Page 48 of Hot Puck
I check the detergent dispenser to be sure I at least remembered that part of the process before I hit the start button. Shaking my head I turn to find all three of them crowded in the doorway behind me.
They’re matching grins and laughing eyes, and I can’t bring myself to care they’re amused at my expense, because the twins look happy.
And it’s a far better look than the one they wore earlier.
I hate seeing them upset. I hate it even more that they didn’t come to me with their worries. That they didn’t give me the chance to take care of them.
“I don’t care what it is or who it’s about, I want you to tell me anything that worries you or makes you mad or upset or happy. Whatever. I want you to talk to me. About everything. I can’t help you, or support you, or be there for you, if I don’t know there’s something going on.”
The smiles slowly slide off their faces and with a glance at each other they come to a decision. But as usual, it’s Cass who voices it.
“Okay. But you have to promise the same. We know you’re an adult and we’re not, but we should be in this together. You’re not our dad even if you have to take on that role now.”
Her words are full of wisdom and understanding beyond her years and I have to thank our parents for that. They never forced us to grow up before our time, but they taught us responsibility and never sugar-coated the realities of life.
Especially after Mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
Stepping forward, I crouch in front of them. They aren’t short for their age but compared with my six feet four inches they are. Holding out both hands I wait for each of them to grab one.
“I promise. When I’m struggling with something, I’ll tell you. When something good happens, I’ll tell you. When there are big decisions to make about our family, I’ll talk to you.”
“Moving is a big family decision,” Stell murmurs.
“Yes. It is. And it isn’t just moving to Baton Rouge. We have to decide what to do with this house, all the furniture, the cars.”
“I don’t know if I want to sell it.”
I lock eyes with Stell. Out of the twins she’s always been the more sensitive and I have to be aware of that, and if I want her to talk to me in the future, I need to show her I’m willing to do the same. The only way to do that is to give her my own truths.
“I don’t know if I want that either, but we can’t leave it empty, and I don’t want anyone else living here if we keep it.”
“Could we, maybe, keep it for a little while?” Her gaze darts to Natalie then back. “In case we want to come back?”
“We can. I’m sure we could have someone come in and take care of things, keep it clean, until we decide what to do.” My own gaze moves from the girls to Natalie.
The quick nod from her has me breathing easier.
Looking back at Stell, I say, “But I’m betting we’re going to love it in Baton Rouge. You should ask Natalie to show you the pictures of her house. It has an indoor pool as well as an outdoor one.”
“Two pools!” The girls shout together, their heads whipping around to face Natalie; their hands letting go of mine as their bodies follow.
“Yes. Why don’t I grab my laptop and show you some pictures while we eat dinner?”
Pushing to my feet, I shoot Natalie an appreciative smile. She tips her head in acknowledgment before ushering the girls out of the laundry room and I take a moment before following.
This whole day has given me emotional whiplash and I need a second to get myself settled. As settled as I can be when so much has happened in the last few months.
So much loss. So much pain and grief and now this weird conflict with the twins’ camp coordinator.
On top of that there’s the elation of being offered my dream. A position on the newest NHL team.
Astartingposition.
No one would begrudge me a minute to catch my breath.
I was fairly sure I was going to accept the contract with the Rogues and move us all south before this afternoon. But after the drama at camp, and the twins’ outburst over dinner, I’m one hundred percent sure of what to do.
I’m signing with the Rogues and moving our barely patched together family to Baton Rouge.
