Page 26 of Over the Line

He nodded. “Oldest son and his wife are talking about it, but aren’t in a big hurry. My daughters…” He trailed off into another shrug and didn’t finish the thought.

“Wait, so Chris isn’t your oldest?”

“Nope. He’s three of four.”

I blinked. “He’s—seriously?” I couldn’t help trying to run the numbers. Chris was twenty-three. Garrett said he wasn’t fifty yet. So did that mean⁠—

“I’ve been a dad since I was nineteen,” he said quietly, as if he could see through to my unspoken questions.

“Oh. Wow.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. And I struggled to imagine it; at nineteen, I’d been playing my rookie season here in Pittsburgh, overwhelmed by the giant stage I’d been thrust onto. Playing top-level professional hockey for a team trying to rebuild had been a ton of pressure. Being a dad? That would’ve blown my damn mind.

“I can’t imagine,” I admitted. “Having a pro hockey career at that age was overwhelming enough.”

“Oh, man.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he loaded some green beans onto his fork. “Who the hell thought any of us were ready for adulthood at that age?”

I laughed, which helped me breathe again. “I mean, sometimes I don’t think I’m ready for it at this age.”

Garrett laughed. “I know, right? But at eighteen, nineteen… That’s a lot.”

“It is. And the teams know it, too.” I gestured with my own fork toward the hallway. “During prospect camp, they spend a lot of time helping the younger guys learn how to cook and do things on their own.”

“Really? That’s amazing.”

I was about to ask, “Didn’t Chris tell you about that?” But it occurred to me that prospect camp might have been during the time they were apparently estranged. I knew previous little about their strained relationship, and the whole thing might’ve been a tender subject, so I left it alone.

“Yeah,” I said instead. “That was how I figured out I enjoyed cooking.”

“Oh, really?” He leaned a little closer, watching me intently. “You like to cook?”

Why was my face getting warm?

I shrugged as I dropped my gaze to my plate and tried to remember how to maneuver utensils. “Yeah, I… I mean, I’m not going to be starting my own cooking channel or anything, but I can put together a decent meal.”

“What kind of stuff do you cook?”

I glanced at him, somehow sure he was just humoring me or trying to get me to admit that “cooking” just meant following the directions on a box or a can. But no, what I found in those deep brown eyes was genuine interest.

“I, uh… Well…” Why had I suddenly forgotten everything I’d ever cooked? “Um. Well…” The partly finished halibut in front of me jogged my flailing memory. “I fish a lot, so I’ve, you know, learned a lot of ways to cook fish.”

Oh, fuck me—his eyes lit right up. “You fish?”

I nodded. “I… yeah. I do. Do you?”

And just like that, we were off and running, exchanging stories about that elusive huge one that escaped before we could get a photo, the one no one would ever believe us about, and the one we were pretty sure we caught and released multiple times.

“I swear to God,” he said through his laughter, “if my brother hadn’t been in the boat to witness it, even I don’t think I’d have believe me.”

I snorted. “Do you think it just really liked your bait or something?”

“I have no idea.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “But like, buddy—we’ve been through this four times. Learn from your damn mistakes and…” He gestured like something swimming away.

“They really don’t learn, do they?” I nudged my now-empty plate away. “I was fishing with an old teammate one time, and he caught the same damn bass—I want to say six times?”

“Oh, Jesus. I think I’d have just kept it at that point.”

“He did, actually. It was like an inch under the minimum, but he was like, it’s obviously ready if it wants to be caught this bad.”

Garrett laughed, which still screwed with my balance. “I’d have paid good money to see you guys explain that to someone from Fish & Wildlife.”