Secret or Shutout: Chapter 10

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Todd Ferguson: BRUCE MCBRIDE! BEST GOALIE IN THE LEAGUE!

Craig Nottingham: Well, at least tonight he was. Finally earning that F&#* 10 mil contract.

Mandie Banderson: Wow Craig. Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?

Craig Nottingham: No, I don’t. kissing my mother as an adult would be weird. I guess we’re not all weirdos like you, Mandie.

Mandie Banderson: It was a joke!

Craig Nottingham: Also, my mother passed last year, so you’re an asshole.

Todd Ferguson: Can we get back to appreciating our incredible goalie?

Harry Johnson: I’m with you, Todd! McBride played amazing tonight. Dude deserves a raise.

I laugh and stick my phone back in my jeans pocket as I wait for the ice cream cones from the food stand near the Washington Monument. The fans aren’t too sassy this time, since we won our first game in round one of Stanley Cup Playoffs last night.

“You’re weird,” Jackson says, staring at me with his big, brown eyes.

I’m with my little brother today, I haven’t seen him all month with all the away games and then helping Farrah last weekend.

I ruffle his brown hair with my hand, and he pushes it away. “You can’t call me weird when I’m getting you ice cream.”

Jackson snorts a laugh. “Yes, I can.”

The preteen energy is strong in this ten-year-old. I bet he’d get along with Noah, Andie’s little brother, if they ever met.

The older man behind the food cart smiles at us. “Two chocolate cones with marshmallow ice cream?”

“Yes, sir,” I tell him, taking both and handing one to Jackson.

It’s a pretty spring day in D.C. and we’re on the water in front of the Washington monument surrounded by cherry blossoms. April in the Capitol is my favorite. And not only because the playoffs are upon us. It’s the crisp air and the flowers, like everything starts new…fresh.

Jackson and I find a bench in front of the water and start on our ice cream. The marshmallow paired with the chocolate cone reminds me of the S’mores wedding cake Farrah made…except her cake was way better.

“Why are you smiling?” Jackson asks. I didn’t realize he was watching me

“Well, Jackson. Someday, when you’re older, you’ll meet a girl who randomly makes you smile like an idiot.”

He scoffs. “Girls are disgusting.”

I give him a wry look. “I’ll give it two years before you change your mind about that.”

Jackson looks away, staring at his melting ice cream. “Mom says girls are nothing but drama.”

I shoot him what I hope is a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes boys are the dramatic ones. Not all girls are dramatic. The one I’m thinking about isn’t. She’s kind and thoughtful.”

He nods. “I think my mom could be like that.” His voice is so sad, I wish I could hug him, but Jackson is very anti-hug, and I respect that.

“How is your mom?” I ask.

He shrugs and licks his ice cream to keep it from dripping. “She’s good; she said she’s working hard and hoping to be released early. She calls me every week.” He smiles. “She’s supposed to get released in a year.”

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees so I can look at him. “That’s great, man. Are you excited?”

“Yeah. But I worry she’ll make bad friends again and go back to prison.”

His mom has been in and out of prison the past couple of years. Which means he’s been in and out of foster care. I feel for him.

I don’t know much about my birth parents, but my birth mom contacted me once when I was around Jackson’s age. I think she wanted to see me just once out of curiosity and obviously didn’t want a relationship past that. But that was fine with me. I’ve been with my adoptive parents since I was an infant. I was one of the lucky ones, getting placed with kind, wonderful people from the start.

“How’s school going?” I ask, getting the impression he’d like to change the subject.

He perks up at my question, his eyes growing round with excitement. “Good!” he opens his mouth to say more, then his shoulders droop. “Hey, do you think chess is nerdy?”

I make a pshhh sound. “Hell no. The only people who think chess is nerdy are the people who can’t play.”

He grins at that. “You think so?”

“I know so. Chess is a cool game. I’m terrible at it, though. Could you teach me?”

He nods. “Yeah, I just joined the chess team at school.”

I clap him on the back. “That’s awesome, man.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, then looks down. “I’m really good at it, but some of my old friends told me only losers play chess.”

The instant protective instincts I feel toward this kid are intense and hard to push down. I want to find these kids’ parents and tell them they’re raising a bunch of jerk-wads.

“You should do what you love, and it’s even better if you’re great at what you love.”

He elbows me in the side. “Like you with hockey?”

I huff air onto my nails and rub them on my shirt, throwing him a cocky grin. “Exactly. Did you catch my game last night?”

He laughs. “No, sorry. You know I’m a baseball guy.”

“I’ll convert you to hockey one of these days.”

He squints as he thinks. “I’ll make a deal with you. You beat me at chess, and I’ll watch a hockey game.”

“Deal.”

I hold my hand out and he shakes it with a firm grip.

After my afternoon with Jackson, I head over to Remy’s house for a barbeque. I’m the last one to arrive since I’m the only guy who doesn’t live in suburbia.

I park off to the side of his house, where I can see the stairs that lead up to Farrah’s apartment and hope to catch a glimpse of her. Sometimes she joins these team get-togethers, and other times she doesn’t. I haven’t seen her or talked to her since the wedding a week ago. We connected that evening more than ever before, really getting to know each other. It felt more like a date than it should have. But I cling to every moment I can steal, every fact I can learn.

Opening and closing the squeaky door of my old pickup, I don’t bother to lock it. No one will want to steal this thing in a ritzy neighborhood filled with Porsches and Land Rovers. Doing a quick review of the outfit I’ve been wearing all day, I decide the green tee, fashionably distressed jeans, and leather sneakers aren’t too bad. And I didn’t spill any ice cream on myself earlier, so, in the event I do see Farrah, at least I’ll look good.

I stride toward the front door and let myself in. Country music is playing through the speakers of Remy’s home, but chatter and laughter can be heard over the music. Something smells amazing, probably marinated meat… but also something sweeter.

Andie sees me first. “Brucey!”

“Hey, babes,” I say, walking over and pulling her into a side-hug. Mitch glares at me.

Noel stands and holds her hand up for a high-five. Colby is beside her and does the same.

Remy and Amber walk into the living room from the kitchen where they must’ve been preparing the food.

“Hey, man,” Remy says.

Amber dances over, grooving to the country music. “Glad you’re finally here, Bruce. The party can finally start.” She hugs me.

“Where’s my bestie?” I ask, looking from her to Remy.

Amber looks over her shoulder, into the kitchen. “Farrah, do you have Nella?”

“Yeah, she’s with me!” Farrah’s voice yells back, making my heart skip a beat. She’s here.

Farrah strolls into the living room with a floral apron fastened around her neck and waist, and little Nella—aka my bestie—settled on her hip.

Nella’s little face lights up when she sees me and she grunts and wriggles, trying to get down. Farrah’s gaze meets mine, her eyes widen, and her cheeks turn pink. Does her reaction inflate my ego? Absolutely.

When Farrah release her, Nella dashes across the room. I catch the little redheaded spitfire in my arms and lift her in the air above my head. Nella shrieks and laughs. Amber and Remy shake their heads.

“Glad you finally have someone around who likes to play as much as you do,” Remy says dryly.

I place Nella back on the ground, but her tiny hand stays latched onto one of mine and she leads me over to her play kitchen. “Bwuce,” she says. “Let’s bake.” Nella thrusts a toy cookie pan full of wooden chocolate chip cookies into my hands.

“Yes, ma’am.” I get busy right away, pretending to shape the cookies and placing them onto the correct Velcro slots. “These are my favorite.”

She grins up at me as I finish the cookie tray and slide it into the play oven. I glance over at her to find her staring at me. She reaches up and places her small, sticky hand on my cheek. “Bwuce is my fwiend.”

Is my chin quivering? No, I’m a big, tough manly man. Of course my chin isn’t quivering.