Page 66 of Home Ice

Me:

Guess I’ll work on that.

Barrett:

Don’t. It’s one of the things I like about you.

I stare at the words, letting them wrap around me and fill me with, well, something that just feels good. I want to prod at the feeling, maybe mention that he makes me feel good, but I force myself to move on.

Me:

How is your dad?

Barrett:

According to him, perfectly fine. He was cooking dinner when I got home.

Me:

Anything nice?

Barrett:

Yes, tacos, but that’s not the point. The point is that he was cooking. He hasn’t done that in years. And now he wants to work. And the other day he came out and helped me weed the garden.

Me:

Okay, you’re coming across as panicky but those sound like good things? Aren’t they?

Barrett:

Is it okay if I call?

Always. It’s always okay if he calls. Instead of telling him that, I hit the Call button instead.

“Hey,” comes his raspy voice down the line.

“You do know that’s what phones are for, right? To call people?”

“I didn’t know if you’d turned into one of those guys who never answers.”

“Not me.” I relax back against my pillows, free hand tucked behind my head as I hold my phone to my ear with the other. “I went through a short period where I stopped answering, but that’s because I had my number leaked during an away trip. It was a full schedule, so I waited until I got home to change my number and ignored any incoming calls.”

“Who the fuck would leak your number?” He sounds exactly as pissed as he should.

“I think it was someone I met on a night out. Most fans are amazing, but some of them …” I pull a face, thinking of the ones who cross all boundaries. They see us as products of entertainment instead of the real people we are. Thankfully, I don’t get a whole lot of it, but the signs I’ve seen for Lachie during warm-ups some games … I don’t understand how hard it is just to enjoy the sport. “It’s mostly harmless, but I’ve been followed home for an autograph before, and there are always fans who overstay their welcome at bars and try to tag along to the next place. Like, I never want to be rude to them, but it gets really awkward, really quickly.”

Barrett swears softly. “Followed you home?”

“Yeah … I think in their heads, they know they’re not going to cause trouble and that they’ll leave as soon as they get what they want, but there’s no way for me to know that. I signed their shit, but I didn’t like it.”

“Shit. Sorry. That’s not okay.”

“Eh. I thought we were talking about you.”

“We were, until I found out you have literal stalkers.”

I laugh at how worked up he sounds. I don’t see them as stalkers. More that they have too much enthusiasm and a real lack of self-awareness. “Tell me about your dad.”