Page 50 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
“What?” I snap.
He nods toward where Jack waits in the car. “What’s with that?”
I give him a blank look. “I’m not here to answer your questions. I’m here to pick up my son so he doesn’t feel abandoned any more than he already does.” Kyle’s chest puffs out even more as he draws in a breath, I’m sure to launch into a long diatribe of justification and somehow making this my fault. Since everything is my fault, after all. But before he can get a word out, I hold up a hand and turn to Liam again. “Do you need help with your bags, sweetie?”
Shaking his head, Liam stands, dragging himself toward me, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, the reusable tote bag barely clearing the floor.
“I thought we agreed we’d be civil in front of Liam,” Kyle hisses at me.
I don’t even bother to look at him this time. “We agreed on a lot of things, Kyle. But somehow I’m the only one to hold up my part of the agreement.”
“Now hold on—” he starts, but I ignore him in favor of reaching for Liam’s tote bag. Even though he said he didn’t need help, he hands it to me. Well, sort of. He moves it slightly closer to my hand and doesn’t object when I take it, at least.
Shouldering the bag, I glance at Kyle. “We’re not going to keep playing these games. And you don’t get to lecture me about parenting when I’m the only one who actually does it.” I close my mouth before I can say,You’ll be hearing from my attorney, because why tip my hand? Let him be surprised and angry when he gets the notice that I’ve filed to change custody. I have more than enough evidence that he’s failing our son. At the very least, we need to have child support adjusted. I should’ve done it ages ago, but I kept hoping that he’d eventually decide to step up.
Stupid of me, really. He’s shown me over and over again that he won’t. I just thought that was restricted to me and my needs. I thought he could handle helping his son.
Guess I was wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jack
A kidwith Maggie’s dark hair cut short on the sides and long and messy on top comes trudging down the path from the front door, a red backpack flopping against his side. His feet are dragging so much, I can almost hear them scraping on the concrete.
Maggie walks behind him, her face a blank mask.
More than anything, that sight strikes terror inside me. I’ve seen Maggie experience a wide range of emotions, and they always—always—show on her face. For her to have shut down so much that I can’t tell if she’s ready to cry or blow up the house has me worried. And now I don’t know what to do with myself. Should I get out of the car to say hi to her kid? Or would that just throw lighter fluid on an already hot blaze, if the look on her ex’s face is anything to go by?
That dude’s easy to read. He’s pissed. Whatever Maggie said to him has him wanting to go after her to say more, but his eyesdart between the kid and me, and he seems to think better of that idea.
Yeah, fucker. You don’t want to mess with me. Maggie might be hesitant to openly call you on your bullshit in front of your kid, but I have no such hesitation.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. As much as I might want to tell her ex what a deadbeat he is—and there’s no mistaking that fact—I know his type well enough to know that Maggie’s the one who’ll bear the punishment for my hotheadedness. And the last thing I want to do is add more difficulty to her life. My goal is to make her life better, easier if possible. Though I do sometimes wonder if figuring out how to spend time with me actually makes her life harder …
I talk myself out of that spiral by reminding myself that she’s commented about how much she enjoys our dates, that positive challenges make life better, even if they don’t make it easier, and that if she wants to stop or even take a break, all she has to do is say the word.
Maggie opens the passenger door and messes around next to the seat for a minute before figuring out how to push it forward so her son can climb in the back seat.
When she steps back to let him in, he stops in front of the door and gives my car a disgruntled look. I’m not sure what I was expecting exactly, but it definitely wasn’t that. I have a nice car, man. When I was his age, I would’ve thought getting an unexpected ride in a cool car would be a highlight.
“Who are you?” he demands. “And where’sourcar?”
“This is my friend, Jack,” Maggie says before I can answer. “He and I were hanging out when your dad called me and asked me to pick you up because he had something come up with work.”
I do my best not to project my irritation with that pathetic excuse. This asshole just doesn’t know what to do with his own kid. For all his faults, at least my dad never pulled that shit. Of course, we mostly spent our time immersed in hockey—running drills, watching games, going to the rink and playing one-on-one. The one-on-one games were my favorite. Isn’t this asshole supposed to be into basketball? Why doesn’t he take him to a park? It doesn’t even cost money to do that. I mean, sure, you need a basketball, but it’s not like that’s expensive, and it’s just a one-time cost. Fucker can’t even do that much. Maggie does. I knowsheplays basketball with him because she’s mentioned it on multiple occasions. Why can’t his dad?
Maggie continues with the introductions. “Jack, this is my son Liam.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say to the kid, offering him a friendly smile.
He still stares at me, looking for all the world like it’snotnice to meet me, though he at least has manners enough not to say it. Part of me is annoyed by the rudeness, but the poor kid’s probably pissed at his dad and taking it out on anyone around since taking it out on his dad’s not really an option. I hope he was a little shit to his dad before he left, though. Dude fucking deserves it.
Liam clambers into the back seat, flopping around like a fish that just got yanked out of the water.
Fishing! That’s another thing that fucker could do with his kid.
Maggie resets the front passenger seat and climbs in as well. “I’m really sorry about this, Liam. Jack’ll take us to our car, and then we’ll go home.”
