Page 21 of Ice Me Out

“Wonderful,” he replied with a broad smile. “Please enjoy.”

I caught what was meant to be a discreet middle finger from DeAndre to Hart and laughed.

“Please don’t encourage his bad behavior,” Hart begged, sounding a little more upbeat than before. It was apparent that DeAndre meant a great deal to him. He had to, if they followed each other after high school and Hart invested in the restaurant as a not-so-silent partner.

“I want to hear how the two of you became friends.”

“I’ll tell you after you give me the rundown on the beer.”

“Fine. I’m always up for a challenge.”

I smelled the beer again before taking a sip.

“What are your thoughts?” he asked, reaching for his glass.

“A brown ale with a hint of hazelnut,” I answered promptly.

“Good job,” he congratulated, lifting his glass to me.

“Now, tell me how the two of you became friends.”

“The Youngs had moved to our town from Virginia to take over DeAndre’s grandfather’s farm after he passed away. They visited our church, and we sat in pews opposite each other. D and I were five at the time and kept throwing glances at each other from across the aisle. The glances soon turned into us making faces at each other. I made the mistake of making pig noises at him, and my mom popped me real good. D laughed, and his mom popped his ass too.”

I laughed and polished off the rest of my bisque.

“Our mothers smiled at each other from across the aisle, and our childlike intuition knew they’d be friends. Mrs. Young—Kelly came over later that evening with DeAndre in tow and a platter of lemon squares. She apologized for being too forward but felt we could use a little company. She was right. My mom was upset that day because my father hadn’t come home the night before, but that soon became the norm.”

I guess Papa was a rolling stone.

“Mr. and Mrs. Young raised me when my mother died.”

I raised a brow.

“Not your dad?”

He shook his head.

“I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I kept running away from home, and the sheriff was at his wit’s end. He got tired of finding me at the Youngs and taking me back to my dad. He said enough was enough, and something needed to be figured out, or he’d call child services. Kelly begged to raise me and said it’d be what my mother would’ve wanted. And dammit, it worked. I lived with them on the farm, and he paid child support, covered all my hockey expenses, and gave me a truck I still have today. That’s why I have a hard time cutting him off completely. He was a piece of shit in some ways, but at the end of the day, he did the right thing by me, and he was never stingy with money. If I needed it—he gave it to me. I wouldn’t be in the NHL now if he hadn’t invested in all those yearly training and development camps. He asks me for money occasionally, and I tell him it’s the last time, but we both know I’m lying.”

“Is that why he called?”

Hart nodded grimly.

“He owes a bunch of back child support, and he tends to fall behind on some bills—at least that’s what he tells me. But I know he’s out at the bars on the weekend, drinking away his liver and challenging people to pool and darts on my dime. I sent him five grand, and he said, ‘That’s it?’”

That’s it is wild!

“I hung up, but you were right. I’m glad I got that call out of the way. If anything, it’ll keep him busy for a week or so.”

“Our fathers and their vices,” I mumbled, then threw back my drink.

“Our fathers and their vices,” he murmured, following my lead.

“My father started gambling after my mother died when I was fourteen,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Vera,” he said softly.

“Thank you. Everyone in the family thought it was a phase, but… he just kept going and going, would disappear for stretches of time, and return home looking like he had hit rock bottom. My older brother was already out of the house when my mom died, and my younger sister went to live with our grandfather, so it was just me holding down the fort.”