Chapter 12

 

She’d done everything she could to make the house warm and inviting for Ry’s arrival home from two days of racing in New Hampshire. The fire in the living room was ready to be lit, and she’d chilled a bottle of wine and set out plates of fresh croissants and cheese from a small local dairy. If he was into dessert, she’d made a blueberry pie this morning—one of her better baking efforts, thank goodness. Things had been a bit tense during that fraught discussion at her place about closing off Promise Island, and she wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible tonight.

Bathing and grooming Stanley had been an exercise in hilarity and frustration, and she’d wound up getting almost as wet as the dog. Stanley had given her little choice after he spotted something vile on the ground and then promptly rolled in it as they took a brisk walk up Bluff Drive. The dog had come away happy as a king but smelling like a dead sewer rat.

Oh well, a Brides Bay Concierge never shirked from any challenge, no matter how messy.

The alarm on the new outside motion sensor sounded three long beeps. Claire glanced at the monitor on the kitchen wall and saw Ry’s truck rolling down the driveway, towing the trailer with his racing bike. She hurried to the living room and lit the kindling before returning to unlock the door. She had to gently shove Stanley aside to get at it. The dog’s tail wagged furiously in anticipation as he recognized the sound of the truck.

“No jumping up.” She’d been working hard to get Stanley to recognize those words so he’d stop throwing himself on people. With another stern look—which the loveable mutt ignored—she opened the door just as Ry strode up.

“Hey, buddy!” He dropped his bag, got down on one knee, and hugged Stanley. Claire closed the door behind him.

He inhaled deeply and grinned at her. “Another fire?”

“You know it. There’s wine and some snacks too, including blueberry pie if you’re interested. I’m sure you could use some relaxation after such a big day, not to mention the drive home.” Claire reached for the bag she’d packed earlier and left near the door. “I’ll get out of here now so you can eat and unwind in peace. Like I said on the phone, everything here went perfectly. No problems at all.”

He got up from his crouch. “I’m still pretty pumped from the race.” He threw her a smile. “Why don’t you stay and have a drink? I could use some company.”

Wow, Ryder Griffin asking for company.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am, as long as we don’t talk about the damn gate,” he said wryly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll try to not to start the revolution until tomorrow.”

Ry laughed as he went to the fridge and got the wine.  “Believe it or not, I won my race class today,” he said, pouring each of them a glass. “There was some luck involved though, so I can’t let it go to my head.”

“Congratulations. No wonder you’re still pumped.” Claire was genuinely happy for him but loathed the idea of him taking such risks. Still, she wasn’t going to let on that she’d been stewing about his safety all day.

“Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.” He hesitated a moment. “If you’re interested, that is.”

“Of course.” Actually, hearing about the race was the last thing she wanted.

His slight frown seemed to say he’d caught her lack of enthusiasm. “Maybe I should skip the details. The main thing is that it all went great.”

“I’m glad.” She breathed a mental sigh that he’d given her a pass.

Stanley padded ahead of them to the living room and flopped down on the sofa. Claire gently shooed him off and sat down on one end. Ry set his glass on the coffee table and collapsed into the armchair. The fire was crackling away in the hearth, fueled by the top quality firewood he always had on hand. It was cozy, inviting, and the perfect setting to watch evening roll in over Brides Bay.

She glanced at the long roll of paper on the coffee table. “Are those your architect’s plans for the new house by any chance?” Of course they are.

“Just a few preliminary sketches. We’re not even close to ready for actual plans.”

“In case you’re wondering, I managed to stifle my rampaging curiosity and didn’t unroll them.” While it had taken considerable willpower not to sneak a peek, she believed in her clients’ right to privacy too much to snoop.

“You’re welcome to take a look.” His tone was casual, as if he’d forgotten that those plans meant the destruction of her family home.

“I’d like that.”

He reached over and spread the big sheets out over the table.

She peered down as he flipped a couple of pages to get to a detailed sketch of a front elevation. It was an impressive, ultramodern design—all squares and rectangles put together in something like a stair-like formation. The front section was only one story, but the house rose at the back to what appeared to be four floors on one wing and three on the other. She figured that design was all about maximizing the number of rooms with an the ocean view. She’d never seen anything quite like it and disliked it instantly.

“Well, it’s very different. And really imposing.”

He snorted. “I’m pretty sure that means you hate it.”

“Oh, no. Well, it’s just that I’ve never been much of a fan of that sort of ultramodern design.”

“Yeah, I’m not that crazy about it either. The architect told me he wanted something unique as a starting point for discussion, so I said okay. But after seeing this, I’m going to ask him to work up something more along the lines of other places on the island.”

She looked at a notation that told her the square footage of the proposed home. “Wow. Almost eleven thousand square feet?”

“I know that’s crazy big, but Derek keeps telling me it would be nuts not to build something at least that size on this property. The lot is big enough to accommodate that size and more. And when you’ve got a priceless view, I figure you’d better take advantage of it by putting up a house to match.” He leaned forward, frowning at the drawing. “I’ve got to look at this place as an investment, Claire. And I trust Derek. He’s never steered me wrong when it comes to money and investments.”

She understood but still found it sad that he would think of his new house—his home—as just an investment. Would he ever have a real attachment to the place? Then again, she was at the opposite end of the spectrum—a person too attached to a particular house.

“That logic makes sense. Now, please tell me if I’m stepping out of line again, but do you mind if I tell you what I really think about it?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve never known you to hold back an opinion, so why start now?”

Claire was unsure if he was teasing or not. “Sometimes you’re a very hard man to read, Ry.”

“Because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve?”

She winced. “I tend to put it out there, don’t I? Ms. Pushy, that’s me.”

He flashed a brief, rueful smile. “You’re an honest person, which is what I like.” He waved a hand at the drawings. “Have at it.”

“Well, for me, a house will always be more than just an investment. Where we live makes such a difference to how we live. And not to sound too woo-woo about it, it makes a difference to our spirit as well. We all need a place where we can be truly comfortable and happy, not just some giant stack of blocks where we exist in some kind of sterile luxury.”

Ry frowned. “Sterile?”

“Please don’t quote me, but some of my clients’ houses feel more like labs than homes, with all that stainless steel and granite and ceramics and neutral tones. I sometimes get the feeling a mad scientist could pop out of the woodwork and start whipping up some sort of scary chemical experiment.”

He looked mildly amused. “How other people choose to live is really none of my business.”

And none of yours either was the unspoken implication. He was right, but now she could feel herself getting annoyed by his rather blasé attitude about something so important to her.

She pointed to the drawings. “Do you really want to live in such a gigantic place? I only say that because from everything I’ve seen, you’re just not that into material things. Other than the boy toys in the garage, maybe. In fact, you’re extremely down to earth.”

He took a slow drink of wine before answering. “I guess, but I’ve learned a few things over the years. One is to find good advice and trust the people who are giving it to you.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“I got burned pretty bad early on in my career. I was just a kid with a high school education and an NHL contract who knew dick all about money. I made some mistakes and trusted the wrong people. But then I got lucky. I met the right guy, Derek, and I had the brains to get him to take over my finances.”

She smiled. “Derek’s awesome. So smart and honest, and he really cares about you.”

“I care about him too. I’ve learned to take advice from him and a few other people I trust, especially when it comes to money. I didn’t bust my ass and risk my neck for twelve years just to end up poor. I know too many hockey players who wound up broke. Or worse.”

She wasn’t about to ask about the “worse.”

“But to answer your question,” he went on, “no, I don’t care about having a big, fancy house. Or having much else, to tell you the truth.” He glanced over at Stanley, snoring away in front of the fireplace. “Other than Doofus over there, of course.” Then he returned his gaze to her. “I just don’t want to make any stupid financial decisions. I grew up with a father who made too many of those.”

Claire had already formed the impression that there was no love lost between him and his father. “A life lesson from your father that you wisely took to heart.”

“Oh, yeah, he gave me plenty of inadvertent life lessons. The main one was that whatever he did, I should do the exact opposite.”

Her heart ached for the boy whose father clearly hadn’t loved him enough, and for the man who now lived with the legacy of that failure. Her own dad, despite his tendency to take too many risks, had always been a steady and loving presence in her life.

“What did he do for a living?” Ry seemed to want to talk, and Claire was avid to finally learn more about him and the things that really mattered to him.

“He coached hockey and football at the high school in my town. It was my school too, since there was only one in the region.” He grimaced. “Not too sweet having your old man as your coach.”

“That does sound pretty gruesome.”

He stared into the fire. “He coached me from the time I started playing competitively at eight years old until I finally got the hell out of town. And believe me, he ragged my ass every step of the way. It got so bad that most of the other kids hated him for how he treated me and it freaked out plenty of the parents too. By the time I was in my teens, I knew I had to get away from him before I went batshit crazy.”

The quiet recitation made her chest ache even more. “That’s awful, Ry. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It gave me a good excuse to go play junior hockey in Canada. Dad was pissed off as hell about it and tried to stop me from going. He backed off eventually, but only because I swore I’d quit hockey unless he let me go. And I would have done it.” He chuckled. “I fell in love with motorcycles in Canada, and that made him crazy too. He was scared I’d get hurt and not get drafted by the NHL.”

His father sounded like a monster. “How long did you play up there? Did you go to school there too?”

“Two years. And yeah, I finished high school there. I had a great time both on the ice and off. It was the first time I’d ever tasted anything like freedom. When I wasn’t at the rink, I’d hop on the bike and ride around for hours and hours. Then when I was eighteen, I got drafted by the L.A. Kings and wound up playing twelve seasons in the NHL.”

“So your father’s worries didn’t come to pass. He and your mom must be awfully proud of your accomplishments.”

He finally met her gaze, giving a dismissive shrug. “Mom died when I was six. As for dad, he could never get over the fact that I didn’t want him giving me advice anymore. He just couldn’t let go. Hell, when I was in Canada, he drove up there at least a dozen times to watch me play. Over two thousand miles, round trip. He made my coach nuts, always ragging both of us. And the crap didn’t stop even after I made it to the NHL.” He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I was never good enough for him, no matter what I accomplished. Eventually, I figured out it was him, not me. So I just learned to tune him out, and it was the smartest thing I ever did.”

It was the most she’d ever heard Ry say at any one time, and the emotion stunned her. She sensed far more sadness than anger in both his words and his expression, and she was rocked by how much he’d opened up to her.

She was disgusted on his behalf. “What a jerk. How could he not be proud of you? How could he not support you?” Unlike Ry’s old man, her father would have done anything for his wife and children. In a sense, he’d given up his life for them.

“A shrink could probably tell you. All I can say is that the guy was pretty fucked up. And still is.”

“How did he get that way, Ry?”

“Disappointment with life pretty much sums it up. He was a kid hockey star right up through his teens, and any kid like that is bound to have big dreams. Well, Dad had those dreams in spades, from what I’ve been told. But then he never actually made it big—never even played a single game in the NHL. He’d been so sure he’d make it, and even be a star, because he’d always been a star wherever he played until he got drafted. But he wound up spending his whole career—five seasons—stuck in the minor leagues. He was all washed up by the time he was twenty-six, and he could never get over that.”

She understood disappointment, but turning it against the people you loved, especially a child, was despicable. “So because he was bitter about his own life, he took it out on you.”

“Sometimes I thought it was because I was never going to make it big enough for his liking. Other times I thought he was secretly hoping I’d wash out, just like he did. Dad was a fucking emotional roller coaster, that’s for sure.” He gave another of those rueful, heart-wrenching smiles. “Trust me, I did a lot of stupid things before I figured it out.”

“You have no contact at all with him anymore?”

“Haven’t seen or talked to him in years. Neither of us is interested.”

“I’m so sorry.” She wished she could throw her arms around him and give him a huge hug.

She was pretty sure Ry would hate that.

Sensing Ry’s troubled mood, Stanley hauled himself up and went over to rest his head on his master’s knee. His bushy tail feathered the plank floor with gentle wags. Ry smiled and rubbed the pooch’s head before relaxing back in the armchair and retrieving his glass of wine from the coffee table.

“Were you an only child?”

“Only until Dad remarried a couple of years after Mom died. My stepmother already had a daughter from her first marriage.”

“So you have a sister.”

“Stepsister.”

She noted the clipped tone in his voice. “My sister Katie is married and living in Boston. She comes here as often as she can, and Mom and I go visit her sometimes.”

“That’s nice. I haven’t seen Samantha in a long time. We weren’t exactly buddies growing up. She and her mother were…” He paused, and then shrugged. “I guess I just don’t do family, to tell you the truth.”

In other words, he didn’t do emotional commitments—probably not of any kind other than friendship.

Message received. Again.

Claire took refuge in sipping her wine and staring into the flames that were leaping up from the grate. Even though an odd sadness tugged at her, a kind of peace had settled in, likely a legacy of the cozy old room she’d always loved.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ry finally stirred. “Sorry to be so gloomy. I’m thinking we should have talked about the race after all.”

Suck it up, buttercup. You owe the guy a little enthusiasm and interest after he just bared his soul.

She mentally braced herself for tales of motorcycle mayhem. “Why don’t you tell me about it now?”