Page 16 of Three Pucking Words
“For fucks sake,” I mumble to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Henderson is going to get a fucking laugh out of this once when he hears.
*
I’ve been toErikson’s house too many times to count over the years, but this is the first time I’m reluctant to walk inside. Normally, I’m with the team when we come for dinner or parties, and we walk right inside like we own the place. That’s what Sylvia and Coach have always told us to do.
Tonight, it feels like I’m invading their personal space. Not just theirs—Honor’s. Even though they invited me, it feels like I’m popping an intimate bubble I have no right to be in.
But that doesn’t stop me from bringing Sylvia’s favorite wine and ringing the doorbell dressed in my cleanest pair of jeans andplaid button-down. I even throw my hair up and out of my face in a man bun that the guys give me constant shit for. I’d like to think they’re just jealous since most of them have boring buzz cuts, cowlicks, or receding hairlines.
Sylvia answers the door with one hand on her hip. “You know you can come in whenever you’d like, Bodhi. You don’t need to wait out here.”
I extend the bottle of red wine to her. “It’s considered polite not to storm into people’s houses.”
The middle-aged woman smiles warmly. “I don’t recall a time that’s ever stopped you before. Thank you for this. I was almost out of the last bottle you brought.” She guides me in and shuts the door behind us. “Devin is in his study on the phone with God knows who, but he’ll be out shortly. And Honor should be heading here soon.”
My brows furrow. “Does she live somewhere else?” I’ve been upstairs before. They have six different bedrooms; two of them are always locked when guests are over—Coach and Sylvia’s room, and what I assume used to be Honor’s. Not that Coach ever told us explicitly who it belonged to.
We wind up in the kitchen, where a mixture of different aromas fills the air. “She’s staying in the guest house. We thought it would give her more privacy.”
I’d forgotten that was out there because it’s tucked away in the far back yard between the tree line that acts as windbreaker for the back patio where they do a lot of outdoor hosting. There’s a separate driveway and entry access to the small building that I vaguely remember being shown when Sylvia showed me around the first time I ever came. “I’m sure she appreciates that.”
Sylvia’s smile twitches, and something dulls her eyes momentarily. “Oh, I’m sure. It’s her father who’s uneasy about it. He didn’t like the idea of giving it to her in case there was an emergency.”
My head cocks, and sudden alarm coats my skin. “Like what?”
She pauses what she’s doing by the stove. “I am sure she told you why she has Puck,” she says, gauging my reaction.
I think back to what she told Gemma. “He detects seizures,” I recall, understanding why Coach is concerned. If someone has a service dog, it’s for good reason.
Sylvia nods, stirring something in the pot on the top stove burner. “She has epilepsy. When she was younger, the seizures weren’t frequent enough for the doctors to connect the dots. That diagnosis came much later for her. But Puck helps, and he knows what to do and how to alert when one is coming. I told Devin she’d be more comfortable out there regardless of her condition because no thirty-year-old wants to live in the same house as her parent.”
Parent. Not parents. Which means I suspected correctly, and Honor isn’t Sylvia’s daughter. There’s a lot more I want to know about the mystery woman, like where her mother is and why she doesn’t seem close to Coach or his wife, but Honor walks into the kitchen with Puck close to her side before I can prod for more details.
She stops when she sees me, gawking as if my appearance is unexpected. It takes approximately two seconds to realize that’s because it is.
She asks, “What is he doing here?” the same time I look at her and say, “You had no idea I was coming, did you?”
Sylvia’s eyes bounce between the two of us, a small smile on her face that seems a little too knowing.
Honor’s eyes shoot toward her stepmother. “I didn’t know we had company,” she tells Sylvia through gritted teeth. “I would have worn something…different.”
My eyes rake over the black leggings and fitted tee she has on. This one has a band I’ve never heard of on the front. “Youlook great,” I tell her honestly, giving her a limp shrug. “No need to dress up for me, anyway.”
Her eyes shift from her stepmom to me, giving me a once over. “Is that why you have product in your hair? I’m sure you don’t put that much effort into your appearance for practice days.”
I swipe my palm along the side of my head with an amused chuckle. “I’d sweat it all off it I did that. I don’t like hair getting into my food, so I like to put something in it when I pull it back. Plus, I’m told this style looks good on me.”
One of Honor’s brows arches. “By whom?”
I grin. “My mom.”
The answer must be unexpected to her, because she snorts loudly. It’s a sound that makes my grin spread. I’ll take the small victory where I can get it.
Sylvia brushes both of our arms. “Dinner is almost ready, so I’m going to get Devin.”
When she leaves the room, it grows quiet.
