“What time is that at?”
My senior year of high school, I’d bring her to the seven a.m. class, because assisting the coaches helped me warm up, then the rink manager let her play in the penalty box during my practice. Izzie loves the ice, so it worked out perfectly, until I got to Wynchester and had to drive an hour each way at the butt-crack of dawn, rushing back in time for a workout or morning skate. It was exhausting, and I didn’t think I would be able to keep it up after I became captain, so I was grateful when my mom said she could handle it this year.
“Three-thirty, so we’ve got time,” she assures me, but then there’s a pause, and I can hear the reluctance in her sigh, the hesitation. “Assuming Tatum calms down, but then I really need to?—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and do the math. “I can take her,” I volunteer.
“No, baby, you don’t have to do that,” she says quickly. “We’ll manage.”
But I do have to, now I know that Mom ‘managing’ means Izzie misses out on her activities, which isn’t fair. It’s not like I can’t study when I get home tonight. I’ll be tired, but Iz will be happy.
“It’s fine, I don’t have practice until seven, and it’s been months since I’ve seen her in action. It’ll be fun.”
“That would be amazing, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
I don’t, in the sense that I would do absolutely anything for my siblings, but my mom sounds so relieved that I’d go even if it was the last place I wanted to be.
“Not at all. I’ll come over now and we can do lunch. Sandwiches from Mama Joy’s?”
“You spoil me. See you soon.”
I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Let’s go, Izzie! Woohoo!”, enjoying the way my sister’s eyes go wide with embarrassment, and she glares at me until I get back to the group I’m in charge of.
I’m not the only family member cheering, even though they’re mostly running drills, but I am the only one doing it from the ice. Which is Izzie’s fault for volunteering me to help coach when one of the dads didn’t show up, and for being so damned talented. At the skating part, at least. Not that she’s not great at hockey, but she’s way more into figure skating, even if she refuses to acknowledge it. I’ve taught her all I know, but as much as I would do anything for my sister, I’m not going to go back to figure skating so I can teach her more of it. A year was enough.
“It was great having you today,” the dad in charge thanks me at the end, while the kids get changed. “Your daughter mentioned you coached her morning class?”
“Sister,” I correct with a tight smile. Back when I lived at home, it didn’t feel like there was much of a difference, until I’d compare myself to how our dad was with me, and saw how clearly I was failing her. “I helped coach the last three years, but I can’t do afternoons. My mom brings her.”
He gives me a look that tells me she doesn’t, even if I hadn’t already seen him recognize everyone except my little sister when we arrived. It’s not because Izzie isn’t memorable.
“I hear they’re still short-handed, if ever you wanted to switch back to mornings. Kid can skate.” He pats me on the back before heading off and a weight settles in my chest, because I can either give up my Sunday mornings or let Izzie give up hockey. Which isn’t really a choice, but it still fucking sucks.
I return the skates and am about to check my phone when Izzie barrels towards me, and if I wasn’t 6’4” and over 200lbs, she very well could have knocked me over. Instead, I twirl her around, praising her skills, loving the way her face absolutely lights up, especially when I use specifics. Dad used to come to all my games and practices, and nothing made me happier than when we dissected hockey on the drive home. Even criticism was framed like exciting new challenges we could take on next week, but he always made it clear he was proud of me and loved me unconditionally.
Fuck, I miss him.
“Jeremy says his slapshot is better than mine, but I’m working on it,” Izzie shares.
“You were flawless,” I assure her. “Want some ice cream before I drop you off?”
“Do you have time?” she asks, hopefully because she remembers I have practice, and not because I’ve made her feel like I don’t have time for her.
I look at my watch. “Of course.” I smile. “Just don’t tell Mom I let you have dessert before dinner.” I wink before we head out.
I check my phone while we walk and see the Team Chat is active, plus I have a few missed calls. I skim them while I start the car and see Coach asked if practice could be at six instead of seven.
Fuck.
My heart drops, sinking lower as I scroll through every other guy on the team agreeing to the new time. My latest text is from Coach but just to me.
Coach Benson
Practice is at 6 tonight. Hope you can make it, Captain. If not, come by my office on Monday.
As captain, I make it a point to be the first to show up and the last to leave, so I would have been on the ice by 6:30 at the latest, but no way can I get there in the next half hour after ice cream and dropping Izzie off.
“Hey, Iz, would it be okay if we raincheck the ice cream?” I ask her while dialing our mom. “Maybe next weekend?”
