Page 6 of Pucking the Single Dad
"Dad could teach you," Finn offered. "He taught me, and he's really good at teaching. He's patient even when I mess up a lot."
"Buddy, Miss Serena might not want—"
"I'd love that," she interrupted, smiling at Finn before glancing at me. "If it's okay with your dad."
And somehow, I found myself teaching this stranger—this teacher with kind eyes and an easy laugh—how to skate backward while Finn provided commentary that mostly involved telling embarrassing stories about my failed attempts to fix anything beyond changing lightbulbs and unclogging drains.
"So you're not exactly the handyman type?" Serena asked, executing a wobbly but successful backward glide.
“Dad says he’s good at tools, but last time we needed a bookshelf he used so many nails it looked like a porcupine,” Finn announced, selling me out completely.
"Traitor," I muttered, but I was watching how naturally Serena interacted with him, never talking down or over-explaining.
We'd made maybe three laps when I noticed Finn's breathing change. Subtle—just a slight wheeze on exhale—but I was already steering him toward the boards before his hand went to his chest.
"Time for a break, bud."
"I'm okay—" he started, then saw my worried expression and nodded. "Maybe just a little break."
Serena didn't panic, didn't make a fuss. She simply said, "Perfect timing. I need to rest these ankles anyway."
We sat on the players' bench, Finn between us, while I monitored his breathing. Without making it obvious, Serena engaged him in quiet conversation about his favorite subjects, keeping him calm and distracted while his airways relaxed.
"You know," she said to him, "I had a student once who loved soccer but had asthma too. We figured out that if he played in intervals—short bursts with breaks—he could play whole games."
"Really?" Finn's eyes widened. “Dad hardly ever lets me play hockey anymore.”
I felt the accusation in his words, the weight of every restriction I'd placed on his life. "Finn—"
"It's hard to find the balance," Serena said, looking at me with understanding rather than judgment. "Keeping kids safe while letting them be kids. There's no perfect answer."
"DAD!" Theo's voice boomed across the ice. "Stop monopolizing the pretty lady! Other people want to meet her too!"
I wanted to strangle him. Serena laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Pretty lady? Is that my official title now?"
"According to Theo, apparently." I stood, checking Finn's color. Better. "We should probably go. It's getting late and—"
"Dad, it's only seven-thirty," Finn protested.
"One more lap?" Serena suggested. "I think I'm getting the hang of this backward thing."
So we did one more lap, then another, until the zamboni driver kicked everyone off for resurfacing. Finn chattered the entire drive home about Miss Serena, how she was going to be at his school, how she understood about his breathing, how she smelled nice "like cookies or something."
"You like her," he announced as I tucked him into bed, his various medications arranged on the nightstand.
"She seems nice," I said carefully.
"Mom would like her too," he said matter-of-factly, then yawned. "She laughs at your jokes even when they're not funny."
"My jokes are hilarious."
"Dad. No."
I ruffled his hair, checked that his rescue inhaler was within reach, and headed for the door.
"Dad?" His voice was sleepy but serious. "Can we go skating again? With Miss Serena?"
"We'll see, buddy."
