Wrapped Up In You (A Chicago Rebels Holiday Novella)

by Kate Meader

  The Rebel Queen herself, Harper Chase, made most of the business decisions, usually in step with Dante. They both had similar views on the team’s operations and future. It sounded like Harper was considering a shake-up that might send Cade packing.

  “Thing is, since Kershaw came on board, we’ve been doing so much better.” Defenseman Theo Kershaw had joined them at the beginning of the season, fresh off a two-year recovery following a serious health scare. That he was even skating again was a miracle but partnering with him on the first line had raised Cade’s game. “I just wish Harper and Dante could give us a chance to find that rhythm and make it work. And I’m saying this from a game standpoint, not just because I’d like to live in the same city as the guy I love.”

  Cade loved Chicago, and he had always thought Chicago loved him—or at least the people in Chicago who decided his future. But he was living in a fairy tale if he thought that affection and friendship would dictate how Harper ran her business.

  Violet grasped his hand, her eyes shining with empathy. “This pro-sports business is really fucking cruel when it comes to the heart. You’ve had this hanging over you for years! If Bren was still playing and I had to move because his contract said so, I’d be pissed.”

  “But you’d do it.”

  She nodded. “I would. Because he has no choice and I do. That’s not what’s happening here, Cade. Whose career is more important?”

  “If—when—I’m traded because let’s face it, if it doesn’t happen this year, it will one year, I won’t get a choice about where I have to go. Dante’s only career move is lateral into another general manager position and how likely is that wherever I end up?”

  “About as likely as me getting a GM position?”

  Cade laughed, the sound mirthless. “He’s worked really hard to get where he is—”

  “And so have you. If anything, your wishes should carry more weight. Old man Moretti’s had his time as a player and a manager. He should step aside and let us millennials ascend the throne!”

  “Okay, Vi, he’s not exactly decrepit. The guy’s just getting started in his dream job and you think he should give that up to follow me to fucking … Canada or something?” Nothing against Canada but expecting Dante to up stakes and haul his hot ass to the wintry tundra after Cade was surely too much.

  “Why wouldn’t he follow you? You’re one of the best people I know. I totally would have snapped you up if you weren’t such a lover of the dick.”

  “So. Romantic. How does Bren stand it?”

  She stuck out her tongue, and something else hit him hard. If he was traded out, he’d lose this. Hanging with his BFF and all the comfort that came with that. The world he knew was crumbling around him and the guy he needed to talk to had a monopoly on cement supplies.

  “Cade, what do you want? If you could have three wishes.”

  That was easy. “I want to marry Dante. I want kids with him. I want us to grow old together.” After seeing Dante with his sister’s baby, Cade had never been so sure of anything.

  Vi delivered a look of aw.

  “Shut up.”

  “No, I think it’s great. Are you guys going to adopt? Use a surrogate?” She thumbed at herself. “Womb for hire right here!”

  “Did you not hear what I said? I want all that but how likely is it I can have it? I don’t want to give up hockey and neither does Dante. We can’t plan anything while both of us are being torn in different directions.”

  Vi made a dismissive noise. “There has to be some sort of compromise. I can talk to Harper. I do own one third of the team, after all.”

  True, but if Harper already had her mind made up … “The only way this would work is if we had a guarantee that both Dante and I are tied to the Rebels for the next ten years—which is completely unreasonable. Harper’s a savvy business woman and she would never lock her team into an agreement like that.”

  He had to face it. This was not going to end well.

  “One of us is going to have to give up what he loves or we give up each other.”

  The front door to the restaurant was open.

  That was not good.

  Dante closed the door behind him and flipped the dead bolt. Maybe one of the prep chefs was here early to get a head start now that his father was out of commission for a couple of weeks. Allie had asked Dante to stop by to pick up olive oil—apparently only one brand would do.

  He called out, “Hello?”

  Only the ghosts of silent memories answered back.

  Walking through the restaurant, he noted subtle changes here and there. Nicer furniture, reupholstered booths, a new cherry wood bar. He’d seen photos online—Allie kept Lorenzo’s website updated—so it wasn’t completely unexpected. What got him deep in his bones was something no online presence could emulate: the smell. Lemon furniture polish and hints of rosemary. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled the past.

  He hadn’t enjoyed his part-time work here, not when the ice’s siren call held his heart and his father’s disapproval held him back. But it was where he’d had his first proper kiss, the one that gave him hope he wasn’t such a freak after all.

  A noise startled him. He walked toward it and poked his head into the back office. His mother sat at the desk.

  “Mama, what are you doing here?”

  Last night he’d sent her home with Sofia while he and Allie took the watch at the hospital. Rather, Allie waited with their father. Dante knew better than to be in the same room as Lorenzo, but he’d happily be present for his mom and sisters.

  His mother looked up, seeming unsurprised to see him, as if the last thirteen years had never happened. “Oh, it’s you, Dante. I just wanted to take care of some bills.”

  “You left the front door open. You’re not in the right head space for this.”

  “Il nonsenso. The world must keep turning.”

  This was true, but surely she could let it spin without her for a while. He leaned against the door jamb. Nothing had changed. The same battered file cabinet, the same shelf over the desk that looked like it might crash at any second. The computer wasn’t the two-ton box of yore but it still had to be at least five years old.

  “He’s going to be okay,” he said.

  She nodded, her blue-tinted gaze trained on an invoice. “Did you go in to see him?”

  “And give him another heart attack?”

  “It wasn’t a heart attack. Chest pains.”

  Sure, merely an artery blockage that could have killed him.

  “You should visit,” she continued. “Properly.”

  That tone of recrimination cut deep. Why was it up to Dante to kick start the reconciliation show?

  “I’ll see him before I leave.”

  Her eyes flashed, meeting him head-on for the first time. “You’re leaving? Already?”

  “This was only supposed to be a flying visit. I need to get back to work.” He’d miss tonight’s game in Philly but he’d be back in time for the next home game in Chicago.

  But it wasn’t the game that was calling, it was Cade. His heart and body ached without him near.

  “Even when your family needs you?”

  “Do you, Mama? Need me? Because this is the first I’m hearing of it.” He didn’t want to hurt her, especially when her husband was weak and her world had been upended. But Dante had needed her once and she let him down. His question wasn’t tit-for-tat, just an acknowledgment that he had never felt supported by her.

  “It was a different time.”

  “What’s changed? I’m still your son. I haven’t changed.”

  “You have.” She sniffed. “You’re happy—and I know I have nothing to do with that. Your father was so sure you’d never do it, tell everyone, not when you were trying to get ahead in the hockey world.”

  “I took Nonno’s advice and stayed true to myself. It was a risk but it worked out.” His career had flourished, and he’d reached a pinnacle professionally. “I didn’t come out as a screw
you to Papa. It wasn’t about him. Or you.”

  She nodded, swiped at a tear. Shit. “Mama …”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I deserve this!” The tears came faster.

  “Mama, come here. Let me hold you.” Even yesterday at lunch, he hadn’t dared to touch her for fear the tricky pH balance of the room would be thrown off.

  She came to him and let herself be wrapped in his arms. Even with all the pain they’d caused each other, he had missed her deeply.

  She drew back. “The world has changed. The holy father is more welcoming of people … like you.”

  “Gays, Mama?” She used to wince whenever that word came up in conversation, then smother him with those disappointed blue-on-blue eyes. Even now, she looked uncomfortable, but this would never be an easy conversation.

  “Yes, that.”

  “The pope’s cool with it, so you are, too?” Why, thank you, your holiness.

  “Everyone is LGQ this and transgender that. Clarice Fantino’s son Benny is …” She waved to fill in the blank she still couldn’t say. “And he works on Wall Street!”

  Dante rubbed his mouth. So much education needed.

  “We’re all over. World domination’s the goal.”

  Sniffing, his mother raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make fun of me, Dante Gianni Moretti.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned, which left her somewhat mollified.

  Stepping away, she turned and yanked open the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Out came a manila folder. “I’ve something to show you.”

  He took a few steps farther into the office, already feeling the walls closing in. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

  He picked up a yellowed newspaper clipping.

  Moretti a Beast in Playoffs.

  “What’s this doing here?” He put the clipping down on the desk and studied the rest. Press cuttings, Internet printouts, all detailing Dante’s career as a defenseman with the Philadelphia Liberty before he blew out his knee fifteen years ago. It didn’t stop with his curtailed career as a player. Each rung of the ladder of his success was recorded: his first front office job in Dallas, his promotion to scouting manager in LA, his upward trajectory to assistant general manager in Boston. All leading him to Chicago. To Cade.

  God, he missed him.

  “You kept all this?” he asked his mother.

  She shook her head and he knew before she spoke the words. “Your father.”

  Dante’s organs swapped places as he tried figuring this out. Was this a father’s pride? What kind of pride couldn’t show itself openly?

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Your father never stopped loving you, Dante. I know you thought he should—”

  “Talk to me?”

  She nodded. “Be more accepting. He shouldn’t have turned his back on you—we shouldn’t have done that—but he has never stopped thinking of you.” She reached for his hand and held it tightly against her breast. “Visit him before you leave. Please. Don’t let this be how it ends.”

  Chapter Seven

  It had been a while since Dante had felt nervous outside a door. The last time? He smiled in memory. A post-game visit to a locker room, right after Cade had made a pass at him. It had eventually turned out well—better than well—but boy, was the road rocky.

  He knocked.

  “Come in, come in.”

  Dante did as his father told him. Lorenzo had just put his shirt on and was mid-buttoning. His face turned stony on seeing his son.

  “Papa, how are you feeling?”

  “I thought you were Alicia.”

  “She’s talking to the doctor, figuring out how to keep you drugged and compliant.”

  “She worries too much.”

  “She has good reason. You gave us all a scare.”

  His father leaned against the bed, his fingers working the buttons of his shirt but unable to complete the job.

  Dante stepped in. “Let me help.”

  Lorenzo dropped his hands, an invitation for assistance, or perhaps an admission that it would be quicker if he just let Dante help and they got this visit over with. A sudden flash of the past caught Dante by surprise: his father helping him with his first hockey jersey. At six and a half, it swam on him, but Mama was worried he’d grow too quickly. Better to get it three sizes too big.

  “Shouldn’t you be back at work?”

  “I rebooked my flight for tomorrow.” Dante finished the last button, stood back. “I don’t need to be at every game.”

  “But you usually are.”

  Was that a question or a statement? “Usually. I want to see them play and my team expects me to show up. It’s about respect.”

  “And your … he’s there.”

  Dante blew out a breath, bracing for criticism. “Cade is there. Wherever he is, that’s usually where I am.”

  “Yet you’re here.”

  Dante sighed. “You’re my father. It still means something even if you’d prefer it didn’t.”

  His father sat on the bed. Slumped, more like. A few tense seconds ticked by.

  “I’m too old to change, Dante.”

  That sounded promising. Not the words, which were an admission of defeat, but the underlying tone. Lorenzo wanted things to be different but worried his natural curmudgeon status wouldn’t allow him to adapt to the changing world order.

  “Are you? Because you’re going to have to make some changes for your health. Take medication, eat better, work less. You’ll do that for Mama because you love her. You’ll do it for your grandkids because you want to see them grow up. You’ll change because to not do so is to give up. People adapt every day to survive.”

  “And should I change my mind about you? Is that what this is about?”

  Dante took a seat beside his father on the bed.

  “You’re not going to change your mind about me unless you want to. Just like you’re not going to eat better or work less unless you want to do that. Hey, if you want to die while chopping garlic, that’s your prerogative.”

  His father studied him. “You always thought you were so smart.”

  “Only saying what we’re all thinking.”

  “And you all think I’m a bad father. A bad grandfather.”

  Dante rubbed his forehead. Nothing was this black and white. Good people held bad positions—it didn’t make them monsters. But people who claimed an inability to change usually failed to see how even a little give on a viewpoint could make the world of difference to someone else.

  Dante didn’t believe the man who kept a folder of press cuttings in a battered file cabinet was beyond hope.

  “If you’ve got a minute, I’ve got a story.”

  His father made a noise of acknowledgment but otherwise remained silent.

  “Almost four years ago, I met Cade. He wasn’t public about being gay yet but he had a crush on me. A schoolboy thing, or so I thought at the time. He knew I wouldn’t take him seriously unless he came out. I’d sacrificed a lot by doing that myself and I wasn’t going to hide any relationship I was in going forward. But I couldn’t dictate his journey. He worried about losing the love of his father. They were close and Cade had kept this inside himself—this huge part of who he was—out of respect for his feelings for his dad. Now you might say that’s a good son. A dutiful son.”

  Lorenzo gave his most imperious look. “He told him and everything was fine, I assume.”

  “Right on one, not on the other. His father didn’t like it one bit, just as Cade expected. When I heard that Tucker—that’s Cade’s dad—had shut him out, I went to see him at his home in San Antonio. I told him about you. How we hadn’t spoken for years. How I arrange my visits to my sisters in such a way so as to avoid any confrontation and keep the peace. How I couldn’t attend the funeral of my nonno, who I loved more than anything, because you forbade it.”

  “Dante—”

  “No, listen, Papa. Let me finish. I’m not saying all this to
criticize but to tell you how it helped another father and son. When Tucker heard this, it was like I was the Ghost of Christmas Future. You know the story where Scrooge is shown what the future looks like if he doesn’t change his ways. The Christmas yet to come is a harsh world, where he dies unhappily and no one mourns him.”

  His father arched an eyebrow of I see what you did there, but otherwise didn’t comment.

  “Well, telling my story to Tucker basically scared the hell out him. I was the living embodiment of what would happen to his son if he didn’t accept him. He could tell I was still upset about our estrangement, how it had hollowed me out. He couldn’t imagine not talking to Cade ever again, and while the idea of a gay son would take some getting used to, he was prepared to try because he didn’t want a future where he and his son no longer exchanged words because of something his son can’t change. Because of who his son was at his core. He’s an old-fashioned guy, is Tucker. A college football coach, real dyed-in-the-wool Texan, kind of a hard-ass. I think you two would get along, actually. He knew he had to adapt if his relationship with his son was to survive.”

  “I need to adapt? Is that it?”

  Dante shrugged. “You say you’re too old to change, Papa, but you’ll do it to save your life. The meds, your health, a future with Mom, your daughters, and your grandkids. But if you don’t adapt your views on who should be allowed to love who, we won’t survive. You and me. Sure, we’ll go on, living our lives, separated by our differences. However, a piece of us, that fraying thread that connects us, that says I’m your son and you’re my father—that will finally snap and there will be no repairing it.”

  Some might say it had snapped a long time ago, but Dante didn’t believe that. He refused to think this might be the last time he spoke to his father.

  For an eternity that felt like every second of the thirteen years since they’d last spoken, his father stared at him.

  “I didn’t want you to be a hockey player.”

  “I know.”

  “Your mother worried you would get hurt.”

  Dante’s heart squeezed. Not only his mother. Dante recalled something else, his brain’s synapses firing with long-forgotten memories. Not just his father helping him dress for hockey but making sure he had all the right pads and protective equipment. Grumbling about how much it cost, too.