are you going to introduce us to your friend?"

"Why would I do that Gladys? You all know Rachel." Francine looks at me with a glint in her eye as Rachel takes the empty seat at the end of the table, placing a coffee cup in front of Francine as she does. Francine brings the cup to her lips, sipping at the foam atop the latte before gently setting the cup down on the table and angling her body toward me. "But this is Stefan."

Gladys, the inscrutable woman across the table, reminds me of Rachel with her intense eyes and the – I don't want to call it a scowl, but it's definitely not a smile – look on her face as she studies me. I took a microbiology class in high school because I needed to fill an elective spot, and memories of preparing slides jolt to the forefront of my brain. I vividly remember the microorganisms I observed, moving around even under the little plastic square we put on the sample to keep it in place. With Gladys looking at me I'm beginning to feel like one of those specimens.

I don't know why, but I want Gladys to like me.

I want to win her approval.

I don't even know if I can. I didn't feel this way meeting Thomas and Juliette, but something tells me this group is special to Francine. These people gathered here, watching as I split the donuts to share. Watching even more intently when Francine leans against me and I drape an arm around her shoulders.

"Stefan." Gladys tests my name the way you test the weight of a bowling ball. "How do you know our Franny?"

Our Franny. Juliette asked me the same thing when we met at the rink. But this time, the question has more weight behind it.

"I met her when I was sent to the penalty box for fighting."

Honesty is the best policy, right? Rachel squeaks in surprise at the end of the table, and when I hazard a look at her, I get a small nod in return. If I haven't won Gladys over, at least Rachel is coming around. Gladys looks at Rachel, eyes narrowed before she turns back to me, arms folded on the table in front of her.

"So. You're a hockey player."

"Gladys," the man beside me speaks for the first time since we arrived, his voice is soft. Gentle. I think he's on my side. "We want Franny to keep coming back. Be nice to the boy. I'm Walter, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Walter." I offer, and am rewarded with a smile and pat on the shoulder.

"I'm being nice." Gladys smiles at Walter but not at me. "And it would be nice of him to actually score once in a while when he's on the power play."

This earns a full bodied laugh from Rachel. A laugh that Franny tries, and fails, to hide behind a cough. And a soft gasp from the man beside me.

"In my defense," with anyone else I'd never take this bait. But there's something about Gladys that says I have to, "if you're referencing the Toronto game, that was the night of Francine's surgery. My mind wasn't on the ice. I know I had opportunities to score that night, and I blew them. That's no one's fault but my own."

"He's a keeper, Franny," Gladys finally says, settling back in her chair. "Not that you need my approval, mind you."

"But I'm glad to have it," Franny replies softly. "Now, are we here to interrogate my boyfriend, or are we here to watch hockey?"

Boyfriend.

We haven't labeled this thing yet. We haven't had that conversation. Defining what we are to each other. But to hear Francine say it? I like it. It feels right.

"No hockey tonight," Walter says, pointing to the television in the corner, currently showing the pregame broadcast for the Detroit Mustangs. "The Mustangs are back home though, and Charlotte said she'd join us for a few innings."

The bell over the door chimes, and Gladys lifts a hand in greeting as a young woman wearing a well-worn Mustangs sweatshirt rounds the table and greets Gladys with a warm hug before dropping her bag on an empty chair and approaching the counter.

"That's Charlotte," Francine says quietly, leaning even closer to me, "she's the Mustang's travel secretary."

"How did this group come together?" I ask after Charlotte takes her seat, looking around at the group assembled at the table. Gladys smiles at Walter, and the couple at the other end of the table, who were mostly quiet throughout my interrogation, look fondly down the table at the rest of us. "I can't say this is exactly what I expected."

"Physical therapy brought us together," the woman at the end of the table answers. "I'm Elaine, by the way. I met Gladys when we were both rehabbing joint replacements."

"Then this one came along," Gladys says, gaze softening as she looks at Francine, "and I took her under my wing."

"I was taking care of an old hip injury," Francine says, and Rachel bristles at the end of the table. "I wasn't handling it well. Gladys and Elaine offered moral support when we had appointments together."

I can't help but wonder how Rachel fits into all of this. Other than being Franny's best friend. Other than their history. I want to ask, but don't know if I should. If I can. If I even want to know the answer.

"And Charlotte and I became friends when I moved to Detroit. We started the ‘we have advanced degrees but no one lets us use them' club," Francine laughs as she and Charlotte raise their coffee cups in a toast. "And Gladys didn't scare her away."

"But," Walter joins the story telling, "it was Francine that got us all here. She invited us to join her after one of the physical therapy sessions and a tradition was born. Sometimes we get together and watch the Union, when Francine isn't working home games of course. And other times we watch the Mustangs."

Walter pauses, looking around at everyone gathered, and I can't help but do the same. The way Rachel looks fondly at Francine and Charlotte and Gladys. The way Gladys looks at her husband.

"Franny dragged me here after a breakup," Rachel supplies, voice uncharacteristically soft, "they can't get rid of me."

"And we wouldn't want to," Walter says. "Gladys and I don't have family in town. This is our family. And you're a part of it now whether you want to be or not. Goes for you too, Stefan."

The conversation slowly shifts to baseball. The Mustangs are going on the road in Philadelphia for a few days, and this series is always fun to watch because between the Mustangs and the Founders the energy in the two dugouts is unmatched. I don't love playing hockey in Philly, but Philly baseball is always a joy to watch.

One of my favorite things about playing hockey in Detroit is the support of the other teams. The Mustangs and Union frequently have promotional nights where we crossover – cross the street, really – and support each other. Ethan Crawford, the head coach of Detroit's professional football team is a loud supporter of the Union and Mustangs. His players come to games. Some of us hangout when the stars and planets and schedules align.

Between us, the three teams have had their struggles. The city has struggled. But the support has never wavered. As I sit at this table, a reflection of the city of Detroit looking back at me, I'm reminded of why I love this city. Why I love playing here.

"This is my first season watching hockey," Charlotte says from across the table, "Francine is teaching me the game, and in return I'm helping her learn more about baseball. Not that she needs the help, she dominates our fantasy baseball league every year."

"I told you, it's all about the numbers," Francine laughs. "Numbers I understand. The actual game of baseball still baffles me."

"Don't get me started on weird hockey stats," Charlotte lobs a verbal volley across the table. "What purpose does the plus/minus stat serve? When I watch games I always have Hockey Reference pulled up, or the Union app with the roster and their stats. And I still don't understand it."

"Stefan has a career plus/minus of minus eighty-nine and right now, at this point in the season he's sitting at, last I checked, minus ten." Francine citing my stats is more attractive than it has any right to be. And sure, my plus/minus sucks, but it isn't a reflection of what I can do on the ice. I'd like to point out that I have over two hundred career assists. That I lead the Union in power play goals this season. But because I'm on the third, sometimes fourth, line I get a few more tallies in the minus column than the plus. "He gets a minus if he's on the ice and the opponent scores. He gets a plus if he's on the ice and the Union scores."

"That tells me nothing about him as a player!" Charlotte exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. "It just tells me he was on the ice at the wrong time!"

"You're right," Francine smiles. "His two hundred five career assists, and hundred and ninety eight career goals tells us a lot more about who he is as a player than plus/minus ever will."

"Francine," I clear the emotion from my throat and lean close to her ear, "I think you're due for some pain meds. Let's get out of here."

"Are you sure?" She asks, turning to Rachel to confirm. "When was my last round?"

"You're due," Rachel smirks, hiding it behind her coffee mug. "Listen to the man."

"It was nice meeting you, Stefan," Gladys smiles as I stand and help Francine up from her seat. "Like Walter said, you're welcome any time."

Francine and I walk slowly out to my car, and I help her into the passenger seat, making sure she's comfortable before framing her face with my hands and crushing my lips to hers.

"What was that for?" Francine asks, a smile stretched across her face when we break the kiss.

"That was for…whatever that was back there."

"I meant what I said," she wraps a hand around the back of my neck and presses a soft kiss to my lips. "Your assists say more about who you are as a player, as a person, than anything else in your stat line."

"Can I take you home?" My voice comes out in a husky whisper and I don't do anything to hide it. "Please?"

"Of course."

After one last quick kiss, I jog around to the driver's side door and slide in beside Francine, and make quick time getting back home where I take full advantage of finally having Francine to myself.