I sip my coffee, and he chews another bite of omelet. "Does she know about your proclivity for… shooting right and left?”
A hockey analogy. That’s a new one.
I shake my head. “Not yet, but I will tell her.”
“Okay.”
Our conversation moves to the team, and how he feels about being traded, which is good but he also feels pressure because of our previous Cup win and trying to repeat it being the Quake's main focus for the year. I offer to give him a ride to practice since he doesn't have his car here yet and he accepts. As we drive down Wilshire, I finally find the guts to ask him a question that has been eating away at me.
“Grady, do you think she’ll care?”
“That you’re bi?” he asks freely because we’re alone in my car. I glance at him and nod. “Nope. My whole family is very progressive and pro-LGBTQIA. She might have questions but they’ll be curiosity-based, not judgement-based. Livvy is a bit of a Bambi when it comes to sex but she is definitely not a bigot.”
I don’t ask him why he won’t tell them who is he if they’re all so progressive but the question is at the front of my mind. When we get to the arena everything that could have been awkward about this is a distant memory. Grady is relaxed, joking, friendly. “Thanks, man.”
“Honestly no worries. I’m happy for her and you,” he says, and I feel he genuinely means it. Then he points down the hall where Tate is waiting at the elevator that takes us from player parking to the bowels of the facility. “I’m actually more happy for Livvy because she doesn’t have to deal with him, with knives on his feet, after he finds out. I heard about the Quake code.”
Right. Tate. The code.
We're so close now Tate hears us and turns. He smiles, and I drink it in because it may be the last one I see directed at me in a while. "Hey! My cousin and my bestie. I like how this year is shaping up."
He lifts his fist to tap mine, the Grady’s. “How’s Hendrix taking this?” Grady questions as we all get into the elevator and Tate punches the right button.
“He’s bummed, but he gets it,” Tate says. “He’s happy he’s still in the league, and there are worse teams to be traded to than Seattle. What did he say to you, Westy?”
“I…” I swallow. Fuck. “I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“He left last night for Seattle,” Tate says, and he is full-on judging me for not reaching out. A team captain would always reach out to say goodbye to a traded player. I’m sure Nash did. I fucked up.
“I can still reach out,” I argue. “I had a lot going on in the last twenty-four hours, but I’ll talk to him soon. Right after practice.”
Tate nods, but he still has that look in his eye that reminds me I fucked up.
“So…” Grady says as the elevator settles and the doors start to glide open. “Crew is dating Liv.”
He steps out of the elevator and misses me glaring, wide-eyed at his back. Tate laughs and steps out after his cousin. “Who is Liv?”
“Our cousin.”
Tate’s smile trembles and then his eyes find mine and then move back to Grady who waves. “Off to meet the goalie coach.”
Tate turns to me. “You don’t date.”
“I didn’t for a while.” I shrug my shoulders. “But I changed my mind.”
“Liv? My cousin?”
“Yeah. That Liv.” I swallow. “And I just want you to know that I didn’t knowingly break the code. The first time I met her I didn’t know she was your relative. And honestly, we said siblings when we made up that code.”
He folds his arms over his chest and I can see his jaw flex. He’s processing but he is also pissed. I get it. “When did you meet her?”
“In Vegas.”
And as our eyes lock we both think of the very same memory from that trip. Me, in a woman’s hoodie. On his floor. His light eyes darken and he shakes his head slowly. “No. No. You did not.”
“I didn’t know who she was,” I remind him.
“Fucking hell, Crew!” He balls his hands into fists at his side and swears again under his breath.