Page 25 of Pucking the Single Dad
"How did you—"
"Maria called. Said Serena texted her about the store incident. Speaker. Now."
I complied, too tired to argue.
"First," Theo's voice filled the room, "Serena, thank you for protecting this stubborn asshole. Second, Brad, stop trying to be a hero and accept help. Third, how bad is the knee?"
"It's—"
"Bad," Serena interrupted. "He needs an X-ray."
"I'll call Patricia," Theo said. "She might be able to come by—"
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly, based on Serena's expression.
"Right," Theo drew out the word. "Because having the team doctor make a house call would be terrible."
"The roads—"
"Are clear enough for emergency medical personnel. Which this is. I'm calling her."
He hung up before I could protest further.
"Who's Patricia?" Serena asked casually, adjusting the ice packs.
"Team doctor."
"Ah."
That 'ah' contained volumes. Before I could explain, Finn had a coughing fit—not serious, but enough to shift focus. Serena helped him through it with calm efficiency while I watched, useless with my leg elevated.
That evening became an exercise in forced vulnerability. Serena managed dinner, Finn's homework, and my steady stream of work calls about whether I'd make next week's games (no), or the playoffs (hopefully).
She brought me dinner on the couch—actual food, not the protein bar massacre I'd been planning—and physically prevented me from crawling to the table.
"Eat. Like a human, not a wolverine."
"I don't eat like a—"
"Yesterday you ate a sandwich while doing push-ups."
"That was time management."
"That was deranged."
When Finn's evening breathing treatment ran long—his lungs reacting to the day's stress—she sat with him while I provided distraction through increasingly ridiculous hockey stories.
"So Theo decides he's going to impress this sports reporter," I said, watching the medication mist curl aroundFinn's small face. "Says he can do a triple axel. On hockey skates. During a game."
"Uncle Theo can't even spell axel," Finn wheezed through the mask.
"Correct. He ended up somehow inverted in the goal, skates tangled in the net like a bat. A very angry, swearing bat." I demonstrated with my hands. "The ref had to call a timeout while maintenance cut him free with bolt cutters."
Finn's laugh turned into a cough, then back to a laugh. Serena's eyes found mine—the quick check-in of experienced catastrophe management. I gave her the tiny head shake:normal, not scary.
After Finn was in bed—insisting Serena tuck him in since I couldn't navigate stairs easily—she returned with tea for herself and fresh ice for me.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For everything today."
