I smiled, the weight of the world lifting a little. I kissed her forehead before setting her down. As her feet hit the floor, my sister appeared in the kitchen doorway, pulling her sweater tighter around her, still waking up.
“Hey,” I said.
“Morning,” Abby replied with a smile. “She wanted to ask you that.”
“She promised to root for me.”
“We always do,” Abby said, reaching out to smooth Cassy’s hair.
“And that’s priceless,” I said, leaning on the counter. “So, how is Jeff these days?”
“Hmm, we talked last night. It was...better. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Daddy said he loves me!” Cassy piped up, her face bright.
I smiled. The clarity of the message was loud and clear.
Abby reached for her daughter’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He does, baby.”
There were years Abby and I didn’t talk much. Not because we didn’t care; life got in the way. I was buried in the full-season grind as a player, and at the same time, I’d taken the head-of-family role too early, trying to fill the gap left by a dad who drank and a mom who died too soon. I hadn’t known what to do with a teenage sister who wanted her independence more than my help. But now, with her showing up without asking when things got too tight in her marriage...I must’ve done something right.
“You’re doing a great job, Abby,” I said.
Her mouth twitched, and I knew what that meant. She wasn’t sure if she should believe me.
“Some days it doesn’t feel that way,” she admitted. “But…I’m trying.”
“Yeah, that’s the good part: trying, not giving up.”
Her gaze caught mine, grateful. “The same goes to you, too.” She smoothed Cassy’s hair again. “I called Dad yesterday.”
I raised a brow.
“He says he’s doing better this time, that he’s more focused, and he’s tired of constantly starting over.”
“Same answer every time,” I said, as I pretty much had for years.
“Mommy, Grandpa is coming?” Cassy asked.
Abby crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “After he finishes rehab, baby. That’s when we’ll see him.”
“Okay,” Cassy said, easily satisfied in the way only kids could be.
“Alright, work calls.” I grabbed my duffel bag, “Stay out of trouble, Sweet. Later, Abby.”
Cassy raised her hand for a high five. I smacked it with enough flair to make her giggle, then headed out the door.
That quickly, my morning felt lighter. Small human, big impact.
The rest of the day blurred in film reviews, coach briefings, and the usual game-day routine. The evening arrived with all the stakes that came with it as lights dimmed, and projectors lit up.
Players shuffled through their warm-ups, trainers double-checked gear, and the low thud of pucks echoed off the boards in a heartbeat. My pulse was doing a drum solo, and I was trying my best not to overload.
I’d done a decent job keeping the panic locked away since the loss on Wednesday. I focused on keeping the team on a positive note and said the right things. But the nerves were creeping to the surface, the type that tightened behind the ribs, making breathing hard.
I had my call with Ben.
That was our ritual. Before big games, we called each other and talked ourselves out of the rabbit hole. Minutes of nothingand everything with trash talk, playoff memories, or favorite meals from away games ten years back. It usually helped the nerves, but tonight, not so much.
