Page 8 of Pucked Up Plans
“You left her in the house alone?”
“You’re going back for thirds?”
“Better triple wrap your dick.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” A high five from Cody McGuire.
“Wrong, dude. So wrong.”
Their conversation continues, Clayton defending his actions and trying to make the girl out to be anything but a puck bunny.
I eat my Cuban and fries in silence, half listening to their conversation, half wondering if I’ll make it in time for preschool pickup to see Tate.
The thought has me furiously packing up my stuff. “Gotta run and grab Squirt. See you at practice tonight.”
At the mention of my daughter, the crude hockey players gush. Whenever she’s around, they’re mostly on their best behavior. They may not think to ask about her, but when I mention her, even in passing, or she’s at a game or practice, they fold like softies.
“Aww. Tell Squirt we miss her.”
“Ask her when she’s coming to skate. My mohawk turn could use some sharpening.”
“Let’s not give the five-year-old so much power. She already thinks she can skate circles around you.” With a wave of my hand, I’m off.
If I time it right, maybe I’ll actually get to speak to Tate.
CHAPTER 4
TATE
I’m early to pick up Aubrey today. I made sure I planned my day with plenty of extra time built in to get to the school early. It means playing catch-up on some work after she’s in bed, but it’s worth it. I don’t need the reputation of being “the mom who’s always late.” In time, it will apply. But I don’t need to be labeled our first month here.
My eyes scan the parking lot, pretending I’m not looking for a certain white truck I haven’t seen since last week. Maybe he’s habitually late as well. Didn’t the kid mention something aboutagain? That could be my imagination. It fills in the gaps of things I want to believe rather than remember things that actually happened.
In the past week, Aubrey’s talked nonstop about her new friend Lennon. She accepted my dismissal of her “dad” question and hasn’t brought it back up. I shouldn’t be okay with that, not for the sake of her wanting to know about her father, but also how she lets the issue slide. I try not to ignore any of her requests often. However, I’m not ready to deal with the backlash of having to explain the situation with her father, as if she’d even understand. Though it’s not fair to her, I’m still dealing with myemotions about all of it. Damon’s death, his parents’ reaction, our move.
Shaking off the bad thoughts bubbling to the surface, I park off to the back of the lot, not wanting to mingle with the other parents standing on the sidewalk, chatting and gabbing away. I don’t fit in with most of Aubrey’s friends’ parents, who are all older, wiser, and way more experienced parents than me. You hear enough about being “a young parent,” it’s hard to ignore it sometimes. Add to it I’m a young, single mom, doing this all on my own now…I should prepare for my tar and feathering.
I considered adoption for a hot minute, but even with everything I’ve had to sacrifice for the last five years, in no way do I regret my decision to become a mother at seventeen.
To my chagrin, the doors of the preschool open before the white truck pulls into the lot. Would it be obvious to wait for him?
Yes. Totes obvious.
I stall walking over to the door. Not to wait for the truck, but for the other parents to clear the space. When Aubrey notices me, her eyes light up. My smile is instantaneous, a similar one she beaming on her heart-shaped pink lips. She’s always had a way of melting my heart with just a look. Part of me hopes she stays this innocent. The other part knows she won’t. Hell, it’s how I ended up a teenage mother. I shudder at her repeating my mistakes because I want a better life for her. Not becauseshe’sa mistake.
“Mommy! You’ll never guess what.” Her excited voice tickles my ears, matching the enthusiasm on her face. She’s usually not this enthused, so whatever it is must be great.At least in her mind. She flies into my waiting arms. Her hugs will never get old.
“What, Bean?”
She can’t contain the huge grin, her secret brimming, needing to be let loose. Leaning in my ear, she whispers, “Smarshmallows are in my backpack.”
Oh wow. He followed through. I’ll admit I was skeptical he would, considering Aubrey hadn’t mentioned them again after Friday. Males rarely remember the little things, and for a stranger, even less. I’m excited because Aubrey’s happy. My joy has nothing to do with the man who kept his end of the bargain.
Not even a little.
“Yummy. What a special treat for later.”
There’s a tap on my leg. Peering down, I find Lennon gaping up at me. Her hair’s pulled back in an unkempt ponytail today, the front strands of her dirty blonde hair falling over her forehead.
