Page 4 of Lucky Laces
I jab at the button to send the metal door rolling up then march into the garage, throwing the suitcase in the back seat of his car then hopping in the driver’s side.
The engine rumbles to life.
I reverse out onto the driveway.
Park.
“Baby,” he says as I pop open the door.
“Goodbye, Jason.”
“Diana—”
“We’re done.Just go.”I turn away, but I don’t make it more than a couple of steps before he snags my arm, yanking me roughly to a stop, spinning me to face him.
“Idecide when we’re done,” he says, a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
It’s dark, cold, not anything like the somewhat dopey golden retriever I thought I’d been dating.
I shiver, a thread of fear winding through my middle.“Let me go,” I order quietly.
He bends so his face is in mine, fingers tightening until the point of pain?—
“Everything okay out here?”
We jump, and relief cascades through me at the sound of my neighbor’s voice.Ernest is eighty if he’s a day, but right now he’s shuffling toward us, a bag in one hand, his phone in his other.
“Everything’s fine,” Jason snaps.
But the distraction of Ernest is enough that I’m able to extricate myself from Jason’s hold.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say to my neighbor, keeping a watchful eye on—and distance from—Jason as I move over to Ernest.“I picked up that jar of jelly for you”—not a lie, but it’s also something that can wait for a time when it’s not one in the freaking morning—“want to come in and get it?”
His shrewd gaze tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing, but I’m still relieved when he nods.“Yes, that would be great, missy.I’d love to have some on my toast in the morning.”
Jason takes a step toward us.“I?—”
“You were leaving, right?”Ernest asks—or rather orders—as he takes my arm.“Don’t let an old man keep you.”He starts walking, leading me through the garage, pausing at the front and hitting the button to send the door rolling down, waiting for it to fully shut before he turns to me and says on a sigh,
“You’re going to have a problem with that one, Dee.”
And unfortunately, over the next weeks, I discover…
He’s not wrong.
Two
Hudson
I stare at the tablet,the drawings on the screen, willing my brain to comprehend them.
It’s hockey—something I’ve done nearly my entire fucking life.
From the moment I could walk, my dad strapped skates on my feet, shoved a stick in my hand, and locked me out of the house so I had nowhere to go except for the frozen rink in the back yard.
So, this shouldn’t be complicated.
Itshouldbe instinctual.
