Page 63 of The Tomboy and the Captain

“Here,” Andrew says, handing me a small square beanbag made of felt. I squeeze it in my palms and they heat up.

“This is the greatest invention I’ve ever seen,” I gloat. The McCrearys all laugh then hold up their own squares, everyone but Andrew that is, since he gave me his. I’d offer to give it back but that would just be stupid.

I settle into the seat between him and his mom, and the game gets underway. The puck is in Cutter’s control within seconds and I get lost for a while watching him work. Everything has me on edge. Each trip he makes along the ice, sliding the puck through bodies and sticks all before being slammed into the glass and having it stolen. He’s the embodiment of grit, the way he gets right up and storms right back. Our goalie makes a massive save to end the first period, and I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for twenty minutes straight.

“We picked a good one, huh?” Cutter’s mom says.

I fall back into my seat and wipe my brow, which seems like it should have sweat on it despite how cold I am. That was hard work.

“I mean, I think I prefer the blowouts, but yeah.”

She pokes my arm with her elbow and silently laughs.

“Yeah, those are easier on the heart for sure.”

The boys take advantage of the time between periods and slip back out from our row to hit the restrooms and get second beers. I notice that Allison has half a beer in her cup holder and she must catch my gaze looking because she says, “I can have a small amount.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to question you. I was curious, though,” I say.

“No, it’s alright. I like talking about it, actually. My daughter-in-law is the reason I finally went and got checked. I had a suspicion I felt something but I ignored it. I guess I thought that would make it go away, but when I brought it up to her, she insisted. And she saved my life.” Her eyebrows raise in emphasis.

“Was that Andrew’s wife?” I vaguely remember Cutter telling me that Andrew was a teacher and his wife was a nurse.

Allison nods.

“Sure was. My boys pick smart women.” Her eyes dance over me for a few seconds, and I get the insinuation. It warms my cold face, which is thankfully probably already red from the temperature.

“It must be hard having them all spread around the country.”

She nods and pulls her phone out to show me pictures of her three grandchildren. I may be seeing things at this point, but I swear everyone in that family looks a little like Cutter. It’s the eyes, I think. A lot of greenish tints, and they crinkle at the edges when they smile.

“I miss them all when they’re gone, but they’re all so happy and doing so well. That’s all a mom can hope for.”

“It’s good they get to visit sometimes,” I add.

She nods slowly then lets her eyes drift to my face.

“It is. But I always knew the ones who would fly out of the nest and not really fully come back.” She shifts her gaze down the aisle where Flynn and Todd are balancing beers that are far-too-full for them to walk up steps. They make it up three before spilling down their pant legs.

“Those two, you mean?”

“God, yes. They were barely in the house when they were kids. It took hours of me yelling around the neighborhood to getthem to come home for dinner and sleep. Patrick too. Andrew, not as much. He’s always been responsible and level-headed. He probably wouldn’t have moved away if he hadn’t fallen in love.”

“And what about Cutter?” I hold my breath and await her answer about him. He seems so independent and free-spirited. I’ve never met someone so willing to go with the flow. Hell, he shacked up with me on a whim and a dare, and I don’t think the adjustment has been nearly as hard for him as it has been for me.

“Cutter? Oh, he’s like a magnet. That one, he will never leave.”

I feel the weight of her words, and I know the corners of my mouth have drooped, so before she looks at me again, I force them back into a plastic smile.

“Homebody, huh?” I swallow the rocks in my throat.

“Not that he doesn’t like to go out or that he’s not an extravert because, ooof. He’s the life of the party. But he’s always been close to us. He likes his roots, and I think his hometown gives him comfort. You know, I don’t know if he told you but I had to sell the second home he was living in. It was an investment property my husband and I bought knowing the boys would live there if they all went to Tiff. But it was getting to be a lot to pay on both houses.”

“He mentioned it,” I say, remembering the first night when we butted heads in the room we now share. He didn’t have a place to stay, and this is why. I knew the reason but I didn’t really get it until now.

“He doesn’t know this, but I put a lot of the furniture in storage for him. The nice stuff. He’s the one who cares about it. He’s always been big on memories and nostalgia. One day when he gets a place, he’ll be outfitted in the dining room for sure.”

I picture heirlooms and well-cared-for pieces, and somehow, that jives with the Cutter I’ve come to know. He has his own version of Pete’s treasure room. One from his life.

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