Claire
“When are you going to stop working so hard and start giving me some grandbabies?”
I roll my eyes as I set the mug of tea in front of my adopted grandmother. “Technically,” I say, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “they’d be great grandbabies, Gran.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That makes me sound old.”
I sink into the armchair across from her. “That’s because you are old.”
Scowling, she leans forward and picks up the mug, blowing on the steaming liquid. “Don’t remind me.” Then she grins, and all teasing about grandbabies is put away. “How is work going, baby girl?”
I sigh in relief.
Gran can be a dog to a bone sometimes—and especially about my future.
She wants me settled down, taken care of.
Because she’s getting—the aforementioned—older.
I want that too—a home, a family, kids, maybe an adorable pup or a mischievous kitten. But, most of all, I want a partner who’ll love me for who I am inside.
Only…
I can’t seem to find one.
Even though I’m surrounded by men on a daily basis.
Jackson in tiny boxer briefs. Jackson carrying my bag. Jackson touching my chin. Jackson saying I’m a good person.
Jackson jumping back when he steadied me. Jackson scowling at me. Jackson finding out that I—
“Claire?”
Shaking myself, I plaster a smile on my face as I replay the conversation and try to remember what the hell she asked me. “Work’s going great,” I manage to supply. “Luc is really happy with what I’ve been doing, and the guys are awesome as always.”
Gran lifts her mug in salute. “I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to get that place into shape. Smartest thing Luc ever did was to promote you.”
Truthfully, it hadn’t taken much. The Breakers have had my back from the beginning, and they’ve given me way more than I’ve given them. Yeah, they’re a professional hockey team in the business of winning hockey games, but they are a family first. And they’ve been that way for far longer than I’ve been around. I just…
Found my place, knew it was a good one, and did everything I could to stick around.
From intern to social media consultant to assistant to the GM.
I’ll take that climb.
And along the way, I finessed the small details, learned all I could about what made the guys tick and how I could help them do well on the ice, how I could adjust all of the moving parts so that the Breakers are the best they can be.
I’ve tried to make myself indispensable.
But they don’t need me, not really. They were fine without me, would be fine if I left.
That’s just facts.
But not facts I share with Gran.
I won’t add to her worry about me.
She’s been doing far too much of that for far long enough.
Taking care of me, stepping up when she didn’t have to, making sure I was fed and clothed and safe…and had birthdays and Christmases and summer barbecues and all the things I missed out on while growing up with deadbeats for parents.
I’ve long been able to stand on my own two feet, but I can see the strain those years wrought on her face, in the deep lines around her mouth and eyes, the dark circles beneath her lower lashes, the paleness of her skin. She’s tired, and even though I’ve barely been here an hour and we’ve just sat and chatted, these visits are hard on her.
Everything is hard on her nowadays.
Because she is old and though she’s a warrior who’s beaten cancer twice, the battles sucked a lot of life out of her. She’s still my Gran, of course. Just…the spritely Energizer Bunny who played volleyball with me in the back yard when I wanted to try out for the team in junior high, who never met a midnight showing for a movie premiere she didn’t love is…changed.
Naps and resting are broken up by short bursts of activity—walking around the block, bringing in packages, reheating the meals I cook for her, gabbing with her girlfriends on the phone, sitting in her chair across from me and talking about our days.
My Gran…but not.
It doesn’t matter.
She stepped up to take care of me. There’s no way I’m not going to do the same for her.
That’s that.
“Tell me how Junie’s doing,” I order softly as I settle back with my own tea. “Did she get the bingo debacle sorted?”
Bingo is a Big Deal in Gran’s circle—yup, with those capital letters—and the debacle with her best friend, June, involved a faulty mic, several intensely frustrated Boomers, and a slice of cake the local pet charity sells at their weekly Bingo Nights getting crushed into someone’s face.
Good times in the multipurpose room.
Gran rolls her eyes. “Junie’s shirt is ruined from the mix of dabber ink and frosting”—she ended up worse for wear trying to play referee—“but otherwise everything else is resolved and happy and they’re not getting kicked out of the school’s multipurpose room after all.”
Bingo is WILD.
“That’s good news.”
“Considering how much work Junie puts into the events,” Gran agrees, “it certainly is.”
“Did you want me to take you next week?” I ask, knowing that used to be one of Gran’s favorite things. “We can play a couple of games, eat a slice of cake”—I feign a casual shrug—“or we could have some fun and ruin another one of Junie’s shirts.”
Gran’s face lights up for a second. But only for a second before that happiness fades. “No,” she says. “I’ll get too tired and—” She puts down her tea, shakes her head. “No, honey. Thanks for offering but it won’t work out.”
“Junie could save you a spot by the exit,” I tell her. Because it’s true. Because Junie is her ride and die and just as much of a mother figure as Gran is in my life. “We could go for a bit, head out if you get tired—”
“No, sweetheart,” she says. “Thank you, but no.”
“It wouldn’t be too much trouble at all. I’m not working that night.” The Breakers have an off night in their jam-packed schedule leading toward the back half of the season. “I can just—”
“That’s okay, honey.”
“Really, though.” I know I’m pushing, but I can’t help it. I want her to have fun. She hasn’t had much of that over the last few years. “I don’t mind.”
“Another time,” she says. “Now tell me—”
“But—”
“Claire!” she snaps. “Just stop.”
I flinch at the sharp tone, nearly spilling my tea on myself. Gran rarely raises her voice and even more rarely speaks to me like that. I push down the hurt, know that it’s my fault for being a pushy ahole.
How many times had she said no nicely?
Exhaling, I set my mug down. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” she says, reaching across the table and taking my hand. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “I was being pushy.”
Her mouth ticks up. “And who was responsible for teaching you your pushy skills, my darling girl?”
Lightness in my belly, pushing out the guilt. “I prefer to think of it as you taught me have to a backbone, Gran.”
A soft laugh, her fingers tightening around mine. “My wonderful girl.”
My heart squeezes as she pulls back and picks up her mug again.
“I have ice cream in the freezer,” she says, a familiar mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
I exhale in relief then force my tone to be light. “Wheel of Fortune and empty calories?”
“Is there anything better?”
No.
No, there isn’t.
There’s nothing better than sitting with the only person in the world who knows every part of me while guessing word puzzles and consuming copious amounts of empty calories.
Nothing.
“I’ll dish us up some.”
She shakes her head, pushes up to her feet with a wince and a groan, starts tottering toward the kitchen.
“We’re going full cartons tonight, baby girl. I’ll get them. You get the spoons.”