My gaze goes back to Noah.
The kid is fast.
I’ll give him that much, but Carlson is correct in his assessment. There are better guys here. Every shot he’s taken so far has either gone wide or died on his stick.
Still, there’s a niggling in the back of my head, saying to keep him around, to give him a chance to open up a little more. If anything, making the cut will give him an ego boost, which might fuel his adrenaline and help him out. “Hold off on cuttingnumber nineteen,” I say, handing the clipboard back by shoving it into his stomach the way he did to me.
Carlson’s gaze drops to the board. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I agree with you that he’s raw, but there’s something there. I don’t think he’s shown us his full potential yet. Let’s give him one more round.”
“You’re the boss.” He blows out a breath before pressing his lips together.
My eyes are back on the ice, just as Noah takes a sharp turn. I hold my breath, hoping he shows me what I need, but he loses his balance and wipes out hard, landing flat on his back.
Carlson sees it too, and he groans, “C’mon, Bill. We’re wasting our time with that one.”
I don’t answer because my gaze floats back to his mother. Ruth’s expression doesn’t crack as she watches her son get right back on his skates.
My chest pulls tight.
Not because of the fall or that kid, but because of her.
There’s something about the way she’s bracing for disappointment and daring to believe in this dream that tugs at something I thought I’d buried under business plans a long time ago.
I don’t know what her story is.
I didn’t get where I am today by following the rules and the perfect clipboard plans. I trust my gut. My gut tells me to give this kid a second chance.
four
Ruth
I’m shivering, and it’s not from the cold, though it’s definitely seeping in through the seams of my old coat. This is all nerves,curling up like they always do when something feels too good to be true.
Outside the rink, I do my best to scan the crowd. Parents are loitering like me. We all pretend to scroll on our phones, but I don’t doubt for a second everyone’s ears are attuned to the conversation around them, as we wait for a word of how things go.
Unlucky me, I’m stuck replaying the exact moment I casually handed Bill Baker, the team’s owner, trash.
Seriously?
Out of all the possible interactions with a living legend, I went with, “Here, sir, please dispose of this garbage.”
I’ve lived in Mapleton the majority of my life, and I’ve never had the chance to meet him. How in the universe did it only happen that today, of all days, I casually run into him.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I had to double down with an extra dose of humiliation by blabbering about my son like I was on a personal mission to sabotage Noah’s chances of making the team.
Shaking my head, I resist the urge to scream or cry or both.
In romance novels, people get these fun little meetups called meet-cutes.
Me? I get meet-garbage.
Bill was nice about it, but he must think I’m looney. And what team owner wants a kid with a looney mom on the team?
And then there was that fall Noah took. He went down hard. Sure, he got right back up like he always does, but it had to be the worst timing because Bill was looking directly at him. I press my lips together, trying not to let the fear take over me as the players start spilling off the ice.
Standing on my toes, I struggle to see around the hordes of people. I knew there was a good turnout, but this is crazy. It’sshoulder-to-shoulder people as everyone meanders to find their party.
