Page 123 of First Shift

“Right. I do. And because I love you, I’ll love your family, too. None of this—” He waved his hand in the same arcing pattern I’d made before “—matters to me. You matter to me. That’s it.”

I dropped my hands and stepped into his space, wrapping them around his waist and resting my face against his chest. “And you say you’re not romantic,” I muttered against his coat.

I felt him press a quick kiss to the top of my head. “I’m really not,” he chuckled. “Now, can we go inside, please? I’m freezing my balls off standing here, and I know how much you like sucking on them.”

I barked out a laugh, shaking my head as I stepped back. So much for romance.

“Such a poet,” I snarked, rapping my knuckles twice on the door before pushing it open and calling out, “We’re here!” as we stepped in from the cold.

I dropped my bag in the foyer as my mom came rushing out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel she tossed onto the dining room table on her way over to me. “Michael!”

She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me into a tight hug. I buried my face into her shoulder, swallowing hard, and let myself be held for a second or two longer than I normally would have. I hadn’t realized until right this second how homesick I’d been—how much I’d missed my goddamn mommy.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were shimmering with tears, her face glowing with pride. “Look at you,” she breathed out, patting her hands against my chest. “You scored your first goal tonight!”

“It was a lucky shot,” I explained, feeling suddenly self-conscious. I’d scored one goal all season; the man standing quietly behind me scored multiple each week.

“A goal is a goal, Michael,” she scolded, turning to face Cally, whose hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his dress pants, his broad shoulders curled forward to try and make his massive frame appear as unobtrusive as possible.

She looked up, up, up at him. “And you must be Cally.” She surged forward, launched onto her tiptoes, and pulled him down into a crushing hug. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I feel like I know you so well already though.”

Cally froze, his eyes wide with a mix of pure terror and utter bewilderment.

I smiled at him, giving my eyes an exaggerated roll at his reaction.

His mouth twitched, and he attempted to school his expression into something more normal looking, lifting his hands to give her back two awkward pats.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Porter,” he said, dropping into that weird robot voice of his.

“I’m so glad he has someone like you.” She pulled him in even tighter, and he let out a low oof.

My shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“I’m glad too, Mrs. Porter,” he said, his hands dropping back down to rest by his sides.

She released him. “Call me Barb, sweetie,” she said, tipping her head toward the living room. “Your grandma stayed awake to see you, Michael. Go say hi before she passes out.”

“Go,” he said, waving me off. “I’ll be here charming your mother.”

I tossed him a quizzical look when my mom giggled and swatted his chest playfully. Did he know he was flirting?

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Hunter.”

“Your son tells me that all the time,” he mumbled, his eyes going comically wide the second he realized how those words might be interpreted.

I choked back a laugh, spit going down the wrong pipe, as Cally’s face turned red as a tomato.

“I just mean … um … fuck.” Cally sighed, then winced. “Sorry for swearing.”

My mom glanced between us, her eyes narrowing. “Nothing to be sorry for, hun.” Then she made a shooing motion at me. “Go, Mikey.”

I caught Cally’s eye, and he gave me a tiny nod. I squeezed his forearm, letting my fingers linger a few seconds before moving into the living room where my Grandma Pat sat in her recliner, a crocheted blanket draped over her lap, watching a rerun of one of her favorite gameshows from the eighties.

I crouched down beside her chair. “Hi, Grandma.”

She turned toward me, slowly reaching out with trembling hands to cup my cheeks. “There’s my boy,” she murmured, her voice quavering. “My sweet, sweet boy.”

A tight knot clogged my throat, making it momentarily difficult to speak. I pressed a few kisses against her knobby knuckles to buy myself time. “How are you?” I managed to choke out eventually.