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“Oh, that’s cool.”
She snorts before shaking her head.
“I’m glad you could come even for a little bit.” She stands to hug Eli and Lex, but doesn’t let go of Eli’s arm. “You went to Luxton right?”
My breath catches. No, please tell me she’s not going to—
“Sunny has an interview for a teaching position there this summer.”
“Really?” Eli turns to me with a smile. “That’s great. We loved going to Luxton—well, Lex only went there for two years, but he said the hockey team was pretty good. I liked my teachers overall, but . . .”
He trails off and I don’t know where I find the damn audacity to speak.
“I’ve worked for a private school before,” I start explaining, because I think I know where his mind went. “I know teaching the kids is always the easiest part of the job.”
Eli winces, maybe remembering some classmates’ parents who were extra . . . demanding. Hell, maybe he’s remembering his own parents.
“The kids can be assholes too,” he says. “But depending on what you want to teach—”
“Art,” I interrupt. “Apparently the elementary art teacher is retiring after—”
“Oh, Miss Greene is retiring?” Another alarm from his phone stops our conversation and he huffs in annoyance as he shuts it off and waves a hand around at Hannah. “Please send me his number so I can answer any and all questions you have. I’ll help in any way I can.”
The hours after are a whirlwind. I’m surprised by how supportive everyone is, asking genuinely about my work, the interview, and talking about the schools they’re sending their kids to, then about the pain-in-the-ass waiting lists in the tri-state area for the best schools.
They ask for my opinion, and they listen to my answers like they . . . like they believe I know what I’m talking about.
I find myself having to battle through the knot in my throat to keep talking normally, and hate how unusual—and yes, unnerving—I find their interest.
Then, as if they rehearsed it, suddenly every parent starts grabbing kids from the pool or the lawn where they were playing, and one by one they all leave. The players or couples without kids linger, helping out with the cleanup without anyone having to ask.
Rationally, I know they’re all mostly good people—everyone has their flaws—but the voice in the back of my brain keeps whispering that surely the other shoe is about to drop. Someone is going to snap at me to pick up after myself, that it’s the least I can do since they’re putting me up rent free, since they basically saved me.
No one does, but I’m jumpy even while I start scrubbing the grill along with Barry.
When the house is empty again and I feel some semblance of stability, I finally face Hannah with my sternest “you’re in trouble” expression.
“You didn’t tell me we were hosting freaking royalty,” I hiss, then hold up a hand before she can even think about talking yet. “You didn’t tell me you knew royalty. Fuck, Hannah. Lyla Storm’s son?”
She breaks out into a peal of laughter, and Barry just watches on, shaking his head.
“They’re not royalty,” she says between chuckles. “They’re just two boys, basically.”
I scoff, ready to tell her all the ways in which she’s wrong when Barry pipes up.
“Well, they are kind of royalty.” I’m about to thank him for agreeing but he starts to . . . gush? “Lex’s dad and brother both have amazing careers, multiple Stanley Cups and he calls Paul freaking Wayne uncle. Besides, Lex is an amazing player too.”
Hannah snorts and the smirk she aims at her husband is one I know well. She’s about to tease him to hell and back.
“Barry has a bro crush on little Lex.”
I can’t tamp down my snort at her calling Lex little. She’s like a foot shorter at the very least.
“I don’t,” Barry protests with a groan. “He’s just . . .”
The way he trails off with a sigh seems pretty longing, and this time Hannah and I both burst out laughing.
“You absolutely do. You go crazy for his stick handling, and you could write poetry about his edges if what I’ve heard you say before is any indication.”
