Page 73 of Lucky
“Do you doubt him?”
“Not at all.He’s genuine, I’m sure of it.”
“Then focus on that and quit worrying about what everyone else thinks.They don’t matter.”Hearing her voice saying what I want to believe makes me feel better.“When’s your next date?”she asks.
“After he gets back from the road trip.He’s leaving tomorrow and won’t be back until next Tuesday.”
“I’m sure it will be here before you know it,” she says, cutting the pie into generous slices.“Where are you going for the date?”
I lift a shoulder, pulling napkins out of a drawer as I chuckle to myself.“I’m not sure, but since it’s part of our experiment.I’m sure it will be refreshingly average.”
“Not an experiment,” she says with a pointed look.
“Yeah, yeah… I know.”I test the words on my tongue.“He said it’s a relationship.”
Mom grins at me.“Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I grin back at her.“Yes, it does.”
“Enjoy it, my love,” she coos, picking up the knife and using it to lift slices from the pan.“You’ve got something with this boy.And I think it’s real.”
I swallow hard.“He wants me to meet his mom.She’s coming in for the next home game.”
My mom beams.“That seems like a lovely next step.”
I nod slowly, unsure if I’m thrilled or terrified.
Probably both, but I wouldn’t get off this ride for all the money in the world.
CHAPTER 23
Lucky
This pub isglowing green.
Not metaphorically—literally.Every overhead light has a green filter, and there’s a four-foot inflatable leprechaun duct-taped on top of the jukebox.Everyone is wearing beads or novelty hats or some kind of shamrock-patterned shirt, and the TV screens are all tuned to a curling match like it’s the Super Bowl.
Welcome to St.Patrick’s Day in Montreal.I swear, my clover tats are practically vibrating in solidarity.
Atlas and I snag a booth near the back, away from the drunkest revelers.We had a practice this morning and team meeting at lunch.Most of the guys—myself included—took a nap and now our evening is free.Because we play tomorrow, this will be an early night.Most of the guys went to a downtown spot for dinner and drinks, but Atlas and I opted for this low-key bar near the team hotel.We both prefer this.
He lifts his bottle in salute.“To surviving a Canadian road trip.”
I clink mine to his.“To not ending up in a TikTok bar fight.”
He huffs out a laugh and sips.“That would absolutely happen to you.”
He’s not wrong.
I lean back against the booth, beer cold in my hand, and study him.Atlas looks tired.And pained.He bears a heaviness he’s not even trying to hide.
“You good?”I ask.
He nods, then shrugs.“Yeah.Just… yesterday was rough.”
Atlas’s friend is dying of cancer, and I can’t even imagine what that’s like.I’ve never had anyone close to me die and I’m not looking forward to it.
I hold my words, giving him space to talk if he wants to share.
