Page 2 of His Greatest Treasure

I swallow a laugh. “I was thinking of wearing one of Dad’s old ones.”

Jamie’s scowl is deeply etched, and the urge to laugh grows at how ridiculous he looks when he’s annoyed. “You’re not wearing a hockey jersey to my football game, asshole.”

“Why not?”

“Oliver,” Dad warns, but there’s no heat behind it.

Our father, Tyler Bateman, was one of the best defensemen on the Vancouver Warriors NHL team back in the day. He played there for a long damn time before retiring in his forties. I use his career to bug Jamie more often than I probably should.

We all expected him to follow in Dad’s footsteps when he was a kid playing both hockey and football, but when he was forced to choose once he got older, he chose football without a second thought.

Myself, on the other hand, I played hockey until I was eighteen, but it was more just to give myself something to do after school and over the weekends. I never loved the sport and didn’t have it in me to give any others a try. Being a firefighter is my passion, and my entire family has always supported that.

“I obviously own your jersey, Jamieson,” I tell him.

His scowl disappears in a blink. “Damn right you do.”

“You’ll have an entire row of people wearing number seventy-seven, sweetheart,” Mom soothes.

I finish off my glass of water and push my plate up the table so I have room to lean my elbows against it. Steepling my fist beneath my chin, I meet my mom’s stare. “Was there a reason you were asking about my schedule?”

She hums, nodding. “Yes. Registration is closing soon for fall dance classes, and I wanted to see if you’d be able to be there for the last day. I’m expecting a few stragglers to come in, and you always sell the place so well.”

“You don’t need anyone to sell the studio, Mom. It sells itself at this point,” I say.

“That’s sweet of you, honey.”

“Suck-up,” Jamie mutters beneath his breath.

I kick his shin, shutting him up. “I’ve got Sunday open. I can come by then.”

Dad tips his chin approvingly at me. “Good man.”

“I bet you’d sell the studio better if you had Jamie and the team set up outside. They could host a shirtless car wash,” I suggest with a smug smile.

Jamie considers me for a moment before smacking the table with his palm. “That’s actually not a bad idea. It’s scorching outside this summer. I could chat with Sarah about it.”

“You boys are too good to me,” Mom sighs, her eyes beginning to glisten. My skin tightens over my bones uncomfortably as the tears begin to fall. “Oh, fucking hell. Here I go.”

Jamie laughs at her foul mouth. We heard every curse wordunder the sun all throughout our lives. Dad’s never been able to censor himself.

I’ve never been good with tears, maybe because I saw them so rarely growing up. The moment I do, I lock up tight, and my protective instincts scream in outrage.

Dad’s quick to rub her arm, his mouth grazing her cheek while he swipes her tears away. “They aren’t too good to you. They’re doing what you deserve, Gray.”

The shortened version of my mom’s name, Gracie, has always been used more often than not by everyone but Jamie and me. She’s just Mom to us.

“We’ve got your back, Mom,” Jamie promises with a shove of his hand over his floppy blond hair that’s so similar to hers.

The movement makes him look just as boyish as his personality is to match. Fitted with the same steel-blue eyes as her, they share a resemblance that’s hard to miss. So opposite of my resemblance to my father’s black hair and brown eyes.

“Yeah, we do,” I say in agreement.

Mom sniffles and straightens, pushing back the swell of emotion that had tugged her under. “Thank you. I know that the studio has taken up a lot of our time over the years, but it seems I can’t let it go just yet.”

Dad frowns. “You don’t have to let it go ever if you don’t want to.”

I grunt. “It’s your legacy. Keep it forever.”

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