Dad shifts his weight like he’s debating whether to push the issue further. Just as I’m bracing myself for another lecture—
“What’s going on in here?”
Mom.
Thank god.
She sounds mildly annoyed because she already knows the answer: Dad’s doing his standard Bedtime Lecture. Her arms are crossed as she looks at Dad, looming at the edge of my bed, then at me. I’d rather launch myself out the window than lie here…
“We’re talking,” Dad says.
“No,you’retalking.” Mom laughs, stepping into the room. “At a guy who should besleeping.”
I could kiss her for rescuing me.
Dad presses his lips together, not quite glaring but definitely not pleased. “He’s not sleeping, Alexia—he’s lying here wide awake.”
“Right. I’m sure giving him the ‘hockey is life’ speech at eleven o’clock is helping with that.” She rolls her eyes. “Out with you.”
Dad’s brows go up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Out.” She waves a hand toward the door. “We can stress about his career path tomorrow.”
Dad doesn’t move at first.
There’s a silent standoff between them, the kind that happens when two stubborn people both refuse to blink first. But eventually, Mom wins—because she is a lawyer andalwayswins. Basically she’s the only person Dad is terrified of.
With a sigh, he shakes his head in defeat. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m right behind you, babe.” Mom smiles at him sweetly, stepping aside to give him a clear path to the door but presenting him with her cheek so he can plant a kiss on it. “I want to say good night, too.”
He stands, muttering something under his breath—how someday I’ll regret not listening when I don’t get scouted by the NHL or whatever—but he leaves.
Mom waits until he’s completely out the door before turning to me.
“Helovesthose motivational speeches, doesn’t he?”
I huff a quiet laugh. “It’s his favorite hobby.”
She shakes her head, moving toward my bed. “You okay?”
I nod, my shoulders relaxing now that the lecture is over. “Sure.”
She studies me for a second, like she’s debating whether or not to pry. Then she reaches over, ruffles my hair, and sighs.
Like, don’t tell anyone, but I love it when she tucks me in.
Cheesy, right?
“He’s not wrong,” Mom says gently. “It’s late. You need sleep.”
“I know.” I roll to my stomach.
She sits in the space that Dad absconded. “Having a hard time clearing your head?”
I shrug.Yes. I am.
She begins rubbing my back the same soothing way she used to when I was little and she was trying to calm me down or comfort me. Except I don’t need to be calmed down and I don’t need to be comforted—I need my brain to shut off. Tune out.
