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“For sure.”
We flank Brody while he takes selfies.
“You’re gonna be eighteen soon, right?” Flip asks while Brody posts a photo.
He sets his phone on the bench. “Yeah. Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Next year we’ll take you to the bar to celebrate, show you a real good time.” Flip winks.
Brody looks to me like he’s unsure.
“Your version of a real good time won’t win any points with our dad,” I say. “But we can definitely take Brody out for dinner and feed him too many beers.”
“There’s always booze at hockey parties. It’s not like I’ve never been drunk before,” Brody gripes.
I’m not surprised. I was drinking at parties at his age, but I worry about what he’s getting himself into.
The kids show up. I brought my Polaroid so we can autograph pictures and add them to the swag bags.
We spend the next two hours on the ice. It’s great to see Brody with these kids. He’s a natural, and they adore him. And he’s a skilled teacher. Flip is good at encouraging the kids and giving Brody pointers on how to help them.
Halfway through, a few girls show up to watch.
“Looks like you got some fans.” Flip tips his head to the group sitting on the bench.
They look like they’re ready for the club, not watching hockey. And they’re a bit of a distraction for the kids on the ice.
Brody mutters an expletive under his breath but spins it into fudge. He gives them a tight-lipped smile and waves but refocuses his attention on the kids. It’s good to see he’s got his priorities straight. For now.
At the end of our practice, we pass out the swag bags and take a team photo before we hit the locker room. Brody is hickey free this time, but when we pass through the lobby, the girls are waiting around for him. A dark-haired girl breaks rank and rushes over to throw her arms around his neck. He gives her his cheek when she tries to kiss him.
A girl with strawberry-blonde hair stares uncomfortably at her feet. She’s wearing a hoodie with the name of Brody’s high school on it.
Brody introduces us, and it isn’t until after we sign a few napkins and give them leftover swag that Lana, the girl who’s all over my brother, asks if he’s going to the party this weekend. He’s noncommittal about it, saying he has games and homework, but maybe if he can swing it.
“Got yourself some real fangirls, eh?” Flip says once the girls leave.
Brody stuffs his hands in his pockets. “The one who was all over me is that girl I told you about.”
“The pushy one?” I ask.
He nods. “And Enid, the redhead, is the one I like. Liked. It’s just awkward, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”
I clap him on the shoulder. I wish I had some advice, but my relationship history isn’t great. Realistically, if he’s drafted, he’ll end up playing for a university team before he gets called up. The attention he gets now will only compound. But I don’t tell him that. “I’m sorry, Brody. It’s a shitty position to be in for sure.” I invite him out for a bite to eat, hoping I can get him to open up more about the situation. But he has a school project, so I drive him to his friend’s house instead.
“He’s a good kid, eh?” Flip observes as Brody waves goodbye.
“Yeah, he is.” I’m worried about that girl who won’t back off. He doesn’t seem comfortable with her, and she seems clueless about it. “I don’t think he’s ready for what it’ll be like if he makes the pros.”
“He’s solid on the ice,” Flip observes. “A few years playing university level and he’ll be ready for the pros.”
I’m about to tell him that’s not what I meant, but I decide to leave it alone. Flip doesn’t mind the attention. And for a while, I was right there with him. But now I see what Hemi meant about consequences, and not just with my brother, but with Bea, too. That Stacey situation was shitty. I hated everything about it. And then there was Essie’s visit. I know Bea needs time with her, but it made me hyperaware of how much I wish I could touch her just to touch. It’s too risky with Flip around, though.
After practice, Flip and some of the guys suggest going out for dinner, but I tell them I have plans to meet my dad.
What I actually do is drive across town and get everything ready for my night with Bea before I pick her up from work. When she comes out of her office building, she’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s overcast, and she rushes to the car, throwing herself inside and sliding down.
“What are you doing?”
“Being incognito. You drive an expensive, flashy car.”
