When It's Right

by Victoria Denault

  My eyes fly to my sisters, and I give them the loudest DO NOT SAY A WORD glare I can. They both snap their mouths shut at the same time. “Just someone I met at the hospital. It was no big deal. Not really a date. Super casual. Anyway, he had a thing and ended up having to cancel.”

  The energy in the room shifts so fully and completely, like air being let out of a balloon, that I can feel it. Every face staring back at me is wearing various degrees of disappointment. “Jeez, family, it’s not the end of the world. Don’t worry, you’ll marry me off one day. Jude has enough money to pay someone to take me.”

  “Oh, honey. Chill,” my mom says, and it makes the rest of her kids snicker. “We don’t want to marry you off. It’s just nice to think you’re getting out and meeting new people. You used to be such a social butterfly in Toronto. All you do now is work and hang out with us. We’re boring.”

  “Yeah, you are,” I reply but grin at her and wink. “I’m not bored or lonely. It’s fine. Now can we talk about something else, or better yet, stop talking and eat? Everything smells delicious.”

  “Eli! Dad!” Dixie calls down the hall.

  Everyone sits around the table except Jude, who waits until Eli appears with my dad and helps him get his wheelchair pushed up to the table. Dad has trouble holding his utensils now, so Mom sits next to him and helps him. It’s still so painful to see, which makes it hard to look away. But if I do look at him for too long he gets frustrated, and also I lose my appetite because my heart starts to ache.

  Everyone sits down and starts to fight over the food, as always. My dad chuckles. “Never…changes. Relax, kids. Mom always makes enough.”

  The words come out slow, slurred, but we know what he’s saying mostly because it’s the same thing he’s been saying since we were preteens. And just like always, we ignore him and all dive in at once, scooping up chicken, potatoes, and salad off the serving dishes in the center of the table.

  “Eli, grab something now or you’ll starve,” Zoey advises as she snags a juicy piece of chicken breast before Jude can.

  Dixie grabs a chicken leg and drops it onto his plate. “I got you, baby.”

  I laugh. “How are you feeling, E? Headaches? Nausea?”

  “Nope. None of that,” Eli says and takes the scalloped potatoes dish from Winnie, before she was finished serving herself.

  “Atta boy.” Zoey smiles.

  “Good. It sounds like you’re recovering nicely.” I fight the urge to text Griffin and give him an update. I’m sure Eli will be meeting with his coach soon and can tell him himself.

  “Yeah, but Sully is still going to make me take a week off, I’m sure,” Eli grumbles, his green eyes clouded with frustration. “The league is really anal about head injuries.”

  “Fo goo reasss…on,” my father comments. He’s saying “for good reason,” and luckily Eli understands.

  “I know. I just want to play,” Eli replies.

  “Speaking of Sully, how’s that going?” Jude asks, and I’m elated we’re still talking about Griffin, even though I shouldn’t be. Winnie and Dixie meet my eyes across the table, but I look away and give all my attention to the potatoes I’m scooping onto my plate.

  “Great. He’s a way better coach than the last one.” Even I can hear the relief in Eli’s voice. He butted heads with his last coach since he started with the team. “Sully is so close to the game because he was in the league just a couple years ago. He’s easygoing but focused, and he’s got these new exercises and stretches that are really improving my reach in net. He’s also super chill, which is what I need. Like last night at the hospital, he stayed calm and just made sure I was okay, whereas the last coach would have been super annoying and made the situation worse.”

  I shovel potatoes into my mouth to keep from asking questions, because they wouldn’t be hockey-related and it would seem weird. Winnie, on the other hand, isn’t worried about looking weird. She takes a sip of water and asks, “So where is he from? What teams did he play for? Did you ever play him, Jude? Where does he live?”

  The table falls silent. People don’t even continue eating. My mom’s hand is frozen, a chunk of chicken on a fork hovering in front of my dad’s mouth. But he’s not paying attention to it either. Everyone is just stunned by Winnie’s sudden onslaught of invasive questions. Jude gives her a confused look. Ah, shit…If he asks her why she’s so nosy and Winnie says a word, I’ll die.

  “He played for a couple teams, mostly as a backup goalie,” Jude answers. “Los Angeles and Vegas. I played him when he was with Vegas during my rookie year. Didn’t score on him, though.”

  Winnie nods, eating up all this info and making Jude look more confused and Eli look like he’s been concussed again. Mom and Dad have at least continued eating, but they too are clearly perplexed. Dixie is trying not to snicker, so I kick her lightly under the table.

  “He was drafted by the Thunder, but only played for the Storm,” Eli adds and spears a potato with his fork.

  “Where does he live?” Winnie asks.

  “I think he lives in Marin,” Eli replies. “He mentioned something about picking up his kid there.”

  I freeze. My mom notices. I blink and swallow down the chicken in my mouth, almost choking because I didn’t chew it enough. I grab my water glass. Dixie snickers. I kick her again—harder this time. Winnie coughs.

  “How many kids does he have?” Winnie asks.

  Jude and Eli exchange baffled looks, and then Eli answers slowly, cautiously, like he’s just realized he’s dealing with a lunatic. “Umm…one…I think. At least he’s only mentioned a little girl…Why all the questions about my coach?”

  Winnie shrugs. “You’re a part of our family now, Eli. Being invasive and getting all up in family business is what I do.”

  “We all have roles to play,” Dixie adds with a grin. “It’s how we keep this family running like a well-oiled machine.”

  “Yeah, your role is designated freeloader,” Jude tells her. “You had breakfast at my place and dinner here. Have you ever even cooked in your own apartment?”

  “I don’t cook,” Dixie responds, “because then I would have to clean.”

  “Is he married?” I ask, my voice almost hoarse from trying to hide the tension in it. My brother and Eli turn their confused stares on me now. “Winnie and I work in tandem on this invasive thing.”

  “I assume that a wife or girlfriend or some female of significance usually comes with a child,” Jude says with snark, and I stick my tongue out at him because giving him the finger at the dinner table would be rude. Meanwhile, my brain is reeling. Is he married? Like legally? Is he a cheater? Was he going to cheat with me?

  When I look across the table, Dixie and Winnie are asking me the same questions with their eyes. We’ve always been able to read each other’s thoughts without a word. It drives Jude nuts, and even my dad thought it could get creepy. They both look as worried and borderline horrified as I am because it’s a real possibility. Griffin Sullivan might be married, and in that case—I just dodged a bullet.

  7

  Griffin

  I walk through the bustling concourse slowly, absorbing the happy energy the fans are filling the air with. I don’t always walk through the public parts of the arena on game days, but today, I needed the pick-me-up. I’ve been in a bad mood since I got served, and I need all the help I can get to shake it. The happy energy the fans have normally helps me relax, but today, it’s not helping much. I don’t think anything will. I turn a corner, my eyes focused on two kids in Thunder jerseys who are bouncing with excitement as their parents walk then through the arena, but then something in front of me catches my attention instead. It’s a quick blur of teal jacket and brown hair moving violently downward. I instantly reach out, my hands grabbing onto her a little roughly, but I manage to keep her from hitting the cement floor.

  “Oh, my God, thank you!” she says in a gasp, and I realize I just caught Trish, one of the Thunder’s PR team.

  “Y
ou’re welcome,” I reply and help her to her feet. I look down and see a bright orange blob of nacho cheese sauce smeared across the floor and on the edge of her high heel. “Some sloppy nacho eating fan almost killed you.”

  “That would make for a nifty headline,” Trish replies wryly. “Hockey team employee killed by nacho cheese. As a publicist I can’t thank you enough for keeping that headline from becoming a reality.”

  She lets out a little laugh and squeezes my arm. I pat her hand reassuringly. “It’s all good.”

  I wave over an arena employee. “We have a spill here. Can you call someone with a mop?”

  “Sure thing,” the employee says and gets on his walkie-talkie immediately. Confident he is going to stand there until it’s cleaned up, I thank him and start back toward the doors that lead to the staff area. Trish follows along beside me.

  “Since I have your attention, I was going to ask you about the goaltending situation. You know it’ll be the press’s first question,” Trish says as I hold the door open for her. “How is Eli?”

  “He appears fine, but we’re keeping him out as a precaution,” I explain. She nods and types something into her phone as I come to a stop at the elevator and punch the up button. “I’m heading up to the team box to watch the warm-up.”

  “Thanks again for saving my ass—literally,” she says with a laugh. “Go Thunder!”

  She turns to walk down the hall as I step into the elevator.

  Ten minutes later I’m watching Noah in net during warm-up. He looks good, stopping the majority of shots his teammates are taking on him. His movements indicate he’s a little stiff. But I’m not worried. I have watched him enough in practice scrimmages to know he’ll loosen up the longer he is out there.

  As he leaves the net to skate around a little, I let my eyes drift around the arena. The super-fans, as I like to call them, are gathered down around the boards, watching. I remember the rush of their cheers and the funny signs some of them would bring. I used to love to find the youngest kid and toss him or her a puck over the boards.

  But as I search for that young wide-eyed fan pressed up against the glass, I spot someone else instead. Sadie Braddock. She looks like a sexy, free-spirited hippie country girl—which is weird for a nurse from Toronto, Canada—and hot as hell. She reminds me of those country-loving Carolina girls I used to meet on summer vacations with my parents. Only Sadie’s better.

  I know it was my decision to stop things before they started with Sadie, but just seeing her makes me want to talk to her again. And I shouldn’t. This custody thing with Lauren isn’t going away any time soon, so I shouldn’t make my life any more complicated than it is. And dating is always complicated, especially as a single dad. I need to leave it alone right now or I’ll screw it up. Again. So I just take this secretive moment, while no one will notice, to drink her in. She’s standing next to Jude’s wife, who passes Sadie the baby in her arms. He’s wearing a tiny Thunder jersey with BRADDOCK on the back. I loved when Charlie wore a little version of my jersey when I played.

  She takes the little boy into her arms and lifts his chubby arm, helping him wave to his dad. Jude skates to a stop in front of them, makes a goofy face at his son, and I can see Sadie say something. Jude rolls his eyes at his sister, but he’s smiling and his wife is laughing. Sadie looks down at the child and nuzzles his cheek. It makes him giggle, and she grins. She’s perfect. The thought floods me.

  I tear my eyes away from her as the horn sounds, signaling the end of the warm-up. I force myself to leave the box without looking back at her. I make my way down to the locker room and talk over some strategy with Noah and try to gauge his nerves. As soon as we’re on the same page and he’s feeling confident, I leave. I turn to walk toward the elevators, trying to focus on the game ahead and not my personal issues. It feels like an impossible task. And as if the Universe is trying to prove my point, Eli’s voice booms down the cavernous hallway.

  “Sully!”

  I turn and find Eli, in a suit, standing next to Dixie. And next to her is Sadie. She’s staring back at me with those beautiful light blue eyes. Her expression is indifferent, though, and that kind of stings. I don’t know what I expected; after all, I shut us down before we even began.

  “Hey, Eli.” I nod. “Coming up to the box? Hello, Dixie. Sadie.”

  Dixie waves. Sadie pauses a moment. “Hi, Griffin.”

  Eli’s dark brown eyes pinch for a minute, but then he smiles. “Right! You met Sadie at the hospital.”

  “Yes,” I reply, and my eyes move back to her. The air is heavy between us with unsaid things, and Eli seems to be picking up on it as his brow furrows again. Sadie snaps the tension with a simple shrug of her shoulders. “I’m going into the lounge. Later!”

  Dixie kisses Eli’s cheek, waves at me again, and follows her sister.

  I stare after them until I can’t see Sadie anymore. Eli, still looking confused, says, “Ready to head upstairs?”

  I nod because, whether I like it or not, that’s all I can do. Following Sadie into the family lounge, pressing her up against the bar, and kissing her isn’t an option.

  Three periods later, the game is over, and San Diego is going home with the win. Overall, though, it wasn’t a bad game. At least not from my perspective. Noah let in only one goal. Our offense didn’t score any. That’s on them, not the goalie. I kept wanting to head down to the lounge between periods and talk to Sadie, but I forced myself not to. It wouldn’t do any good.

  In the elevator on my way down to the players’ level, I get a text from Lauren. She’s complaining that Charlie keeps asking for a dog, and she accuses me of letting her think she might get one. I take a deep breath and hold it as long as I can without suffocating. Is this woman for real? I call her as the elevator opens and I step out. She answers on the first ring.

  “What?”

  “I haven’t been encouraging the dog obsession. But you know how focused she gets,” I say as calmly as I can. “I promise I’ll explain to her why it’s not a good idea.”

  “And stop taking her to the dog park.”

  “It’s a regular park next to a dog park, and it’s the closest one to the boat,” I tell her. “We can walk there, and she also likes watching the skateboarders on the ramps there.”

  “That only encourages her to want a skateboard. You have to discourage that too, Griffin,” Lauren lectures. “She’s only six.”

  “Lauren, you’re being a bit…” I search for a word that won’t send her into a fit. “Much.”

  “You want co-parenting? This is co-parenting,” Lauren snaps.

  “No, this is you micromanaging your ex-husband,” I shoot back. “You didn’t even do that when we were married. What the hell is going on with you?”

  “I’m annoyed, Griffin,” Lauren complains. She pauses, and I think we might actually be getting somewhere. “I’m divorced, but yet you’re still in my life almost daily. How can I move on when you’re always around? It’s frustrating.”

  Okay, even though I have zero romantic feelings for her, that stings. We promised each other when we decided to divorce that we’d make sure we both stayed in Charlie’s life. I accepted that meant that Lauren stayed in my life as well to a small extent, but, clearly, she hasn’t accepted it—at least not anymore, and that makes me feel shitty.

  “Okay, well, I can’t do anything about that,” I say flatly. “Charlie is both of ours and will always be.”

  “But she’ll be happier when I’m happier, and that means changing this agreement,” Lauren replies, and my whole body is buzzing with anger.

  “She’s perfectly happy now. If you’re not, figure it out,” I snap.

  “I am. See you in court!”

  The line goes dead. Frustration twists my stomach and turns my blood hot. Why is she doing this? I could list a ton of Lauren’s personality faults, as she could mine, but being irrational or mean for the sake it was never one of them.

  I’m storming down the hallway now, sti
ll staring at my phone screen in a blind, confused rage, so I don’t see someone opening the door and stepping into my path. “Whoa!” is all I hear seconds before I feel someone collide with me. She grabs my jacket lapels as she teeters backward, and I instinctively grab her elbows, my phone clattering to the ground between us.

  I realize it’s Sadie, and suddenly instead of letting her go when she regains her balance, I keep my hand on her elbow. When she takes a step back, it slips to her wrist and then, for a brief moment our fingers tangle, but then all contact is gone.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” I tell her.

  “Yeah. It’s fine,” Sadie replies curtly. “Later.”

  “How are you?” I ask as she’s about to turn to leave. She doesn’t move except to lift her head to bring her gaze to mine.

  “You look fucking spectacular in a suit,” she tells me, and I’m shocked by her candor. “It’s like you’re Giorgio Armani’s muse or something. Does he have you stand in his studio and design that thing for you specifically or what?”

  “No.” I smile. “But I’m flattered.”

  “You’re hard not to notice…whether I like it or not.”

  “You’re pretty hard to miss yourself,” I tell her. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you during warm-up when I should’ve been watching the players.”

  Her eyelashes flutter. “I’m not even wearing Armani. My outfit is Target.”

  She’s trying to make a joke, but I’m not in a laughing mood.

  “It’s more than what you’re wearing. I noticed the way you let your nephew play with your hair without worrying if he messed it up. The smile on your face as you said something to Jude through the glass.” I pause and watch the words really sink in. And just in case that isn’t enough to make her blush, I tell her more. “You remind me of a wildflower. Beautiful, delicate, but strong and wild.”

  Her whole face explodes into a shade of pink that I wanted. It somehow makes her even more beautiful. But she won’t hold my gaze, instead staring at the small space of blue concrete floor between us. “I should go.”