Page 51 of One Pucking Heart

“Good.”

I remove the heating pad and towel the moisture off his knee. Ripping off a stretch of athletic tape, I apply it from his quad muscle to the skin below his knee to relieve some of the pull on that tendon. I repeat the taping on the other side of his knee. “We need to build up your quads. That big muscle is capable of doing the heavy lifting. When you strengthen them, they’ll relieve a lot of the strain on these tendons and lessen your pain.”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it. Sounds great, Doc. Now, am I good?”

Stepping back from the bench, I extend an arm toward the door. “Yes. You’re free to go.”

“Sweet.” Hopping up, he grabs his jeans and quickly puts them on. “You going to join us at the bar?”

“Maybe.”

He shoves his sock-clad feet into a pair of colorful Jordans. “You should. I’m not kidding. The bar life here is insane!”

Jaden hurries from the locker room. I lag behind, loading up my medical bag. Everything in me wants to go back to the hotel and crash. Flying back and forth for road games across the country and the three-hour time change is for the birds. If I were back in Michigan, I’d be in my bed asleep.

But the Cranes had an impressive victory, and Beckett made two of the goals. I should go celebrate with them, at least for a little while.

The energy of the guys is sure to wake me up. A month in, they’re already having an impressive season, and the team morale has been high. They’re all so sure that this is the year, and I really hope it is.

* * *

“This the one?” the Uber driver asks. I look out the window to the neon bar sign, and it matches the name Beckett sent me via text.

“Seems to be. Thank you.” I step out of the car. The wind is brutally chilly on this Seattle night, and I hurry into the bar.

Pulling my phone out of my purse, I input a tip for the Uber driver and notice the email icon on the top of my screen. I vaguely remember receiving the email notification hours ago, but I was too busy to check it.

Music blares, and the Crane players and fans party throughout the space. The bar isn’t what I’d imagined. Everything from the floor to the walls, chairs and tables are wood. The interior is a sea of brown with neon beer brand signs flashing along the walls. It’s an odd design scheme, but I suppose the vibe is what counts.

I haven’t been noticed yet, so I steal away to a far back corner to check my emails. There’s a new email from my father’s law firm. Interest piqued, I open it.

My eyes scan the words over and over. I read the text, but it takes a minute to register the message. Just to verify, I read the email one more time. The information hasn’t changed.

Releasing a breath, I slide my phone into my purse.

My father is dead.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel at this moment, but I’m certain it’s not this because I feel nothing. I wouldn’t describe it as an indifference because even that seems too expressive. I’m emotionally void. There are no impending feelings of sadness or anything else. Before I flew out to Seattle, he was alive on this earth, and now he’s not.

Grief is a strange thing, but the truth is I mourned my father or at least my dream of what I wanted him to be a long time ago. He and I have had a disconnect from the moment I was born. I feel as if I should be sad, but I’m not. I should hold regrets that we’ll never mend our fences, but I don’t. Accepting the reality of our relationship was a crucial step to healing, and it’s been many years since I’ve come to terms with what my father was and what he could never be.

Still… he was my last living parent, and I should feel something.

It’s not until Beckett crosses my mind that I feel something. Only this time, the barrage of emotions are so strong that I’m in a state of complete overwhelm.

“I see you found the best seat in the place.” I look up to see the PR and social media director, Penelope Stellars. “I was hiding back here a bit ago but had to go take care of something. Do you mind if I join you?”

My cordial autopilot clicks on, and I smile. “Sure.”

I’m a professional at slipping into a polite state of fakeness because I’ve done it for years. As a single mother with limited funds, there have been so many times I had to act the part even when my world felt like it was crashing down around me. It’s weird being back here. I haven’t visited this state of delusion since I had to talk to Beckett about his knee in the hospital room right after my daughter’s electricity had been turned off.

“How are the guys?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Awful. I hate road games. At home, I have a good relationship with the reporters and bar staff. Others help keep everyone in check. But on the road? Every night is another mess.” She sighs.

“What would happen if one of the guys did something stupid and ended up on social media?”

She clasps her hands together and sets them on the wooden table between us. “I mean, technically, nothing. They’re all grown men with the ability to act appropriately. If one of them gets wasted and gets in a bar fight, it’s not the end of the world. I wouldn’t lose my job or anything like that. Yet I take my position very seriously. When I agree to do something, I make sure it’s done right. The Cranes jersey sales are higher than ever. Our home games are sold out. And you saw it tonight. Even on road games three hours away, there was a sea of navy and white jerseys. It pays to keep a good reputation.”

---