Page 3 of The Parent Playbook
“He’s demanding an audience with the mayor,” Virginia explains, not even trying to hide her exasperation. She always was a little too uptight for her own good.
“The mayor?” My hand pinches the bridge of my nose. “He’s twelve,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone. “Okay, I’m coming.”
I end the call and look at Troy, who’s trying and failing to hide a grin. “The mayor, huh? Kid’s got ambitions.”
“This isn’t funny,” I snap, though part of me is always impressed with my kid’s guts. “He’s supposed to be in class, not staging a coup on the roof.”
Troy raises his hands in surrender. “Go easy on him, Angel. Remember that story you told me about Mrs. Burnbent? You weren’t the easiest either.”
Troy knows. Life for me growing up wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. My mom, she was like a crusader, working three different jobs to make sure she and I had a roof over our heads and food on the table. I didn’t see her much, mostly glimpses early in the morning or late at night, like a shadow moving quietly through our small, cramped bungalow. But even in her absence, I learned a lot from her—about working hard, about not giving up, despite being bone-tired. She was the strongest person I knew. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t around much, I admired her more than anyone else.
Losing her when I was eighteen nearly broke me in two, except that she had taught me how to get through the hardest that life throws around.
But then everything went into fast-forward. At nineteen, I was wearing a white dress at city hall with a boy I’d known since we were five. I was naïve enough to believe I had all the answers, that I’d somehow outsmart life’s curveballs if I had a ring on my finger. I was filled with dreams of building a different world for us, one filled with laughter and love, anything to get out of the hole of my childhood.
But then I found myself cradling a positive pregnancy test, the lines blurring as tears welled in my eyes. I was filled with fear and unexpected joy.
I was still in the maternity ward with Andy in my arms when I learned that my teenage so-called husband had skipped town. He’d told everyone not to bother looking for him because he was never coming back.
There I was, suddenly solo, with a newborn son in my arms.It was just me and my Andy, figuring out this dance of life together.
Since they came to town, Troy and his wife, Kelly, have become the best uncle and auntie that Andy could ever have, and thank the heavens above for it. Troy is a pillar in so many ways.
“Want me to come with? Give the boy a talking to?”
I wave him off. “I have to deal with this. And I’m going to be late for the joyous occasion of schmoozing with our town’s latest imports of testosterone and ego.”
“I could join at the schmoozing event, cancel plans with?—”
“No, no. You’ve suffered enough for one day,” I say with a smirk, nodding toward his groin. “Wish me luck.”
“They are the ones who need the luck.” He gives me a wink and walks—a bit awkwardly—toward his car. He took one for the team today.
I wave to the Happy Horizon’s staff and head toward my house at the front of the property, my mind racing through a dozen lectures I could give my son. But deep down, I know I’ll probably just hug him, relieved he’s safe from roof escapades, even if he is a miniature revolutionary. The truth is, my world might be full of battles, from inflatable ones to those fought in silent, desperate hope, but it’s also filled with unexpected allies, like Troy.
And tonight, I’ll face another kind of battle, one that requires a smile as my armor and patience as my weapon. Because whether I like it or not, those hockey players and their fundraising team might be the miracle Happy Horizons needs.
So, I’ll play the game, for now, keeping my skepticism as my closest confidant and my son’s antics as my secret motivation.
After all, if he can take on the school roof with the audacity of a born leader, I can surely take on a few hockey players for a good cause.
CHAPTER 2
SCOTTY
The echo of the puck slamming against the boards fills the arena as I watch from the sidelines, my breath a fog in the cold air as I squint at my clipboard. The first practice of the Ice Breakers is well underway, though they’re anything but united—a collection of guys and far from the unified team we have to become.
And I’m happier than I thought I would be to be here.
For now, the Ice Breakers are a jumble of talent and a dash of ego, scattered across the ice, their moves not yet that of a crew that’s been through the fires of competition together. We may be a charity team, but every guy out there has ambitions that stretch beyond casual games for a good cause.
The air is thick with the frost and the scent of socks, and it takes me right back to four years ago when hockey wasn’t just a game but nearly my entire world.
“Spread out! Spread out!” Doug shouts, his voice bouncing off the ice. “Ted, you’re crowding the center!”
I lean in, watching as the players fumble another drill. Some of these guys I’ve known for years—Cooper Montgomery, Ted Powell, and of course, Coach Doug, were all part of my life back then. I played against a few during my time with the DenverPeaks, and others go back to our time in the minor league. In some ways, it feels like no time has gone by.
“They’re disjointed,” Doug grumbles to himself. “What do you think, Scotty? I’ve seen you read plays before they happen.”
