Page 108 of The Pucking Date
“And how are you feeling?” she asks. “Physically?”
“Could be better,” I say. “Early pregnancy in corporate America is a special kind of hell.”
“Well,” she says, already on her feet. “Time to go see Grandma.”
I blink. “Wai Po? No way, Mom. She’ll figure it out before I even say a word. I’ve been avoiding going to see her ever since I found out.”
“We’re going next week,” she says, firm. “No arguments. She’s got tea, acupuncture, and more opinions than the FDA has warnings. It’ll help.”
I stare. “And we’re fine with Wai Po knowing I got knocked up by one of Dad’s players?”
Mom doesn’t miss a beat. “Hardly her first rodeo.”
Sophie chokes. “Wait—what?”
Mom waves a hand. “I can’t believe you two never figured it out. Our wedding anniversary is in April. Jessica was born in November. You do the math.”
And with that, she spins on her heel and heads inside.
“Dinner’s in fifteen. Wash your hands.”
26
LITTLE ROOKIES
FINN
Saturday morning in Tarrytown smells of burned coffee, sweat, and fruit snacks ground into the tile. Parents stand around with lukewarm cups, sipping without thinking. They call it self-care. I prefer espresso in a porcelain cup. I want the caffeine, but also the few minutes it forces me to sit still and actually taste something.
Jessica always had one waiting when I came up for meetings. It wasn’t much, but it meant something. It made me believe I wasn’t chasing a chimera.
Now I’m thinking about her again. She’s a constant background noise in my head I can’t seem to turn off. She’s everywhere—in my coffee, in my playlist, in the goddamn shampoo aisle.
Maybe an hour with a dozen sugar-fueled ten-year-olds will drown her out.
I exhale the tight knot in my gut. This is the safe stuff. Little kids. Mini sticks. Juice boxes and the type of chaos I can handle.
Dmitri claps a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go,tovarish. The children demand their fearless leader.”
I almost laugh. It catches somewhere just behind my teeth and stays there. I nod instead and head for the ice.
Jason tears across the rubber mats toward me, helmet crooked, yelling something about “power plays and Capri Suns.” Melissa jogs after him, effortlessly pulled together, though the fly-aways say she’s been chasing him since dawn.
“Sorry,” she pants, adjusting her ponytail. “Two muffins, half a Gatorade. He’s practically levitating.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll run the bounce out of him by the time we hit scrimmage.” I crouch to help him tighten his skates. “You ready to crush some drills, buddy?”
Jason nods like I’ve just offered him a contract. “I want to work on my wrister.”
“Let’s rip it.”
His sister Kaycee shows up next—tiny, sparkly, missing a front tooth. She tugs on my sleeve.
“Coach Finn, can I braid your bracelet?”
Without thinking, I offer my wrist. “Sure. Just don’t cut off my blood flow. I need at least one hand to run practice.”
“Deal.”
