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But being here and not being with Astrid? He could take a puck to his bare face, but he couldn’t do that.
“I’m good as a goalie coach,” Cal said, not sure who he was trying to convince.
“You’re fucking great,” Blackburn said, all of the you’re-a-fool snark gone from his tone. “And if going to the Yeti is what you want, then happy trails, man. I mean that.”
Hockey had been Cal’s sole focus for nearly his entire life and even more so after his injury. No, he wouldn’t ever get back in the net, but he was still in the game, still relevant, still a part of the team on an elite level. It was and always had been all he’d ever dreamed about.
So why did getting exactly what he wanted feel so fucking wrong?
Because it was.
He looked down at his beer as the smell of cheeseburgers wafted off the grill and the rest of his life unfolded in front of him like he was watching a play develop at center ice. And he knew—just knew right down to his toes—what he needed to do to win the game.
“I need your help,” Cal said to Blackburn.
“About fucking time,” Blackburn said with a dramatic sigh. “I know you were a goalie and all, and you guys are weird as hell, but I didn’t think you would take so long to figure it out. For fuck’s sake, I was really starting to believe you were going to take that Yeti job instead of buying that damn pub.”
“How did you—” But Cal stopped mid-question because it didn’t matter. All that counted from here on out was making a new life here in Harbor City so that when Astrid was ready for him, he’d be there for her—just like he’d always be.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Abruptly woken from a dream that involved talking breakfast waffles, Cal, and no clothes, Astrid shuffled to her front door and checked the peephole, half filled with hope that he was the one pounding on her door like the world was about to end.
She should have known better.
Mrs. Duffy stood in the hallway holding a grocery bag and wearing a snarly expression.
Astrid slid a glance over to her microwave. It wasn’t even seven in the morning—definitely too early to deal with whatever had pissed off her neighbor.
“I know you’re there,” Mrs. Duffy said, leaning in close to the door so that her right eyeball took up most of the peephole’s view. “If you’re gonna try to peek out with the stealth, don’t block the light coming from the bottom of the door.” She let out a huff of frustration. “Do I have to tell you everything?”
The woman wasn’t going to go anywhere until she got to say whatever was on her mind. She knew it. Astrid knew it. Every single tenant in the building who’d ever looked out their own peephole and saw the grumpy old woman on the other side knew what it meant when Mrs. Duffy showed up—complaints, yes, plural, were about to be filed.
Astrid let out a sigh, turned the deadbolt, and opened the door. “Morning, Mrs. Duffy.”
“I notice you didn’t put the good in front of morning,” the older woman said with an approving nod. “Glad to see you’re already getting with the program.”
After a week of either not sleeping or actually sleeping but dreaming of Cal and then dealing with the crushing disappointment to waking up without him, Astrid was too tired to pretend to understand what the older woman was talking about. “The program?”
“Yeah, the Be Your Own Bitch program,” Mrs. Duffy said, emphasizing each word with a tap of her cane. “Now, are you going to invite me in or do I need to do my mentoring out in the hall?”
“Mentoring?” Astrid asked, her brain still not online.
One of Mrs. Duffy’s jet-black, penciled-in eyebrows went up. “Did you become a parrot since the last time we talked?”
“No.” She rubbed her temples. It was really too damn early for this. “I just don’t understand.”
“Which is exactly why I’m here.” Mrs. Duffy squeezed past Astrid and inside the apartment where she stopped in the middle of the living room and did a slow circle. “Not bad for a start. Could use more half-dead plants and a litterbox or two—don’t worry, you don’t have to have an actual cat for it to work.”
Okay, this was not about her still sleep-thick brain. Mrs. Duffy was straight up not making sense. She closed her door and took a few steps toward the island where her phone was because she needed to call Nola and let her know her aunt was having an episode of some kind.
“How about I give Nola a call real quick?” she said as she picked up her cell. “Or is there someone else I can call for you? A friend or relative?”
The older woman snorted and swiped the phone out of Astrid’s hands with much quicker reflexes than expected. “No, and that is exactly the point, but don’t worry—with my help, you’ll get there, too, in your new life—without that horrible man.”
Annoyance starting to crowd out concern, Astrid held out her hand for her phone. “Mrs. Duffy, I’ve been doing just fine without Tig for five years now.”
“Tig, shmims.” The older woman rolled her eyes and didn’t make a move to give back the phone. “I’m talking about the other one—Cal.” Leaning on her cane, she shuffled over to the couch and sat down, still clutching the cell in her arthritic hand. “He’s the dangerous kind. I knew one like him once. I fell head over heels in love with him and thought I’d spend the rest of my life with him—and the bastard just up and left me.”
