Page 13 of Checking Mr. Wrong
There’s a look in his eyes. It’s calm and steady, the kind that says this isn’t just a casual chat. “Hey, I’ve got a quick question,” he asks.
“What’s up?” I tug my helmet off and run a hand through my hair.
He doesn’t answer right away, just waits for the others to pass us before leaning on his stick. “Saw you out there, tapping your fingers during drills. You always do that?”
I freeze for a second, then shake my head with a laugh that’s all nerves. “Nah, man. It’s a habit or something. You know, adrenaline.”
Cade raises an eyebrow, not buying it. “Right. And when youwere counting in your last few games? Saw a couple of clips when Coach said we might bring you on. Noticed it then, too. It’s part of your routine, isn’t it?”
“I have OCD.” My gut tightens, and I glance around to make sure no one else is listening. My voice comes out lower than I mean it to. “Comes and goes, but with the move and everything, it’s been acting up.”
He nods like I just told him I have a gluten allergy. No judgment, no pity. “Makes sense. Moving’s a lot. New team, new town. It would be hard not to feel off balance.”
I exhale, relieved he’s not pushing harder. “It’s not a big deal. I handle it. Always have.”
“Sure you do,” Cade says, his tone easy, but there’s something knowing in it. “And now, you’ve got a team behind you. We’ve all got our stuff, man. Injuries, mental blocks, superstitions—heck, you probably know by now Carson won’t even tie his skates until his left one feels ‘just right.’” He grins, but it’s not teasing. “You’re part of this family now. You don’t have to carry it solo.”
I blink at him, unsure what to say, but Cade claps me on the shoulder before I can figure it out. “Something to keep in mind. See you in the locker room.”
He skates off without waiting for a reply, leaving me standing there with my stick in one hand and my helmet in the other.
I glance around the rink, the boards still echoing with the scrape of skates from a few moments before. It hits me all at once—this place, this team, this town. It’s not just hockey. It’s Maple Falls, Mabel, Cade, and something that feels a lot like home.
Welcome to the NHL, Asher.
CHAPTER 5
MABEL
I stepout of the dentist’s office, gingerly running my tongue over my newly repaired tooth. The faint taste of dental cement lingers, but at least the jagged edge that had driven me to near madness since yesterday is gone. Beside me, my mother adjusts her scarf with the flair of someone about to walk the Paris Fashion Week runway, not Main Street, Maple Falls.
After dinner last night, somewhere between a game of cards and Murray’s relentless charm, my mother and I managed to lay down our swords and call a truce. Somehow, Murray had bridged the canyon-sized rift between us, at least for now, without either of us realizing it. By the time we were laughing about Murray’s overhand shuffling that could dent the table, it was as if the argument from earlier had never happened.
That’s the thing about Murray and one of the reasons I love him so much. He doesn’t just smooth the rough edges of my mother; he polishes them until they shine. Everyone deserves a safety blanket like him, the kind that’s equal parts warmth and magic.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” she chirps as we weave our way through a small throng of women close to her age. “Hello, Sheila. Hi, Roberta,” she says, giving a quick wave as we walk past.
“You’d think you were running for mayor,” I say, trying not to laugh. “How is he, by the way? I saw Ashlyn outside their house when I got in yesterday.”
“Last time I saw them, everyone seemed good. Truth be told, I’ve seen more of Ashlyn lately than I have of him.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by this week and say hi,” I murmur, making a note to do just that.
“There’s been so much going on around here,” my mother says as she loops her arm through mine conspiratorially. “I don’t even know where to start.”
My mother loves to spill all the tea—if you don’t know what I mean, well, she likes to gossip more than a real housewife on any television show anywhere. So her “I don’t even know where to start” is really a windup for the pitch.
“I’m sure you’ll find a place.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she whispers to herself as she looks over her shoulder. It’s like she wants to make sure no one from the CIA can hear us. “Well, let’s see…the Andersons from down the street are fighting again, pretty sure Donna is going to divorce John this time. If they don’t divorce, she said they’d have separate houses, which I’d love to know how they’ll do that on one income!”
Ah, yes, some gossip served with a side of how she sees it. That’s my mother.
“You know KMFL, the local TV station? They canceled some of their shows recently. Not sure what happened, but rumor has it there’s a shake-up coming to their programming.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s up for sale.”
“Considering they only aired a few shows worth watching, is that a bad thing?” I ask, casting my mind back to the days I’d sit in front of the television set and try to watch something, anything, on that channel. It never quite came in clear and the programs they did air were suspect at best. Fuzzy, staticky news updates, local commercials, the occasional music video from a local band needing promo…it was a crapshoot at best.
“Be good to have them up and running again, though,” she says, slipping her arm out of mine. “No?”
