Page 24 of The Overtime Kiss

Tyler

The Boston forward barrels down the ice, his stick cradling the puck, dead set on breaking the tie in this scoreless game. I’m right on his tail, close enough to feel his desperation, when he slips it across the zone to a teammate.

But Bishop—the other Sea Dogs defenseman on this line with me—reads the play perfectly, stepping in to block the shot on goal. The Boston winger panics and flings it back across the ice—straight to me.

Thanks for the gift.

The puck’s mine now. I take off behind the net, scanning for an open teammate. My brother’s cutting through the zone, stick ready. Perfect. But before I can make the pass, the forward slams into me with a crack that rattles my bones and pins me to the boards.

Pain flashes through me, sharp and electric. But this? This is the kind of hit I live for.

I throw an elbow, carving out just enough space to battlefor the puck. No way am I letting him keep it. A shove here, a jab there, and I wrestle it free. With one sharp flick, I send the puck across the ice in a clean pass to my brother.

My glare cuts back to the Boston forward. It’s a warning: don’t try me again.

He will. They always do.

But I’m bigger and meaner, and I don’t lose these battles. At six-five, I’m one of the tallest guys on the ice, built like a tank—an advantage every defenseman needs. And I play like one too. Rough. Hungry. Taking no prisoners. That’s the mission this season—make it better than the last. I’m out to prove something.

With only five minutes left in the third period, I curve around the net, pick off a stray pass, and send it clean to Devon, who rockets down the ice. With a snap of his wrist, he sneaks the puck past the goalie’s glove and into the net.

Yes!

Devon circles back to me, grinning as we slap gloves. It’s only pre-season, but it feels damn good to start with a win.

Back in the locker room, Coach McBride paces, doling out post-game notes. “Nice work getting down the ice,” he says to Ford Devon, who nods, clearly still buzzing. Then, with a rare smile, Coach turns to me, flipping me the puck. “Good job wearing them down out there. That’s what we need.”

I catch the game puck, a flicker of pride settling in my chest. This pre-season has been good. The real work? Keeping it up when the regular season starts next week.

As I tug off my jersey, my phone buzzes from inside the stall. Better check that. It’s a clear reminder that real life is waiting for me the second the game ends. I grab it, scan the messages. Agatha gave notice a week ago, and my life since has been a whirlwind of pre-season games and nanny interviews. None of them have panned out. The first one didn’tthink she could handle a schedule as unpredictable as mine. The second wanted to bring her boyfriend along to my home, which was a hard no. And the third? She told me, with zero hesitation, that she’d “never been much of a kid person.” Why she applied for the job, I’ll never know.

Mom has stepped in to help, which has been great, because she’s good with this stuff. Hell, she’s good at everything—like raising three kids on her own while balancing a full-time career.

Today’s message lights up my phone while I loosen the laces on my skates.

Mom: I have an idea.

Tyler: Yeah? What is it?

Mom: To solve your nanny problem.

Tyler: You’re the best mom ever. But what is it?

Mom: I’m working through it right now.

Tyler: Don’t you need to get to a skating lesson?

Mom: Of course. I’m here already. Thinking. Parker is right next to me, totally absorbed in reading that new Astronaut Explorer book, and my brain just won’t stop working.

Tyler: So what’s the idea? Did the agency find someone?

Mom: Agency of Mom.

I can’t even imagine what she’s up to. But she sold homes for most of her career before retiring, so she knows people—and dogs. She has four of them, so I’m betting she met a babysitter at the dog park. Or maybe a dog-sitter wanting to expand. After the trouble I’ve had finding someone, I wouldn’t rule anything out.

What have I got to lose? Mom’s been at every interview, vetting candidates and keeping me sane. She knows what I’m looking for—a kind, caring person who isn’t on their phone all the time, and someone who’s good with kids. It’s that simple.

And besides, I trust her.

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