Sometimes it’s a grind.
Sometimes it’s a brutal battle until something good happens.
Like toward the end of the second when Storm tips a shot and sends it sailing into the upper corner of the net.
The crowd erupts, but my gaze is drawn to the bench and I feel Joey’s wide grin in my gut. She nods at Storm as he skates back to the bench, turns to Dave, our offensive coach, and tells him something that has him making a note on his tablet.
Then, just that quickly, the smile is gone and she’s focused, back to business.
“How’s that going?”
I flick my eyes to Kylie then back out at the ice. “Considering the guys just scored, it’s going pretty well.”
“With Joey,” she admonishes gently.
“It’s been two days since you and I talked, kid.”
She lifts and drops one shoulder in a careless shrug. “When has that ever stopped you before?”
“Ky,” I warn.
A warning she completely ignores.
“You’re Damon,” she murmurs. “You had a plan even before we finished the conversation.”
I turn my gaze back out to the ice, to the game, but I’m not actually seeing what’s happening, not processing or analyzing anything below.
I’m thinking about my plan to fill that emptiness in Joey.
I’m thinking about John and Beth and the obvious love they have for her—love she doesn’t seem to see or accept.
I’m thinking about what she told me, all she’s endured.
And yeah, I fucking have a plan.
I just wish it didn’t scare me fucking shitless.
After the game,Kylie and I head for the elevators.
I need to stop by my office and grab some shit forthe road trip coming up in a couple of days and since I’m the pipsqueak’s ride, she’s stuck tagging along.
But when the doors open and we step off, I hear voices that surprise me.
“Look at this place, John!” Beth exclaims. “It’s so fancy!”
“It’s a hallway and some pictures, Beth,” John mutters. “It’s hardly the Ritz.”
Kylie chokes, and I glance over at her.
“Um,” she whispers, brows flying up.
But before I can explain, Beth spots us and rushes over. “Damon! Oh, my gosh! This place is so lovely!”
“Um,” Kylie whispers again, eyebrows lifting somehow higher.
“And, oh, my gosh”—she turns to Ky and grasps both of her hands—“you’re lovely too.”
“This is my sister, Kylie,” I say by way of introduction. “And, Ky, this is Beth, Joey’s mom.”
