Page 76 of Drop the Mitts

“Didn’t peg you for the dramatic storm-out-onto-the-porch type.” Country stepped up beside him.

“Shut the hell up. You know I’m dramatic.”

Country laughed. He offered up a beer without looking. André took it. For a while, they stood in silence.

Then Country said, “You love her?” André snorted, but Country gave him a sideways glance. “I’m serious.”

André took a long pull from the beer. “She drives me batshit crazy, bud.”

Country didn’t even blink, and André turned his head, not able to keep eye contact.

After a few moments, Country cleared his throat. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if we lose her.” André sucked in a breath and held it. Country’s voice caught as he continued, “If she goes back to Amey . . . I don’t know if Jenna’ll come back from that. I don’t know if I will.”

André turned to look at him. Country. The man who was all-in on and off the ice. Who played for broke. Who gave every shit and didn’t apologize for it.

He stood there with his eyes glassy.

André’s throat tightened. “Maybe all of this isn’t worth it.”

Country breathed a laugh. “Mm. No, I’ve lived that life. The one where I couldn’t hurt because I didn’t have anything to lose.” He leaned sideways on the railing. “I’d take this any day of the week.”

Country straightened, stretching one arm over his head, then switching his beer so he could stretch the other. “I heard Grace’s permits came through. Last week, apparently. They’re moving full speed ahead.”

“Hmm.” André’s eyes narrowed.

“Should be finished in a week or two, I guess.” Country let out a slow breath, then turned toward the house. “Once the charity game is over on the twenty-second, seems like all her strings will be cut loose.”

André stared out at the frosted barn, taking another swig of beer and swishing it in his mouth. The porch door creaked open and swung shut.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Grace

The airinside the Children’s Museum smelled like apple juice and hand sanitizer, and Grace was almost positive she’d contracted sensory processing disorder upon entering. Or had been slipped a tab of acid. The lights, colors, and cacophony were equal to an out-of-body experience.

A blur of small humans darted from exhibit to exhibit like tiny meteorites in light-up sneakers. The space was bright and sprawling—painted murals of clouds and planes stretched across high ceilings while clusters of interactive stations buzzed with activity. There was a play grocery store stocked with plastic kale and tiny shopping carts, a sensory bin filled with kinetic sand and buried dinosaurs, and an art studio where children in oversized smocks splattered paint with more passion than precision.

In the middle of everything was Hope, secured snugly in Sharla Thompson’s arms, her face tilted up with open-mouthed wonder at the waterworks installation that sent ping-pong ballsswirling through tubes. Rob hovered nearby with a grin so wide it practically split his face. The man had barely let go of the baby since Jenna passed her off.

Sharla and Rob were all of their adopted parents. They loved without condition and fed the entire Snowballs team as many times a week as Sean and Emma would let them. Grace’s heart squeezed seeing their pure joy whenever they were around Hope.

And in April they were going to court.

Grace tugged her cardigan tighter around herself. She was glad she came. She needed the distraction. Not from work or the renovations. She needed this break because she wasmiserable.

It had been a full week since Edmonton. Seven long days of silence from André—aside from a few very professional emails about the charity game logistics. They were curt. Polite. Painfully impersonal.

Each one felt like a paper cut to the wrist. She hated how much it bothered her that he wasn’t following her into the parking lot or showing up in her driveway.

She tried to shake off her sour mood as she followed the group through the echoing halls, past the dino dig, and into the toddler zone where Kelty sat cross-legged on the floor with Curtis and Sasha’s youngest, helping her build a block tower. Suraj’s wife, Rashi, sat nearby chatting with Emma, while Penny wrangled one of their twins, convincing him not to lick the plexiglass.

Grace slipped onto a padded bench near the play mats and tried to focus on the moment—on the people around her, on the cheerful chaos, on the happy screech of a little boy who just launched himself down a foam slide.

It was a good day.

She was surrounded by good people.

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