Page 24 of If You Love Me

We end the call, and I finish making breakfast.

My dad and Jacqueline are both career-focused and at the same firm, which is why their relationship works. I only see my dad a couple of times a year, and our visits typically include a sporting event that he works through, a distracted dinner, and a promise to spend more time with me next time.

I was barely two when my parents split, so I don’t remember them together. But my mom was always focused on what she didn’t get in the divorce, a.k.a. money. Eventually she met my stepdad, who doted on her and gave her everything she ever wanted. She expected to be taken care of, felt entitled to have her every whim provided for. That drove me to make my own way, and it was one of the reasons I never tried to contact Roman after our weekend together. He would have realized I’d known who he was. I didn’t want to ruin that for either of us. Or for him to think I wanted something from him—expectedsomething.

Back then I’d been coaching junior hockey. High level, but I was working to find my place in the sport. It was only a month later that I scored the job with the Ontario League. I made it here on my own merit.

Fee appears in the kitchen, phone in hand, dressed in all black, doing her best fair-haired Wednesday Addams impression. She used to wear bright colors and have the sunshiney personality to match, but the last year has been hard on her. I don’t get on her case, even though sometimes her “dark” phase worries me.

“Are you reading yourLord of the Ringsfanfic?” I ask.

“My favorite author updated last night.” She pours herself a cup of coffee and tops mine up. “Oooh, look at the presentation on the parfaits. Mom could never even find the cereal.”

“Because someone always put it in the wrong place,” I add.

Our mom was the person to go shopping with, and she planned the best vacations, but her cooking skills started and ended with the microwave.

We both laugh until our eyes start to burn, and then she looks up to the ceiling. “Why are my feelings always on fire?”

“Hormones and grief, Fifi.” I give her a side hug and kiss her temple.

She shakes it off. “I’m fine. It’s too early to get sappy.” She makes the sign of the cross. “Miss you, Mom. Miss you, Dad.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, a photo memory came up this morning, and those always hit differently.”

I wish I could take her pain away, but it’s a power I don’t have. I wasn’t close with our mom the way she was. My pain is different than hers, a black void instead of a raw wound. “I’m sorry.”

“The only way forward is through. Any special instructions for Callie today? Practice as usual, right?”

“Yeah. Thank you. I know your schedule can be busy, and you want a social life, too.” I feel guilty that she has to pick up Callie from hockey practice most days.

“I can hang out with friends at lunch.” She points to the clock. “You need to get your ass in gear or you’ll be late, Coach.”

“Crap. Okay. See you for dinner. Text me your wishes, and I’ll pick up supplies on the way home.” I kiss her on the cheek, grab my messenger bag, slide my feet into my shoes, and head for the door. “Love you, Big Pheels!”

“Love you, too, Lex.”

CHAPTER 10

LEXI

Practice goes relatively smoothly. I sayrelatively, because every time I look in Roman’s direction, I’m reminded of what I did in the shower this morning. I need to get a grip. Maybe hypnotism would work.

Vander Zee skates up beside me. “Grace is open, don’t watch him from the sidelines, try to connect with him whenever you have the chance. Take the initiative.”

“Of course, yes.” I want Vander Zee to see me as competent, not someone who needs hand holding.

I skate over to Grace who passes me the puck. “What do you want to get out of this season?”

“I’ll be happy if I make it through without losing any teeth, courtesy of my teammates.” The sarcasm is strong with this one.

“Really? That’s your goal? Last year you were close to breaking records.”

“I’m the outsider, so this year is about survival again.” He flips the puck on the end of his stick, catching it twice before he flicks it to me.

His phrasing catches my attention. I know all about survival. I catch the puck before it touches the ice, tossing it up and letting it roll along the back of my stick before I pass it back. “What if itdidn’t have to be about survival? What if it could be about something else?”

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