Page 52 of Whirlwind
“Why?” Lottie asks before I even have the last of my words out.
“She’s new to relationships.” I shrug, playing it off as if it isn’t a big deal. I don’t want her interrogated by my sister, who isn’t the best at reading social cues. Nor do I want my family to scrutinize her all night. “Hasn’t really dated much.”
“But she’s not a kid?”
“No, Dad. She’s a couple of years younger than me, is all.”
“So, my age?”
“Yes, Lot. I think you two will get along great.”
“Does she know I’m neurodivergent?”
“She does, you can be yourself with her.”
“Okay,” Lottie says, biting her bottom lip. She gets nervous about new people, but less so when she knows she doesn’t have to explain her ticks. Her confidence grows all the time, but I long for the day that it doesn’t weigh on her like an anchor.
“We’ll be sure to chat with her at the game,” my dad says.
“And try to pay her less attention than Isla and Sadie,” my mom says.
“It shouldn’t be weird,” I say. “Kit is Willa’s best friend; she’s practically a Cole herself.”
“That’s wonderful,” she says. “But you aren’t exactly versed on the ways of women, so I’ll evaluate the situation myself.”
She smiles at me as if she’s calling me a silly boy.
“Thanks for having my back.”
“Always, Ty. You’re my favorite son, after all.”
“He’s your only son,” Lottie says, brows furrowed.
“Precisely,” Mom says, then takes another bite of her omelet.
They got in early this morning while I was at practice. After feeding them, I’ll get them settled at the hotel before heading home to prepare for tonight’s game—which includes a nap and maybe some video games.
Athletes are all different. Some hyperfocus on an upcoming game. Others, like me, do better if we don’t think about it until we’re in the arena, suiting up. I usually arrive an hour or two before call time so I can look at the other team’s updated stats. Not all players care about that kind of thing. I do. I like to know who my opponent is and what their strengths are.
The coaches will give us plenty of information beforehand, and on the fly as they relay plays. But I like having something to sink my teeth into and mull over while I’m taping my stick. It’s a ritual for me, and I don’t fuck with my routine.
Mom and Lottie have enough planned for the day to sufficiently drive my dad crazy. If I had to guess, he’ll end up parked at a bar with a beer while the women prowl every inch of Pike Place Market.
By the time I drop them at their hotel, Lottie already has their afternoon fully mapped out—down to where they’ll eat lunch. She’s food-driven when she travels. Just like me, she wants to try the best or most unique things the area has to offer. I’m a little bummed I can’t hang out and experience it all with her.
I’ve always loved watching her try new things—whether with exuberance or trepidation. She doesn’t hide her feelings about anything, and I find it refreshing—her lack of pretense, her refusal to be polite just for politeness’ sake. It’s one of the reasons I think being a father would be fun—kids are mostly the same way. Lottie just hasn’t lost that as she’s aged.
There are times when I’m with Kit that I feel like I haven’t lost it, either. Which should be a good thing, but there’s a pit in my stomach telling me I’m going to fuck this up if I’m not careful.
“How many are you missing?”
“Five, now, thanks to last season,” Letty says. “The guys all say their teeth are safe as long as I’m still on the team.” He smiles so I can see the wide gaps.
“Damn, dude. I’ve never even heard of a player missing that many.”
“I am one of a fucking kind,” he says, then puts his flipper in. A lot of guys won’t play while wearing their bridge, for fear of damaging it. But Letty looks like a horror show without it, so I get why he does.
“That’s the fucking truth,” Wallin says. “Poor shithead, don’t know how you’ll ever get a woman.”
