“That isn’t even the reason I’m calling, but I figured I would bring it up,” he retorts. “Your mom will be the next person calling if you don’t heed my advice here and cut your brother some slack or whatever. And trust me, you donotwant her on your case.”
“I do not,” I agree. My mom has always worn the pants in our little family.
Stephanie Deveau-Westwood is a smart, savvy, accomplished business woman and she's also a great human being but she doesn't mess around when it comes to squabbles between her sons. She and my uncle Seb are as close as siblings can be. She often tells us Uncle Seb is the only reason she lived long enough to meet our dad and have us because when she was younger she had addiction issues and it was Uncle Sebastian who got her the help she needed.
“Stop threatening me,” I tell him. “I’ll call Nash tonight and sing him bedtime lullabies or something, okay? Just tell me why you called so I can have dinner. I’m starved.”
“Okay,” Dad pauses. “They’re doing a little thing in San Diego when the Quake play the Saints at the beginning of November. It’s a ceremony thing and they want you and Nash there a day early so you can do some press with me so can you guys get permission from your coach?”
Dad could call up Jude Braddock and ask him right now. He played with the guy… well, against the guy. They're acquaintances who have huge respect for each other. But he vowed to never interfere in our hockey lives because his dad tried to basically orchestrate everything about Dad’s life when he was playing. He treated him like a commodity not a son for a very long time. Dad never interferes or steps in, unless I accidentally light a car on fire in my driveway after catching my wife in our bed with someone else. Then he ignores his instincts and takes charge, thankfully.
“Of course. I will ask the coach tomorrow first thing, but wait… is this finally it?” I ask and sit up on the couch. “Are they finally retiring your jersey?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God Dad! Congrats! This is awesome. Well overdue,” I exclaim and I’m on my feet again.
Having your jersey retired is one of the biggest honors a hockey player can have and it’s insane that the Saints haven’t done it before now. I think they’re salty because Nash and I signed contract extensions with the Quake after our rookie contracts expired. The Saints management had reached out to Dad, and our agent, explaining how badly they wanted to sign one of us, they didn’t care which. But Nash and I wanted to stay togetherandwith the Quake —aka their biggest rivals. Anyway, that seems to have passed. It's about time they acknowledge the finest player who ever lived, and the reason they have a Stanley Cup banner hanging from their rafters.
“Thanks. It will really mean a lot if you two can be there,” he says quietly.
“Of course we can. And they’re doing the ceremony during our game? That’s great!” I’m truly excited for my dad. I know he’s wanted this, but he’s never let on. Still, I would want this so I assume he would too.
“Okay cool,” Dad says. “How is the wrist? Nash says it’s bothering you.”
“Nah. I mean it tweaked for a second there but I’m confident now it was a false alarm.” There I go lying again. “Don’t stress.”
“Okay. Your brother’s lingering injury seems to have cleared up too, which is a relief. And how is everything else?” Before I can answer I hear a muffled sound. “Steph, I’m doing it my way.”
“Is Mom there?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh okay." I grin. "So by everything else you mean, how's my mental health, and have I finally let someone else in, or is Anne-Marie still winning?”
“Shit, Steph he has your number and he isn’t afraid to dial it.” My dad starts laughing and then makes whimpering noises as I’m sure my mom is hitting him with one of the hundred throw pillows on their bed or couch. I hope it’s the couch. I don’t want to think of them calling me in bed together. Weird.
“Crew, I’m sorry I ever said that out loud!” Mom’s voice calls out.
“Tell her it’s fine. She’s not wrong. I am not dating anymore because of Anne-Marie,” I admit. “But it’s not a bad thing like she thinks. I’m happy. I’m good.”
I think of where I was twenty minutes ago, with Olivia. “I’m really good, actually, so everyone relax.”
“Okay. Good. We’re happy you’re happy,” Dad replies. “Now go call your brother.”
“Fine.”
"Love you, kid,” Dad says.
"Love you, baby boy!" Mom hollers in the background.
“Love you both.”
I hang up and scroll through my contacts until I get to Nash. I hit the button to connect the call and wait. The asshole lets it ring four times and then finally, just before the voicemail kicks in, he answers. “Oh hi. You’re alive.”
“You spent all morning running drills with me on the ice, Nash.”
“Yeah but like where are you outside of work?”