Page 103 of Pucking One Night Stand
I lean over and nudge her. “Cassy, wake up.”
Nothing. Not even a mumble. Her breathing’s even. She’s completely out cold.
I stare through the windshield. The house is dark, except the porch light just flicked on. And now the front door creaks open, and there he is.
Coach McCullum.
Of course.
I open the door, step out into the early morning chill, and walk around. The passenger side creaks open. She’s a dead weight in my arms before I even think twice. Head against my chest. One boot dangles loosely from her heel.
Carrying her up the path, past the neat, freshly mowed lawn, halfway to the door, she stirs. Blinks. Then twists and jumps straight out of my arms.
“Dad?” She mumbles.
“Coach McCullum,” I mutter at the same time.
His eyes flick between us, and I know he knows exactly what this looks like.
Then he shifts his weight and sighs. “Well… are you coming in?”
I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”
Cassy rubs at her eyes as she steps past him. I follow, not sure if I should walk two steps behind her or right next to her. I settle for somewhere awkward in between. We make it into the hallway, and I hold my hand out to him. “Coach…”
What comes out after that is a mess of mumbled syllables and regret.
He grips my hand firmly, eyes sharp but not cruel. “Good game tonight.”
We move through the narrow hall lined with photos of Cassy as a kid, team shots, and some old hockey memorabilia. Coach carries on talking like it’s not weird at all that I carried his daughter in half asleep a couple of moments ago. “You all showed character.”
We step into the living room. Same as I remember it from years ago. Worn but clean, fireplace cold, couch cushions a little sunken. He gestures to the sofa. I sit, because what the hell else do I do?
Cassy’s already halfway to the kitchen. “Dad, would you like coffee?”
He smirks. “Wow, that’s a first.”
Before she can respond, a woman walks into the room, rubbing one eye and clearly still half asleep. Middle-aged, tired, not someone I recognize.
Cassy turns. “Oh. Morning, Martha. Martha, Blake. Blake, Martha.”
“Hi.” I nod, no clue who she is, what she does, or why I half stood up when I said it.
“I’ll make the coffee,” Martha offers.
“No, it’s okay,” Coach stretches, his back cracking. “I’m going to head back to bed.”
Cassy grabs Martha gently by the elbow. “Come on, I’ll help you make coffee.”
They disappear into the kitchen, and Coach lingers just a second longer. Then he looks at me. “Well… have you asked her yet?”
“I plan on asking her now.”
A rare smile breaks across his face. “Good luck.” And he walks out, the hallway swallowing his heavy steps.
A few moments later, Cassy’s back with two steaming mugs, which she places on the coffee table. She closes the living roomdoor behind her and comes to sit beside me on the sofa, legs curled under her. The quiet hum of the early morning settles in.
I lean back, legs stretched out, one arm going around her. She shifts closer, nestling into my side like we’ve been doing this forever.
