Touch My Neck ✓

Chapter Fifteen | Why did a hockey player climb a tree with his hockey stick?

Eros Candreva

We stood before an elegantly designed house, its architecture exuding an air of warmth and comfort. I was momentarily taken aback, wondering where we were, until the front door swung open, revealing an elderly man hurrying out. Angel's eyes lit up, and without hesitation, she rushed into his arms. It was her father, a simple look shared between them revealing their deep bond. As they embraced, his gaze swept over her, silently ensuring she was well.

And then, his eyes found mine.

Recognition flickered, shock washing over his features. His gaze then shifted back to Angel, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Angel—why is Eros Candreva standing on my porch?" He asked, his voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

Her response was steady. "Because he's the one you're training."

Her father took a step closer, his eyes widening as if unable to believe his eyes. Then, he turned to Angel, seeking confirmation. She nodded, and he seemed to process the information.

"I am a huge fan of you, Mr. Candreva. The name's Jonas," he exclaimed, enthusiasm coloring his voice as he extended his hand toward me.

I took his hand in a firm shake, his grip surprisingly strong for his age. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Huxley."

Angel chuckled, her warmth filling the air. "Okay, Dad, you can let go of his hand now."

He blinked as if realising he was still gripping my hand tightly, and he quickly released it, stumbling back slightly. A sheepish grin tugged at his lips. "Right, sorry."

"As you can tell, my dad is in love with you," Angel said with a laugh, her eyes twinkling.

"My wife was a big fan of you, Mr. Candreva," Jonas added, his tone carrying a mixture of fondness and nostalgia.

"Oh, is she here?" I inquired, glancing around curiously.

Angel shook her head, a hint of sadness briefly shadowing her features. I watched as Jonas's smile slowly faded, his expression turning apologetic. "Apologies, did I say anything?"

"No, Eros. My mum died years ago," Angel replied softly, her gaze fixed on the ground. A palpable unease settled over the moment.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I offered, my words feeling inadequate in the face of her pain.

Her father's smile returned, though it held a touch of bittersweetness. He reached out and patted my shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Don't be. She's probably dancing in heaven right now. Anyways, let me get a room set up for you."

"Dad—"

"You're not wasting money on a hotel," Jonas insisted firmly, reaching for Angel's suitcase.

"Dad, it's fine—" Angel protested, her voice tinged with exasperation.

"It's settled. You two can stay here," he declared, his resolve unwavering as he took charge of the situation.

"Dad!" Angel's protests fell on deaf ears as he walked towards the house, carrying her suitcase. She turned to me with an embarrassed smile. "He can be quite stubborn when he wants to be."

I chuckled softly, a genuine warmth blossoming between us. "It seems you've inherited that trait."

"Ha-ha." She rolls her eyes, "come in." She invites me, and I lift my duffle bag and follow her inside the house. The atmosphere felt cozy and inviting, a contrast to the intense world of sports I was used to. Angel heads into the kitchen, likely to argue with her dad about not insisting we stay here. As I enter the hallway, I take a moment to shut the door behind me.