Page 6 of Pucked Up Plans
She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.
Nice try, kid. You may be adorable, but I won’t give into your demands.
At least not all the time.
CHAPTER 3
WALSH
Iwalk out of sociology, my head spinning. A few weeks into my fall senior semester, and this elective is kicking my ass. I don’t have the time or motivation required to dedicate to doing well. I’m not sure what I was thinking at the end of the semester last year when I agreed to it. Must have been the elation of a Division III Frozen Four championship win, thinking I could tackle anything.
As long as I end up with a C, I’ll get credit, keep my grant, and not be put on academic probation. I only like to ride the bench in my jersey.
Perhaps Millie will take pity on me and help in some way.
Because your mother doesn’t help enough.
Free babysitting, meals, laundry, a shelter for me and my kid, among other things. Yeah, probably best not to ask her for help. Dad’s no help with college, since he barely skated by in high school. And not my kind of skating. Possibly one of my sisters, Juliet or Marina. I’ll text them later to see what their availability is.
It’s lunchtime on campus at Aspenridge College. Because the weather’s mild for September, the quad is packed. Blankets lay among the grass, students soaking up the early autumnsunshine, and at least two organized games of frisbee transpire. Leaves on the trees standing guard are beginning to lose their green.
“Keeley. Where you headed?” my teammate, Ezra Hamilton, calls, jogging over to match my stride.
“Student Center. Gonna grab a snack before taking off for the afternoon.”
“I’ll join you.”
Ezra’s a sophomore this year. Another Vermont boy, he grew up on a farm about three towns over. Our high schools were in the same league, so we played against each other years ago, but I didn’t know him well before he started playing for Aspenridge. He’s a hell of a center, scoring a quarter of our goals last season as a freshman.
“How’s Lennon?”
Of the other players, he’s the first to ask about her. He’s got two kid sisters at home, one about Lennon’s age and a younger one. Not the same as having your own kid at our age, but of all my friends, he understands her the best.
“Can’t sit still. Sassy. A lovable pain in my butt.”
Ezra laughs, and I can’t help the smile on my face.
As much as she’s all that, she’s mine, all thirty-five pounds of her. She was the shock of my life, unplanned in every way, but I wouldn’t trade every sacrifice I’ve made in the last five years. Not if it meant I wouldn’t have her. Life as a teen dad isn’t for the faint of heart, but I’m fortunate for the support of good people and family in my life. Without my village, I would have drowned. I don’t often fathom where my life would be if Megan had made another choice years ago. I also don’t allow myself to think of a life devoid of being able to follow my dreams. Fortuity in my life is an understatement. I don’t take any of it for granted.
“You get your sisters on skates yet?”
“Nah. Mom won’t let them. ‘Too violent.’” He shakes his head, a sardonic laugh bubbling out. “I’m lucky they get to come to a game or two.”
“Next time they’re here, let me know. Lennon would love to entertain them.”
My mind drifts to her friend with the hot mom.
Tate.
Straight raven hair. Brown doe eyes. Creamy white skin. The hint of an accent not from these parts enhances her allure. I haven’t seen her since I picked Lennon up Friday at preschool, but she hasn’t strayed far from my mind. Which is a problem in so many ways.
Hockey.
Lennon.
She’s a mom.
Classes.
