Page 258 of Playing the Pucking Game
“I know. I just…I couldn’t sleep, and I like listening to their voices. It’s soothing.”
My heart aches for this incredible little girl.
“Aw, come here, sweet pea,” I say, holding my arms out to give her a cuddle. “I won’t say anything. But you can always tell me everything they say about Linc.” It’s naughty of me, but I’m more than happy to hear more about how much I distract him at practice.
“What about what he said himself?” Sutton asks.“He was here the other night and?—”
“Holy cow, how much did you make?” I blurt when Casey and Freya walk in with arms full of food.
“I may have gotten a little excited,” Freya confesses, her cheeks burning red, as she lowers the trays stacked in her arms to the counter.
“It all looks incredible,” Casey says.
“Freya, it’s time for face masks,” Sutton calls.
“I’m all ready for you.”
“You took your makeup off already?” Sutton asks, shooting me a look that makes me roll my eyes.
Chastised by a child. What is my life coming to?
“Yep, good to go.”
Freya takes a seat opposite me and allows Sutton to get to work. Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles by way of greeting.
“Sutton and I made virgin margaritas,” Casey explains as she lowers four salted cocktail glasses in front of us before returning with a jug.
“Sounds perfect. Fill those babies up.”
Once Freya is masked up, she begins talking us through our dinner.
She’s made moussaka with a fresh Greek salad, and then, as Sutton said, she’s made three desserts. A salted caramel cheesecake, brownies, and very British apple crumble.
The second she begins showing it all off, my stomach growls loudly.
“Am I okay to use your oven?” Freya asks.
“After bringing enough food to feed us for a week? Yes, knock yourself out.”
We all sit around the island, sipping on our mocktails, listening to tales of Sutton’s elementary school. As always, Freya’s food is incredible, and we all eat way more than we should.
Eventually, Casey manages to convince Sutton that she needs to go to bed. Seeing as she’s practically falling asleep in her second bowl of apple crumble, she doesn’t argue and instead wraps herself around Casey when she lifts her into her arms and carries her from the room.
Freya and I make ourselves useful while she’s off telling bedtime stories by cleaning up the kitchen.
Before long, Casey is back, and we move to the living room.
“I think I’m going to go back to school,” Freya blurts.
“Oh, that’s exciting,” Casey says, giving Freya her full attention.
Freya has been back at her parents’ for a few months now after going through a pretty awful breakup. When it first happened, she fled to England and spent some time hiding out with her cousin, but she came back at the end of last summer, not knowing what to do with her life.
She met him in Las Vegas, and he completely swept her off her feet, showed her the world, and dropped her as if none of it meant anything before continuing on his way.
She’s doing better now, but she’s still struggling to move on. She gave up her purpose in life, her dreams, to be with him, and she’s been left with nothing, no direction.
“What for?” I ask, already guessing her response.
