Page 108 of My Lucky Charm

“Only on the ice,” he says.

“But it’s not okay,” I say. “It was a very bad choice.”

“But . . . he was a bad guy, right?” Scarlett says.

“I still shouldn’t have punched him.” I push a hand through my hair, and wince because it’s my punching hand.

I have a punching hand now.

I should go. I should leave them. I’ve made a giant mess of things, and if Gray never wants me around his kid again, I would understand. First the photo, and now this?

I’m just trying to get myself fired, aren’t I.

But then Scarlett reaches for my hand. “You need some ice for that.”

The same tears that have stayed hidden threaten to fall. I sniff and look away. I’ve got a lot of practice at pushing these kinds of feelings way down deep, but even I notice it’s getting more difficult.

Still, I’m not going to dwell there. I’m fine.

“And you don’t have to worry,” she says. “I know all about fighting. I have a temper too. My coach says I get it from my dad.”

Gray is still kneeling in front of her. “Your coach?”

Scarlett’s eyes go wide.

Gray leans back on his feet. “What coach?”

“My . . . hockey coach?” She says this like it’s a question, on a wince.

“Your what?” He stands.

“I won’t fight, Dad,” she says. “I promise.”

“You’re playing hockey?” He looks genuinely stunned by this, and while I’m grateful that the attention seems to have shifted, I still feel terrible for losing my temper in front of Scarlett.

“I’m the best one on the team,” she says. “And the only girl.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

She shrugs. “Mom didn’t think you’d let me play.”

“Uh, she’s right.” He pulls out his phone and clicks it to life.

“Wait.” I put my non-punching hand on his. “Take a minute. She’s on her honeymoon.”

“I’m good, Dad,” Scarlett says. “Take me to a rink right now, and I’ll show you.”

He pauses for a few long seconds, looks between us, then clicks off his phone. “We need to talk about this.”

“You will. But first,” I say. “Let’s actually go get some lunch. I know just the place.”

He pauses, then nods. “Fine.”

We start toward the parking garage, Scarlett skipping a few feet in front of us. I keep my voice low and say, “I’m really sorry I did that in front of her.”

He looks at me. “That tool had it coming.”

Then, in a lighter tone than he’s been sporting all day, he adds, “Heck of a right cross, slugger.”

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