Page 9 of Hot Puck
Although in my previous life my gut never let me down. Never steered me in the wrong direction when it came to where the puck would go?—
I stamp on those thoughts as pain lances my chest.
That life is over.
Never to be revisited.
And the sooner I accept that and move on the better.
The girls need me to be the best parent figure I can be. I might be clueless most of the time, but I had two really good role models for the first twenty years of my life. I have to believe their guidance has imbedded itself in my subconscious over the years.
If I can draw on even a tenth of what they showed me, I’ll be thrilled. The other nine tenths are what books and the internet are for.
Plus, there’s Candace’s doctor. She’s been a world of help since Dad died.
Dammit. Shaking my head, I clear all thoughts of Dad’s death from my mind.
Easier said than done when I’m expected to be his replacement in the business. It might have taken me months, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not cut out to be a parent and work. At least not right now.
Maybe when I get the hang of this parenting thing, I can look at taking a more active role in the company. For now, I’m going to leave the running of the stores to the managers and appoint Kent Quinn manager of the managers.
Kent will be my point person. And I’ll leave it to him to hire his replacement, because honestly, I know very little about the business my family owns, and Kent’s been with us from the beginning.
Dad never included me in any meetings or store visits. He knew my dream was to play in the NHL and only join him in the business after I retired from the ice.
But that was when he thought he’d live until both of us reached retirement age.
I could sell the business. Invest the money in other things to earn an income to support me and the girls, but the sporting and outdoor equipment stores aren’t just mine. And I refuse to sell anything—the house or the business—before the girls are old enough to make a decision.
Candace is too young, and Cass, Stell, and I will make the decision for her, but the twins are old enough to remember our parents, our life before, and I refuse to take any more away from them.
Whether I want to work in one of our stores or not, I’ll keep hold of the legacy our parents left us.
I glance around my childhood bedroom. The one I’ve only lived in part-time for the last few years.
Mom kept everything as I left it. The wall of old hockey sticks. The hockey print bedding. The shelf of pucks—one from every shut-out game I had during my years in college—is the only new addition.
Otherwise, the room looks exactly like it did when I lived here.
Never thought I’d be back in this room permanently.
Not like this.
As much as it hurts to be here, it also comforts.
Being surrounded by their things, walking through the rooms they spent so much time in, brings solace I know we all need right now.
Especially the girls.
I have no idea how I’m going to guide my sisters through their teenage years. Mine were hockey, hockey, hockey. Early days, late nights, game weekends. The girls aren’t into any sport or activity beyond what’s required of them in school.
My phone beeps again reminding me of the call I should be on and I run my fingers through my hair, try to tame the tangled mass. It needs a cut.
One more thing I don’t have time for right now.
That changes in the next hour.
Smoothing a hand down my now righted shirt, I tug the material to remove any wrinkles as I walk toward the stairs.
