The idyllic scene made her a little wistful. She couldn’t remember even a handful of family memories that could match the cheerfulness of Luke’s childhood. She bet he could think of hundreds without trying.
Luke slipped the keys from the ignition and unbuckled his seat belt, but he paused after that, staring at the house for such a long time that Holly didn’t know what to make of it.
“Luke?”
She’d startled him, but he tried to cover it with a smile. “Sorry. Lost in thought.” He scrubbed a hand across his stubbly face.
Despite the question she’d asked him the day they’d met, Holly was glad he wasn’t growing a proper play-off beard. That whole “lumberjack chic” look that was sweeping the magazines didn’t do much for her.
He sat there for another long moment, as if he was psyching himself up to go inside. When he finally turned to her, his smile was dimmer than she was used to and it didn’t quite ring true. “Ready?”
Holly did her best to seem peppy and normal, ignoring the part of her that wanted to wrap her arms around him and soothe the pain she hadn’t expected to find in his eyes. “Ready,” she agreed.
She followed Luke into the small bungalow where he’d grown up. She’d never considered meeting the parents to be the big deal everyone else seemed to make it, but suddenly her stomach seemed to think it was on a roller coaster.
“Holly! It’s so nice to meet you!”
She found herself caught up in a hug that blindsided her. It took her a moment to relax into the other woman’s maternal embrace. She couldn’t remember the last time a woman had hugged her—really hugged her—as opposed to the cursory, two-second greeting hugs that were all the rage these days. It was...a little unnerving, actually.
“Thank you, Mrs. Maguire. It’s great to meet you, too.”
The tiny dynamo of a woman flicked her fingers, shooing away the notion. She was casually dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt with flowers on it. Her short brown hair was streaked with gray and cut in a no-fuss style that suited her kind face.
“Please. I’m just me. You’re the famous one! I watch all your shows on the internet. Luke gave me an iPad for Christmas. I even saw your interview on Good Morning Portland. And we don’t stand on formality here. Call me Cathy. This is my husband, Ross.”
Holly smiled as she shook the man’s hand. He had only a hint of white at the temples of his dark hair. It made him look very distinguished. She could see Luke in him: the strong nose, the kind eyes, the rugged jaw.
Luke’s smile, though—his real smile—that was all Cathy.
“Well, let’s not just stand in the doorway! Luke, you take Holly’s bag up to my knitting room.” She turned to Holly. “It’s actually a little suite over top of the garage, so you’ll have lots of privacy and your very own bathroom. I already made up the bed for you.”
Luke caught Holly’s eye and grinned at the way Cathy had subtly stressed that the room was for her and her alone. “Sure thing, Mom.” Grabbing both their bags, he leaned over and kissed Cathy’s cheek, and Holly was enchanted at the joy sparkling in his mom’s eyes.
As Luke headed back outside and toward the detached garage, Cathy tucked Holly’s arm into hers and pulled her into the kitchen.
The highly varnished wooden table was littered with official-looking envelopes emblazoned with the logo of a prominent bank in the top left-hand corner. Some of them had ominous red stamps that said Final Notice on them.
“Oh my. Please excuse the mess!” Cathy rushed over to the table and began stacking the notices into a disordered pile, but not before Holly noticed that Luke’s name appeared on some of them, along with his parents’. Huh.
“Ross and I were just paying some bills before you arrived.” Cathy dumped said “bills” into the shoebox on the table and replaced the lid. Only then did her smile regain its genuine warmth of earlier.
“Now let’s get some food into you. I just finished making coconut gumdrop cookies—they’re Luke’s favorite.”
The afternoon sped by. The Maguires were warm, attentive hosts, and although Ethan did not make an appearance, Holly was drawn in by their obvious closeness. Luke seemed more relaxed here, and she liked knowing that this side of him existed—that he wasn’t uptight and serious all the time.
And yet, she couldn’t help but notice the blatant hockey void in the conversation. Hours of chatting had gone by with no mention of Luke’s play-off run, or anything hockey related whatsoever. Considering Luke’s entire world revolved around the sport right now, she found the omission very odd. She found herself growing indignant on his behalf that his parents didn’t make more of a fuss about him.
“I’m going to go check on dinner,” Cathy announced. “Luke, why don’t you show Holly to her room, in case she wants to freshen up before we eat. I’ve practically held her hostage all day. I’m sure she’d appreciate a moment to herself.”
Holly smiled at the false summation of their day, but the prospect of stealing a few moments alone with Luke was too great to pass up.
“Actually, Luke, I’d rather see your old room.”
* * *
LUKE LED HER down the hallway to his childhood bedroom. There was still a wooden sign on the door with a hockey player and his name printed in primary colors. He’d picked it out himself in the second grade. A normal kid probably would have taken it down when he was thirteen or fourteen, but at fourteen, Luke had already been billeting with other families and playing in the minor leagues, trying to become the best.
Ethan had been coming up fast on his heels, a definite hockey superstar in the making, and it had pushed Luke to excel. He was proud of his little brother, but he was also competitive enough that he didn’t want to be surpassed, either.
As always, his room was just how he’d left it. His parents had talked about turning it into a reading room, but they’d never gotten around to it. Maybe that was something he should do for them for Christmas...send his parents on a trip somewhere and get the room renovated. Just a little something to put a smile on their faces. God knew they deserved it.
“Wow, check it out. A glimpse into the life of a young Luke Maguire.” She meandered around the room, staring at inscriptions on trophies and titles on book spines. He spent the moments looking at her. He liked casual Holly, barefoot and clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, her blond ponytail swinging behind her as she snooped around his room.
He thought it’d been the short skirt and push-up bra and teased-out hair that had pulled him in, but if he was being honest with himself, he found her much prettier and more alluring today than ever before.
He was curious about the attraction they shared. It burned hot and bright and yet it wasn’t all passion. They’d had a great trip down, conversing easily and laughing the entire hour and change that it had taken to get here. He enjoyed her company, both in and out of the bedroom.
“Yearbook!”
“What? No!” Luke did his best to mask the panic in his voice, knowing that would only encourage her. “You don’t need to look at...too late.”
She was already nose deep in the glossy pages, in search of childhood embarrassment.
“Is this you? Oh my God, you had a mullet!” She flipped the yearbook around to show him, pointing gleefully at his photo, as if he didn’t remember what he’d looked like.
“I did not have a mullet.”
Her pretty mouth hitched up on one side, and he was a goner. “Photographic evidence begs to differ.”
“I had a flow. It’s totally different. That is a well-respected and timeless hockey haircut. Jaromír Jágr had that exact hairdo.”
She laughed as she shut the book and set it on the end table. “Check out this place. You ate, slept and breathed hockey, huh?” He followed her gaze around the room—old hockey trophies and medals dominated the shelves above his des
k, along with a couple of hockey biographies and an impressive collection of Don Cherry’s Rock’em Sock’em Hockey videos.
“Wayne Gretzky, Mario Lemieux and Bobby Hull.” She pointed at each of the faded, curling posters he’d tacked to the wall so very long ago. “Dreaming of the day when you’d have a poster of your own?”
“You know it.” Luke tried to keep the frown out of his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Wayne Gretzky, sure, his 99 was showing after all, and Mario Lemieux’s name was printed on the poster. But Bobby Hull? Would someone who didn’t have the first clue about hockey recognize him? He seemed a little too niche.
It was on the tip of his tongue to call her out on it, but he swallowed his retort. He wasn’t going there. No, he was done being suspicious. He liked this girl. She was funny and beautiful and he enjoyed her company. He was done looking for flaws and investigating her every move.
Being home always reminded him that things could change for the worse in a split second. And it would be a disservice to forget to enjoy the things he had. Because he was all too aware that it could all disappear in an instant.
“Instead of posters, I had a signed picture of Barbara Walters on my wall,” she said.
Luke smiled at the odd choice. “Really?”
Holly nodded. “It was my mom’s. She was an anchor on the six o’clock news. Barbara was her hero, too. Every weeknight, my family would eat dinner in front of the TV and watch Mom tell us about the day’s events. And at the end of the hour, she’d tuck her hair behind her right ear and that was our signal. Her little code that she loved us and she knew we were watching.”
Her smile was sad, but beautiful, and Luke was glad she’d trusted him with it.
“When she died of breast cancer, my father let me hang the Barbara picture in my room. I’d look at it every night and promise my mom that one day I’d be a reporter on TV, just like her, and then I’d tuck my hair behind my right ear so that she knew I was thinking about her.”
“And that’s why you do what you do,” he said, adding a few more pieces to the puzzle that was Holly.
“That’s why.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
She shrugged as she sat on his childhood bed. “It was a long time ago. And it’s nice to remember the good stuff.”
“Kids! Dinner’s ready! Wash your hands.”
Luke and Holly shared a smile at his mother’s summons, and he took comfort in the fact that, even in the midst of constant flux, some things never changed.
* * *
“TAKE A SEAT! Holly, you can sit beside Luke over here,” his mom directed. She set a roast chicken on the table.
“Everything looks fantastic, Cathy. Thank you so much for having me.”
His mother preened under Holly’s praises. Luke hadn’t seen his mom this animated in a long time. “Oh, it’s our pleasure. It’s just so nice to see Lucas happy.”
Luke didn’t have a chance to be embarrassed, because the hum of the back door made everyone freeze. His father walked in first, and behind him, Ethan navigated his wheelchair into the kitchen with such ease that it made Luke realize just how long he’d been using it.
Sometimes it felt like only yesterday they’d been camped out in the hospital, waiting for the swelling to go down, hoping against hope that Ethan would walk again. Other times it felt like aeons had passed since that fateful night.
“The prodigal son returns,” Ethan muttered when he spotted Luke.
Luke forced a smile, trying not to be hurt by the lackluster greeting. “Hey, little brother. Looking fit.” Ethan’s arms bulged against the fabric of his Nike T-shirt. He must be up at least a couple of pounds of muscle since they’d seen each other last. “Katie must be putting you through your paces.”
Ethan nodded at the mention of his physiotherapist. “Yeah. She’s tough.” He grabbed his plate and started dishing out some food.
“This is Luke’s friend, Holly,” his mother offered, wading into the tension.
“Hey,” he said without glancing up.
“Ethan! Manners.” There was a warning note in Cathy Maguire’s voice that not even a sullen twenty-two-year-old could ignore. Hell, even Luke still flinched when she marched it out.
Ethan sighed and Luke watched him physically regroup. When he raised his eye, Luke recognized the battle-weary look of a man engaged in a tireless fight. “It’s very nice to meet you, Holly.”
Holly’s smile was warm, despite the fact that the greeting had been decreed rather than given sincerely. “You, too, Ethan.”
Taut silence settled over the room then, broken only by the clank of utensils as everyone served themselves portions of chicken and stuffing and gravy and veggies.
“If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to eat in my room.”
“Ethan, we have company.” Ross Maguire’s voice held a hint of desperation that made Luke wonder how many nights he and his mother ate at the dinner table alone.
“Oh, that’s fine.” If she was hurt by his brother’s abruptness, Holly didn’t show it. “I understand better than most what it’s like to want to avoid small talk,” she joked.
“Thanks.” It was, by Luke’s count, Ethan’s most sincere moment of the night.
The world deflated when he left.
Luke could feel his mother’s heart break just a fraction more, see the way his father’s shoulders sagged under the weight of his youngest son’s misery. He wanted to punch his brother in the face for doing this to them, and yet...
And yet, Luke’s own shoulders and his own heart were just as affected at the sight of Ethan’s struggle to make sense of the devastating blow he’d been dealt. His little brother was the strongest man he knew. Ethan’s dedication to his recovery was beyond incredible, and even the doctors were amazed by his progress. Luke was jealous of how ripped he’d gotten and in awe that Ethan had taught himself to walk again.
But he could only stand for short periods, and his walk was a slow shuffle. Neither was good enough for his brother, who was aiming for nothing less than full recovery. But three years later, the odds of that were dwindling at an alarming rate. And his brother was angry.
Luke couldn’t blame him for that, even when he wanted to.
Holly broke the ice. “I can’t wait to dig into this chicken.”
His mom smiled and encouraged everyone to eat. Holly was wonderful through the entire meal. She did her best to carry the dinner discussion and after the meal, helped his mom clean up the dishes so he and his father could figure out why the power opener on the back door wasn’t functioning properly. Then they all sat outside on the deck with his mother’s famous lemonade and talked until it was time for bed.
“Thanks,” he said, as he and Holly sauntered toward the garage. The evening air was warm and damp and tinged with the scent of spring flowers.
“For what?” she asked, like she honestly didn’t know.
“For handling today like a pro.”
“Nothing to thank me for. Your family was incredibly kind.”
He put a hand on her hip, tugged her forward a step and brushed a soft kiss to her lips. Her sigh was sweet and dreamy, and he leaned his forehead against hers. “Good night, Holly.”
She smiled up at him. “Good night, Luke.”
He kissed her once more before he pulled himself away, glancing behind him to watch her ascend the small staircase and disappear into the guest suite.
He waited until she’d pushed the door shut before he headed back to the house.
He had every intention of heading straight for his own room, but instead, he found himself standing outside his brother’s.
Luke rapped his knuckles against the door before he pushed it open.
Ethan didn’t look up from his physio log book. “Hey.”<
br />
“Hey.” It was weird, seeing the wheelchair beside the bed. Unlike his own room, Ethan’s reflected the passage of time. All his trophies and posters and hockey paraphernalia had been packed up and hidden away—probably in the attic, if he knew his mother. Cathy Maguire couldn’t bear to throw away memories.
“I just dropped Holly off in the guest room. I’m glad Mom’s still protecting our virginities,” Luke joked.
A ghost of a smile played over Ethan’s lips.
“Some things never change.”
Luke didn’t mean for his gaze to dart to the wheelchair beside the bed, but it did, and the moment of camaraderie disappeared with the blank expression that overtook his brother’s face.
Luke wasn’t about to let his brother shut him down that easily. Not again. “And some things change a lot.”
“Yeah, well. Be thankful you’re the one who got out of this mess unscathed.”
Luke ran a frustrated hand over his hair. The ever-present guilt chewed at the lining of his stomach. He ignored his brother’s dig and tried to take the high road. “Do you want to come to the sledge hockey game with Holly and me tomorrow? The kids would love to meet you. They keep giving me a hard time that you haven’t come.”
“I have physio.”
“Ethan—”
“I have physio,” he repeated in a tone that brooked no opposition.
“Okay, fine.” Luke didn’t know what to do to reach his brother anymore. Every time he came home, he felt like they grew further and further apart. “You wanna have some ice cream?” he asked. It was a last-ditch effort to connect, a ritual from back in the day. Whenever there was company staying at the house, they’d wait until midnight and sneak downstairs for makeshift ice cream sundaes, thinking they were pulling one over on their parents.
It wasn’t until years later that they’d realized it couldn’t be coincidence that whenever they had visitors, there was always ice cream in the freezer and an array of toppings in the cupboard. Luke didn’t doubt for a second they were there now.
Playing to Win Page 10
