Page 21 of Slew Foot
“That’s what most of us call Connor’s mother.”
“What do they call his dad?” Rafe asked.
“Declan. He said he’s still one of the boys.”
Rafe laughed softly. The man was in the hall of fame for fuck’s sake. But maybe once a player, always a player.
“Anything else I should know?” Rafe asked.
“Finn O’Shea and his wife, Jenna, will probably be there with their kids, along with Pat and his wife, Aubrey, and their kids.”
“Even though they’re no longer with the team?” Rafe frowned, pretty sure he wasn’t going to remember all their names.
“They’ve always been very involved, but,” Mickey said, dropping his voice as they walked through the doors. “Finn just got hired as president of hockey operations. They announced it to the team shortly before you arrived. The public doesn’t know yet though.”
“Huh,” Rafe said. He did vaguely remember doing a toast to that last night.
Mickey retrieved his keys from the valet, unlocking a silver car. Rafe squeezed himself into the passenger seat.
“I hope I didn’t embarrass myself too much last night,” Rafe said when Mickey fell silent, focused on pulling away from the hotel and easing into traffic.
“Other than when you danced on the tables, no,” Mickey said, his glance flicking toward Rafe.
He gaped at Mickey. “What? I don’t remember …”
He fell silent when Mickey’s shoulders began to shake.
“You asshole. You’re fucking with me.” He shoved at Mickey’s shoulder, making the car swerve a little.
Someone beside them honked.
“I am.” Mickey’s lips twitched but he focused back on the road. “You were fine last night. You had a few drinks and were dead on your feet. I got us a ride share to the hotel, got you upstairs and tucked in bed, then went home to my place.”
“Oh.” Rafe let out a relieved sigh. “Sorry if I, uh, stripped down in front of you or anything.”
Mickey shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. I was just glad you were able to take care of that yourself. Didn’t want to … cross a line.”
“No, you’re good,” Rafe said, feeling grateful. “And thanks for the water and sports drink and hanging up my suit and everything.”
“How hungover are you?”
Rafe shrugged. “Not very. I think I’m mostly still tired.” As if to prove it, he yawned widely.
Mickey chuckled. “I know the feeling and I didn’t even have the twenty-four hours prior you did.”
“It was a long, long trip to Boston,” Rafe said with a heavy sigh.
“But you’re here now,” Mickey said, his voice soft.
“I am.” Rafe leaned his head against the window and sighed again, watching his new home flash by.
Mickey found a spot along the street a few houses down from the O’Sheas’ red-brick townhouse, parked, then struck out at a quick walk, Rafe on his heels. Although they weren’t the first people to arrive, he doubted they were the last either.
“It’s nice the O’Sheas do this,” Rafe said as they approached the front door.
“It is,” Mickey agreed.
While most teams had a married captain, whose wife or—Mickey supposed, now that the league was a bit more open, husband—hosted events, Connor’s parents seemed to be the ones who did that. From what the guys had said, it had been that way for a long time.
