Breakout Play Page 2

  I slipped through the archway between the dining room and kitchen and went to the fridge to put my glass under the ice and water dispenser. As I filled it, I found myself smiling at the pictures attached to the fridge with magnets.

  There were three graduation pictures there: Keith’s, his sister Kim’s, and mine.

  It felt good to know someone else cared enough to have a picture of me on their fridge.

  But it also made me feel guilty. Ever since I had been drafted into the NHL, I’d drifted. I’d been warned it would happen by coaches and teammates and management alike, but their words of caution meant nothing to me. I was so sure nothing would change—so sure that I’d be able to maintain the relationship with the family that had saved me and balance my new career all at once.

  I’d failed. Miserably.

  My cup nearly overflowed. I pulled back and used the dish towel hanging from the handle on the stove to wipe the bit of spillage that ran down the front of the fridge. Then I put the towel back and took another moment to study the pictures.

  I found another one of myself and Keith when we were young boys and I still lived at home with my father. We were playing in Keith’s backyard. The trampoline we’d spent so much time on as kids was in the background, but we weren’t on it. Upon closer inspection, I could see that Kim was. She appeared to be lying on her back soaking in the sunshine. She must have only been eight or so at the time, making Keith and me ten. He and I wore big smiles in the picture. I was wearing a hockey jersey even then. I had a scab on my chin from a fall or some reckless thing I’d done. Keith had probably egged me on.

  “You get lost in there?” Keith called out to me.

  I smiled at the kid in the photograph before slipping out of the kitchen and joining the family. “Sorry. Got distracted looking at all the pictures on the fridge.”

  Liz watched me over her hands, which were clasped together in front of her with her elbows resting on the table. Her wedding ring looked freshly cleaned. It was a small, simple diamond set in a plain gold band. The Renwicks had never been the most affluent family, but they made ends meet, and they never complained about the weight of their wallets. “The pictures of you kids make me smile every day.”

  “She cries sometimes, too,” Roger added.

  Liz shot him a dark look. “I do not.”

  “Do too. I’ve seen it. Keith. Be honest. Have you ever caught your mother weeping over those old pictures?”

  Keith shook his head and then tilted it back to drain the contents of his wine glass. “Don’t look at me. I’m not getting involved.”

  “Smart boy,” Liz said. Then she narrowed her eyes at her husband. “You, on the other hand, are a troublemaker.”

  Roger pumped his eyebrows. “You love it.”

  She laughed softly and looked down. Somehow, after all these years, Roger still had the ability to make his wife blush. They flirted like high school kids, just like always. Liz got to her feet and collected the dishes. I stood to help, but Roger banished me and Keith to the living room to catch up while he helped his wife.

  I followed Keith into the living room at the front of the house. Most of the decor was the same, but the Renwicks had replaced their old gray sectional sofa with a matching cream leather set, complete with a full-sized sofa, love seat, and armchair. Keith took one corner of the sofa while I took a corner of the loveseat.

  “So what’s it like, man?” Keith asked.

  “What’s what like?”

  Keith rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You just got the biggest draft of your professional hockey career. The Blackhawks, man. That’s wild! How does it feel?”

  I shrugged, not really knowing how to put it into words. Up to this point, nobody had asked me what I was thinking or feeling about the whole thing. Every connection I had out in the world aside from the relationships under this roof were professional ones. “Honestly? I don’t know. It all still feels pretty surreal. The only thing I do know is it feels really good to be home.”

  Keith nodded knowingly. “I bet. You’ve been away for a long-ass time. We’ve missed you around here. And by ‘we’ I mostly mean Mom. She asks about you all the goddamn time. Got it in my head that she might love you more than she loves me.”

  I flashed him a smile. “Oh, she definitely does.”

  “Piss off.”

  “I’m just stating the truth.”

  Roger and Liz strode into the living room, and Liz cocked her head to the side as she regarded me curiously. “What truth is that?”

  “Nothing,” I said, stroking my chin.

  Keith shook his head. “He was claiming you love him more than me.”

  Liz smiled at me. “That’s supposed to be between you and me, William. No need to make the other children jealous.”

  Keith looked imploringly up at his father as Roger settled into his armchair by the living room window. He leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the blue and white floral printed footstool in front of him.

  “At least I know I’m Dad’s favorite,” Keith said confidently.

  Roger frowned. “I don’t know where you ever got that idea. If I had to choose a favorite, it would be Kim. Hands down.”

  I snorted.

  Keith looked back and forth between his parents. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”

  “You became an accountant,” I said flatly.

  Roger threw his head back with a great belly laugh. Liz hiccupped into her new glass of wine and had to wipe her nose with the inside of her wrist. Keith proceeded to glare at everyone in the room as keys sounded in the lock on the front door behind him. “You’re all bullies. You know that? Bullies.”

  The front door swung open.

  My attention flicked to the entranceway as Kimberly, Keith’s younger sister, came inside and closed the door with her hip. She was wearing a massive green sweater that she swam in, and she kicked off her sneakers and let her bag fall to the tiled floor behind Keith’s sofa. He turned and draped an arm over the back of the sofa.

  “How was practice, sis?”

  She knelt down out of sight and proceeded to unpack her bag. “Not bad. Little Drew had a good turnout. She’s doing pretty well. I might recommend to her father that we bump her up a year next season. I think she could hold her own against the older girls and they’d give her that extra push she needs.”

  “Drew Dunmoore, right?” Keith asked.

  Kim popped back up and raked her fingers through her shoulder-length cropped black hair. It was a bit disheveled, probably from wearing her helmet. “Yeah. She’s hit a growth spurt too so she’s a bit bigger than the others. We can play that to her advantage if—”

  Kim abruptly stopped talking. She’d locked eyes with me, and her mouth was still open, forming the words that never escaped.

  Keith gave his sister a wry grin. “Oh yeah. Forgot to mention. William is here.”

  She blinked at me. “Uh. Um. Hi, William.”

  I got to my feet and offered her a grin that I hoped would take away the shell-shocked look on her pretty face. “Long time no see, Kimwick.”

  3

  Kimberly

  William Hughes was taller than I remembered. And wider. And hotter.

  And he was walking over to me.

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  A thousand questions raced through my mind as he crossed the living room rug and moved toward me, his arms lifting from his sides in preparation for a hug.

  Did I smell bad after practice?

  Was my hair a mess?

  Did I look like I was in pain?

  Did he know about my surgery?

  He’d better not give me any pity, I thought bitterly as I tried to slap a half-assed smile on my face and meet his hug with one of my own.

  Yep. He was definitely bigger. And… firmer.

  William gave me a tight hug. I found myself crushed between his thick chest and strong arms and I inhaled a deep scent of him—rosewood and mint. Had he not let me go and stepped b
ack I might have held on longer just to get a few more whiffs of him. I’d never met a man who smelled as good as William. Even when he was nineteen and I was seventeen I’d gotten caught up in the way he smelled… among other things.

  He’d been a looker then.

  Now he was… well… still a looker. But on a much higher scale.

  I caught my mother smiling wryly at me over the rim of her wine glass. I put more distance between William and me and cleared my throat. “What are you doing here, Will? We haven’t seen you in what, three years? Even that was a short-lived summer barbeque.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, dipping his chin down. His dark brown hair fell over his hazel eyes and he peered up at me from beneath his hooded brow. “I know. I’m ashamed I didn’t come around more often.”

  “Don’t mind Kimberly,” Keith said, getting to his feet and coming to drape an arm around William’s shoulders. “She’s never complained once about you not coming around. She’s just giving you a hard time.”

  “Not even once, Kimwick?” William pouted.

  “Don’t call me that,” I said.

  “Come on. Not even for old times’ sake?”

  “No. Never. I haven’t been called that since—”

  “Three years ago?” he finished for me with a cheeky smile.

  “Yes.”

  He knuckled me gently in the shoulder. Actually knuckled me. Like a bro to a bro. I tried to keep my eyebrows from knitting together and resisted the urge to rub my shoulder. “So how are things?” he asked.

  How are things?

  Gee. Things were great. Just great. I was coaching little league and working part time at an ice rink while all my other friends were taking steps forward in their lives. I was living at home because my knee surgery required some hands-on support and I couldn’t bear to leave that to my roommates, Eugene and Jade. I had no future in hockey anymore. I was bitter and resentful. And now, after a long day, I was trying to keep it together before the Chicago Blackhawks’ newest player.

  I let out a nervous laugh. “Things are great. And you? You finally got your dream team.” I knuckled him back. Hard. “Congrats.”

  William didn’t have any shame. He massaged his arm where I’d hit him. “Thanks. It’s a bit of a trip. Still doesn’t feel like it’s really happening, you know? But I’m glad to be back.”

  “And here,” I said. “Back in the house.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I flew in late this afternoon and called your folks. Would you believe I remembered the house phone number?”

  I scoffed. “Yeah. Well. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my parents even have a house phone. They’re still living in two thousand three.”

  My father piped up in the living room. He was sitting sipping a glass of wine in his favorite armchair. “Hey now, there isn’t anything wrong with appreciating the simple things. Speaking of which, there’s some spaghetti keeping warm on the stove for you, Kim.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I brushed past William, who turned sideways to let me pass. I hoped nobody noticed my limp and I did my best to hide it, moving slowly, feigning sore muscles from practice. Nobody seemed to catch on and I was left alone to stand in front of the stove, lift the lid off the pot, and breathe in the rich aromas of my mother’s classic spaghetti sauce. Garlic and spice filled my nose and my eyes practically rolled back in my head as I gave it a quick stir. Within minutes I had a bowl in hand with a heavy helping of pasta steaming in it. I brought it and a large glass of water into the living room and took a seat in the opposite corner of the sofa from my brother, who was laughing at something William had just said.

  “In all honesty it’s been a great experience so far,” William said. He picked at a thread on his jeans. “I’ve met so many incredible people and learned a lot in a short amount of time. I’ve never been on top of my game like this. It’s pretty incredible. The NHL is no cakewalk.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  “What does this mean for you now?” My mother peered at William through the lenses of her glasses. That was a telltale sign that she was at least three glasses of wine in. My mom wasn’t a big drinker, but when she was celebrating something she had a tendency to go a little overboard, and I knew she was over the moon to have William back in the house. “Are you going to live in Chicago?”

  “Yes,” William said. “I have some appointments with my realtor to view some places over the next couple weeks.”

  “You should have told us you needed a realtor. We could have connected you with ours,” my father said.

  William smiled graciously. God. He had a nice smile. And such nice teeth for a hockey player. “Thanks, Roger. I appreciate it. But I promised a friend I’d use her to purchase a place if I ever came back to Chicago.”

  My mother leaned forward in her seat. Her red wine sloshed dangerously close to the edge of her glass. “Where are you going to stay while you hunt for a place?”

  “The team has put me up in a hotel. Nothing fancy, but it’s got the basics. Small kitchen, comfortable bed, nice view. Can’t complain, really.”

  My mother looked at my father, who looked back.

  I groaned. I knew what was coming before the words started tumbling out of my mother’s mouth.

  “That just won’t do, William,” she said. “Come now. Do you really want to spend weeks, maybe even months, alone in a little hotel room? Why don’t you stay with us? It will be like old times. Just temporary, of course.”

  “Mom,” I said sharply.

  “What?” Her eyebrows rose as she sipped her wine.

  I afforded William a polite smile and hoped he didn’t think I was being rude. Then I turned back to my mom. “Maybe William wants to be in a hotel. It grants certain freedoms. You know what I mean?”

  Apparently she did not. Because she waved her hand dismissively and said, “Nonsense. Why shouldn’t he want to stay here? William. Do you want to stay here?”

  He blinked at her. “Uh-”

  “You can stay in Keith’s old bedroom.”

  “So much more glamorous than a hotel,” I muttered.

  Keith crossed his leg so his ankle rested on his knee and shot me a menacing, brotherly look. “Kimwick’s just not keen on the idea of sharing a bedroom wall with you, Will.”

  I stuck my tongue out at my brother at the exact moment that William turned to me. I sucked it back into my mouth and proceeded to eat my spaghetti as William frowned. “You’re living back at the house?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  It was obvious that he wanted to ask me why. He did not. Instead he looked at my mother. “I’d actually love to take you up on your offer, Liz. I’ve spent a lot of nights in hotels over the last six years. Having someplace familiar to come home to at the end of the day would be a really nice change of pace. So long as it’s not a burden on you, of course.”

  My mother nearly leapt out of her chair with excitement. “Really? You’re sure I’m not pressuring you into it?”

  He shook his head. “Positive. I’d love to stay if you’ll have me.”

  My mother popped up out of her chair. “I’ll go fix the bed for you and turn down the room. Only the best for William Hughes in this house.”

  I massaged my temples.

  William grimaced. “Please don’t put yourself out on my behalf. I don’t need anything special. Just a bed and a pillow will do the trick.”

  Roger arched an eyebrow. “Don’t bother trying to talk her out of it, William. You know how she gets. Any excuse to play hostess and she’s all over it like icing on a cake. You’ve made her night.”

  “Really?” William asked.

  “Really,” me, my father, and my brother all said in unison.

  My mother hurried around the back of the sofa and made for the stairs, which creaked under every hurried step she took. She was muttering under her breath as she went about all the things she had to do: put on fresh sheets, dust, set out a basket of guest items, and start the oil diffuser.<
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  William watched her go and then his eyes slid to me. “Huh. All right then. Guess we’re roommates again, hey Kimwick?”

  I glowered at him. “Quit calling me that.”

  “It suits you,” he said.

  “I don't like it.”

  “But I do.”

  “So do I,” my dad added.

  I sighed over my bowl of nearly gone spaghetti. “The pair of you are insufferable.”

  4

  William

  “It’s kind of a witchy nickname, don’t you think?” Keith joked as he reached across the middle cushion of the sofa and prodded me. “And Kim’s always been a bit of a witch in her own way. All bitter and short and wearing black clothes all the time.”

  Kimberly gave her older brother a deadpan glare that could have frozen ice. “Keep talking, big man. I’ll show you some real witchy spells. With my foot. In your balls.”

  I chuckled.

  Roger held up his hands and got to his feet. “I think that’s my cue. I’m going to go help your mother. Kim. Try not to murder anyone while I’m gone?”

  She smiled sweetly at her father. “No promises.”

  He kissed her cheeks and ruffled her hair like he used to when she was a kid. As soon as he was up the stairs she smoothed it down again and pointed a warning finger at Keith. “Don’t. He does it to you, too.”

  “I’m a dude.”

  “So?”

  Keith looked at me like he expected me to help him. I looked at the ceiling. Experience reminded me it was unwise to insert myself in between the Renwick siblings when they were arguing. “Don’t look at me. I’m not bailing you out of this.”

  “At least one of you has some common sense,” Kim said. “Shocking it’s the one with two concussions under his belt. What’s that say about you, Keith?”

  Keith grabbed his chest. “Ouch, sis. Low blow. Low blow.”

  She shrugged like her job here was done and got to her feet. “You two have a good night. I’m going out. There’s officially way too much testosterone in this room for me to handle.” She swept around the sofa and made for the stairs.