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She didn’t say anything, and Travis waited a beat, that cocky side of him oozing out of every pore. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Her eyes narrowed a bit. “I thought you were with Melanie Smith?”
“Nope.” He didn’t skip a beat. “So, eight o’clock.”
“I never said I’d go with you.”
“You will.” Travis wasn’t sure how he knew that, but his gut told him he’d just won some sort of battle, and he was feeling mighty good about it.
“You don’t know where I live.”
He paused at that. Shit. “What’s your address?”
The two of them stared at each other for a long time. Long enough for the little kids standing beside her to get antsy and for one of them to pull on her arm. The little guy had to pee and was gonna let it happen on the beach if she didn’t walk them back to camp.
She took his hand and turned away.
“Ruby.”
She was silent for a few more seconds and then turned slightly, offering him her profile again. His palms were sweaty; his blood roared in his ears. Shit, he felt like he did when a game was decided by a shootout and his team was up by one with a sharp shooter heading his way.
“First Ave. Last house on the right.
It was the beginning of the summer that changed his life.
* * *
“Son?”
Travis shook the memories from his mind and glanced to his right. God, when had his father gotten so old?
“You’re looking good,” he said, taking a few steps and offering John his hand. His father took it, but his grip was definitely shaky. He was pale, and though he’d been near death a while back and had made one hell of a recovery, his heart was still weak, and they all knew he was on borrowed time.
“I look like shit, and you know it.” John Blackwell had never been one to beat around the bush. “What’s this I hear about a young pup coming up through the ranks? There’s talk this O’Connor kid is after your position.”
Travis offered a tight smile. He didn’t feel like talking hockey with a father who’d barely made any of his junior games and had been to exactly three NHL ones. Three over a ten-year period.
“There’s always someone coming up. It’s good for the team. It’s what keeps us on our toes. Everyone is expendable. The smart ones realize that, and they work harder.”
“That why we haven’t seen you?” John asked. “You been working harder?”
This had to be some kind of record. Ten seconds in and he was already getting under Travis’s skin.
John sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Never mind,” he said gruffly. “Don’t mind an old man. We’re not always polite. We think age gives us the right to say things we probably shouldn’t.”
An awkward silence fell between them, and Travis finally broke it by offering up the bag in his hand. “I, ah… This is for you.”
John accepted the bag and carefully pulled out a slim black box. He shuffled over to the patio table and sat down before setting the box on his thighs. He stared down at the thing for a couple of seconds before opening it.
A lump formed in Travis’s throat and made it hard to swallow. His father’s hands were shaking, and damn but it was hard to hold on to all the bad things when the man responsible for most of it was so frail and old. He cleared his throat, or at least tried to, but the lump only got bigger at the smile that broke open on John’s face when he took out one of the cigars in the case and ran it under his nose.
“They’re Romeo & Julieta.”
His father nodded. “I see that.”
“I remembered you liked them.”
John looked up at Travis, and Travis was shocked to see tears in his father’s eyes. The last time he’d seen his father cry was the day they’d buried his mother.
