Hip Check (New York Blades) by Deirdre Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

eyes, his sweet smile. Since his mood seemed okay, she decided to act on her dad’s nudging and pop the real estate question.
    “How’s the apartment hunting going?”
    “Goin’ okay,” Jamie said evasively. “You know what it’s like. Besides, I don’t think I should leave. Someone has to be here to look after Dad.”
    Michelle stopped fanning herself. “Not this again.”
    Jamie had gotten it into his head that their father needed “looking after”—
their
father, the toughest son of a bitch to ever wield a Halligan at Engine 32—when he’d retired two years ago, after forty-five of breaking his back. Jamie was delusional: their father was as robust as ever. What pissed Michelle off was Jamie’s presumption that if their father did need “taking care of,” she should be the one to do it.
    “Michelle.”
    “Jamie. He’s not even sixty-five yet. He still goes down to the firehouse and hangs out. He still has his poker night. He still goes to see the Mets and the Islanders. Just because he retired doesn’t mean he’s turned into some feeble old man overnight.”
    “I see him slowing down. You don’t.”
    “And you live here, and I don’t. What would you like me to do about it?”
    Jamie looked to be preparing a comeback, but he let it drop. Good thing, too. Michelle didn’t want to point out that she’d been the de facto “caretaker” for both him and their dad after their mom died. There had been times her dad leaned on her heavily, maybe a little bit too much, considering she was a child. Part of the problem was, he didn’t know how to deal with a little girl’s grief. He tried, but he couldn’t. And so Michelle figured out a way to go it alone. She wasn’t going to let that happen to Nell.
    Jamie hopped up and loped into the kitchen, grabbing from the fridge a container of milk that he drank straight out of. “Why’d you need to talk to me,” he shouted.
    Michelle joined him in the kitchen. “I need to borrow your truck, if that’s okay with you.”
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “What for?”
    “I took another job as a live-in. They need me to start tomorrow.”
    Her brother put the carton back in the fridge. “Isn’t that kind of short notice?”
    “Yeah. But there are extenuating circumstances.” She glanced at the dishwasher. The green light was on, meaning the dishes were done, but no one had emptied it. She fought the urge to do it herself. They were grown men.
    “I’m all ears.”
    Michelle laid it all out for him, from Nell’s mother’s death to Esa’s willingness to let her name her price. It was a pretty sad story. But all her brother had to say when she concluded with, “So, can I borrow your truck?” was, “Esa Saari. What a fuckin’ showboat.”
    “What?”
    “The guy’s a typical Euro winger: all glory and no guts.” Jamie was vehement. “The Blades haven’t had a decent digger in five years, maybe ten. Probably since Michael Dante hung up his skates. I can’t believe my sister is going to work for a Blade.”
    Michelle rolled her eyes. “I don’t care who he plays for. I’m not taking care of him, I’m taking care of his niece.”
    “I’ll help you move in tomorrow. I wanna see his place.”
    “No.”
    “C’mon, Michelle.”
    “Why? So you can tell the guys down at the house about it?”
    “Hell yeah. Why else would I want to see it?”
    “You’re such a pack of busybodies, I swear to God.”
    “No shit.” He scratched absently at the tattoo of his wife’s name on his forearm. “Where’s your stuff?”
    “Most of it’s in storage. There’s not much.”
    Her brother slid into a kitchen chair. “I don’t know why you didn’t just move back here until your next job. Truth be told, I still can’t wrap my mind around why you left that gig with the Karles. Moving out to L.A.? Sounds pretty sweet to me.”
    “This coming from the guy who’s on my case about taking care of our father?”
    “I’m just sayin’,” Jamie