“Can’t wait for you to move across the country.”
“Ha! So you can see the hot coach without me fishing for gossip?”
I took a breath, smoothing the gloss across my lips. “How’s preparing for the move going? You and your new roommate settled the bathroom race terms yet?”
Sam smirked. “I called dibs on the 6:30 a.m. slot with surgical precision. She didn’t stand a chance.”
“Impressive. You haven’t moved yet and already claimed territory.”
“Mel, I’m a doctor. The quicker the flush, the healthier the nation.” She nodded sagely. “It’s a matter of public health, really.”
I rolled my eyes and capped the gloss. “If this medical thing doesn’t work out, there’s always politics.”
She winked. “Oh no, a kid party planner. First gig: one-year-old’s birthday. RSVP to: Tall, sexy, and swoony. Directions? Start on Heart Skips a Beat Lane, cruise past Stolen Glances, then take a slow left at Breath Hitching. End of the street—bam—he marries you.”
I shook my head and walked out without a word. Reasoning was pointless at this stage. Lucky for her, I didn’t lock her in my room until I got home tonight. Not that it mattered, because now I couldn’t stop picturing Sean’s house, and I had to wait until Sunday to see it for myself.
The next two days flew by faster than I expected. Between summarizing player development reports for Maria and reviewing off-ice progress plans, I barely had time to think. Which was honestly for the best. My brain had been on a runaway train; no need to add in a marching band.
We lost the game last night, and this Saturday’s game was do-or-die. I texted Sean a quick “props” after the game, and he sent back a thumbs-up emoji. That was it. Classic efficient coach guy. Still, my heart did a little flip. So, annoying, but true.
He was neck-deep in pressure, juggling a roster on his back and dodging press conference bullets with grumpy charm, while I’d lazily rolled out of bed, eaten a great lunch, and spent the afternoon folding towels and arguing with the laundry machine.
Talk about different realities. He commanded the rink in a chessboard-boss style, and I still lost battles to my wrinkled jeans.
“Hey, Mel,” Dad called, walking into the house. “I haven’t seen you since Sunday at the party.”
“Yeah, it’s been a busy week,” I said, setting the laundry basket on the floor. “How’d it go with the golf course job?”
“It’s mine, at least for now. The guy who has it is on medical leave.”
“That’s better than I’d hoped. A tiny win! We need those.”
“Agreed. A stepping stone.” He dropped onto the couch, the cushions sighing beneath him, and flipped on the TV.
Mom came in from the back door, folding her gloves with precision. I’d seen her earlier through the window, adjusting the potted plants along the fence.
I turned back to Dad. “It really is, and I like that you seem happy.”
“I am,” he said simply.
Mom stepped closer, the TV noise catching her attention. A commercial played—a pristine house, manicured lawn, a family of four unloading groceries from their luxury SUV.
“That should’ve been us years ago,” Mom said.
Dad kept his eyes locked on the screen, as if he didn’t hear it. But we both had. Her words hung in the air.
Then it was like someone handed me binoculars and pointed me at everything I’d been looking at my whole life, but never really saw.
I turned to her. “Dad’s got a job, and I found a job listing I think could fit you, too. Light driving, helping seniors get to appointments, a few hours a week. It’s a start.”
She stared at me as if I had committed freaking treason. “And you forgot we only have two cars, and Sam’s taking hers?”
I paused. “I thought of that. I’ll take the bus, and you can use mine.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Huh. Thought you’d say your older boyfriend would drive you.”
My chest squeezed, and I glanced at Dad. He looked at Mom, then back at the TV, a master at silent retreat these days. The financial mess had been a joint decision, but for some reason, he carried all the guilt.
