11. Jonah

CHAPTER ELEVEN

jonah

After spendingthe weekend literally hiding in my apartment, too scared to go anywhere near campus, the coffee shop, hell, even to a store for food, there’s no being able to hide now.

Or is there?

I glance at Cullen in my rearview mirror. “You know, if you’re starting to get over hockey, you don’t have to play anymore.” It’s usually a couple of weeks in where we have to keep encouraging him to go to the rest of the lessons we’ve already paid for, but this time, I’m going to be so supportive of his decision that I’ll let him piss that money away.

“I love hockey.”

Of course he does.

“You wouldn’t rather go for ice cream?”

“After.”

“I was thinking now. I’ll get you the biggest one in the store.” That will take so long to eat he might miss his class.

“But we’ll still go to hockey right after, won’t we?”

“Or we could not. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Ice cream and then hockey.” My nephew can be so bossy.

Now, how do I stall for even more time? Then, a brilliant idea hits me. I drive past the nearest ice cream place.

“I thought we were getting ice cream,” Cullen yells from the back.

“We are, but there’s a better one I want to take you to.”

“No, I want that one!”

“Well, with that attitude⁠—”

Then my nephew plays dirty. “Please, Uncle Jonah?”

Damn it.

I make a U-turn and then pull into the parking lot. He wins.

This round.

I get him the biggest ice cream they have, but he’s a growing boy and is finished within a couple of minutes.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait. I have to finish mine first, and I really need to savor the taste. I’m not like you. I don’t inhale my food.”

He giggles but sits impatiently.

“Mm, cookie dough.”

“Can I try?” he asks.

“Sure.” Anything that will keep us here longer than we really need to be.

He takes over eating my ice cream too, but this time, he’s a lot slower. Maybe his bottomless pit of a stomach isn’t so bottomless anymore.

When he finishes that off too, I look at the time.

“Oh no, it’s probably too late to take you to hockey. You’ll be walking in late. Want me to call them and tell them you’ll be⁠—”

“No. I still want to go to hockey.”

When did Cullen become so stubborn?

“Okay,” I relent. “We’ll head there now.”

And as if the universe couldn’t hate me any more, we get green lights all the way to the rink, meaning we arrive on time. Well, after he goes and puts his gear on, he’ll be late, but we’re at the rink on time.

“I’m going to wait in the car for you today, okay? Are you able to get one of the coaches to help you get into your gear today? You can come out as soon as you’re done. You don’t even need to get changed again. Just come out in your hockey stuff.”

“Why are you being weird, Uncle Jonah?”

“Weird? I’m not weird. You’re weird.” I get out of the car and pull Cullen’s gear bag out of the trunk. “Go have fun.”

I watch him walk up to the doors, making sure he gets safely inside before I cower back into my car. This is going to be a fun hour.

I take out my phone and look through my school emails that need actioning.

Professor Brooks,

I didn’t make it to class this morning. Can you tell me what you went over?

Jayden

Sure. Why don’t I teach all two hundred students individually while I’m at it?

Jayden,

Unfortunately, I don’t take notes of my own classes. Maybe one of your peers could share their notes.

Professor Brooks.

Professor Brooks,

Is it too late to drop your class? When is the cutoff?

Tori

Tori,

The cutoff was two weeks into the semester, which was stated in the course outline, and during every class for those two weeks. If you drop the class now, you’ll get an incomplete and have to repeat it if it’s a requisite of your degree.

Professor Brooks.

I’m about to click on another ridiculous email when there’s a knock on my window, and I jump a mile high.

It’s Emmett’s boss, Fletcher.

I put down my window.

“Uh, you might want to get inside,” he says, and my heart tries to fly out of my chest.

“What happened?” Worst-case scenarios fly through my head. He took a skate to the face, the neck, his carotid artery was slashed—I’ve seen videos of this happening in games before.

“He’s okay, but he’s feeling sick. He only made it one step off the ice before he was throwing some milky liquid up.”

What was supposed to be my escape from Emmett has only brought me right to him.

Stupid giant ice cream. Who knew that would backfire? Probably every parent ever. In my defense, he was supposed to get so full and take so long that he didn’t want to go to hockey at all.

I’m out of the car and following Fletcher inside in a split second.

Cullen is on the bench just off the ice, with Emmett rubbing his back and a pile of puke in front of him. The other kids are still on the ice, skating without any real direction or supervision.

“Hey, buddy.” I slink next to him.

“Ice cream before hockey … not good,” he whines.

“Yeah, that’s my bad.” Instinctively, I go to rub his back as well, but Emmett’s hand is still there, and my fingers brush over his.

We lock eyes.

My breath stalls.

He breaks first. “How about your uncle takes you home, and I’ll see you again on Thursday?”

Cullen whines. “My tummy hurts.”

“Lesson learned, huh?” Emmett smiles at me over Cullen’s head. “No more ice cream before practice. It not only made you late today, but it’s cut your lesson short and disrupted the others’ lesson.”

Damn, do I sound that condescending when I tell my students they’re wasting my time?

“Won’t happen again,” I promise, which only seems to amuse him more. “Time to go.”

I help Cullen up to walk out, and Fletcher joins me on the other side. He’s milking it for sure, but also, I feel bad for being responsible.

“Fletch,” Emmett calls and catches up to us. “I can help out if you could watch the class for five minutes?”

His boss cocks his head at him.

“I get the feeling Cullen’s uncle isn’t taking his hockey career serious enough, and I want to have a talk with him.”

“All right,” Fletch says. “It’s under tens intro hockey, but you’re NHL royalty, so if you see something in Cullen, go for it.”

Emmett cringes. I don’t know why.

But then Fletcher is gone, and Emmett’s there, helping me walk Cullen out to the car.

I expect him to bring up the moment that I never want to relive ever, in the history of ever, but he doesn’t.

“Can I come by later tonight?” he asks me.

“I’ll be fine,” Cullen answers him. “My mommy will make my tummy feel better.”

“That’s good. Moms are amazing at making their kids feel better.” There’s something sad in his tone as he says that, and knowing he lost his mom when he was young and being raised by two older brothers, his underlying hurt is evident.

Maybe that’s why I agree to let him come over. Or perhaps I’m hoping his twin didn’t tell him about the stupid scene I made.

Who am I kidding? He knows.

But I should apologize for how I acted.

“I’ll be home from dropping Cullen off at seven,” I say.

“I’ll see you then. Hope you feel better, kiddo.” Emmett opens the rear seat door for us.

Cullen starts buckling himself in, and as Emmett slowly closes the door, he follows it to lean against it.

“And I’ll see you tonight.”

Nerves punch me in the gut, but I owe him an apology. I owe him an explanation of why I got possessively caveman over thinking he had a boyfriend.

Ugh. I don’t want to do this.