Page 54 of Bad Pucking Roommate

Justus

Our well-worn farmhouse table is piled high with food, and I have to stifle a laugh when Luca’s eyes seem to bug out at the spread.

“Help yourself.” Mom hands him a plate as she points to all the dishes in turn. “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, mac and cheese, biscuits and corn.”

“Are more people joining us?” he asks.

“No, why?” Mom says as she spreads her napkin over her lap.

“I haven’t seen this much food on one table outside of Thanksgiving.”

“Farm life makes people hungry.” I pat Luca on the back and start filling my own plate—too high for a guy who hasn’t been on the ice in nearly two weeks—but Mom’s cooking is to die for.

Luca copies me, piling some of everything on his plate. When he takes a bite of fried chicken, his eyes roll back in his head as his eyelids flutter the same way they do when…Okay, that’s not a safe thought for the dinner table.I dig into my own chicken before anyone can notice me blush.

“Oh my God, this is incredible,” he moans. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal like this.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask around a mouthful, nudging his arm with my elbow as my mom shoots me a look that screams ‘remember your manners.’ “You literally have a chef that makes all your food.”

“Yeah,healthyfood. Not comfort food.”

“This is probably bad for your diet then.” Mom furrows her brow. “I hope it doesn’t negatively impact your play.”

“Eh. One or two meals won’t hurt, especially on a week we have off.” Luca takes another bite, closing his eyes as he chews with a satisfied sigh.

“We really do appreciate you being here for Justus. I’m sorry you had to miss the All-Star game, though. Both of you,” Dad says as he takes a bite of potatoes.

“I’d never pick that over grandpa’s funeral. Besides, my concussion would’ve kept me out of it this year, anyway.”

“I’ve been to several of them already, so missing one isn’t a big deal. And since Justus has been filling my head with his grandpa’s words of wisdom all season, I almost feel like I knew him. At least a little bit. So, I wouldn’t pick the game over this either.”

I know I’ve mentioned Grandpa to Luca several times over the last few months, sharing the anecdotes he’s passed on to me, but it’s not until this moment that I realize Luca’s been taking those words to heart. I brush my leg against Luca’s under the table, a silent thank you, and feel his foot tap mine in return.

“What sort of words?” Mom’s eyes glance between me and Luca affectionately.

“Stuff about change being an opportunity instead of a bad thing. And that fighting isn’t always the answer, even in hockey.” Luca duckshis head slightly, as if he’s ashamed to admit to using his fists on the ice, which is comical given his career choice. Even at this table, we know Luca’s no exception, and if I hadn’t been under Grandpa’s influence growing up, I’d probably use my fists too.

“My father taught Justus a lot of things over the years.” Mom puts her hand over mine from across the table and gives it a squeeze. “They had a special relationship. Tell me, were you close with your grandparents, Luca?”

“No mam.” He smiles politely. “I never met them. I was sort of a late-in-life surprise for my folks, and they’d already passed by the time I was born.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dad washes down a bite with a gulp from his water glass.

“That’s okay.” Luca licks a spot of grease off his finger. “To be honest, I never gave much thought to what I missed out on until Justus talked about his grandpa. I have no idea if my own grandparents were anything like him, but if they were then I regret never having the chance to meet them.”

“What about your parents?”

“Mom, could you please not interrogate my teammate?” I lift my brows to emphasize my plea.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know him better.”

“It’s fine, I don’t feel like I’m being interrogated.” Luca rubs his leg against mine under the table, so I let it drop. “My parents retired to Florida several years ago. They spend their free time traveling and playing bridge or poker with the neighbors. I try to get down there every summer to visit, and if we play in Florida they’ll come to the game, but otherwise I don’t see them much.”

“You see them about as much as Justus sees us. And in the summer too, when your hands won’t freeze when milking the cows.” Dad clapsme on the back with a toothy grin to show he’s teasing, but it’s hard to return his smile since the frequency of my visits seems to come up each time I’m here. Not in an accusatory way, but it makes me feel guilty nonetheless.

“I thought the machine milked them?” Luca’s eyes shift uncertainly between me and my parents, picking up on my tension.

“It does, but it’s metal equipment and it gets downright frigid if the temperature is low enough. I thought the guy who makes a living on the ice would be a great asset in the winter, but he’s never here. Not even on holidays,” Dad goads me.

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