“Your kid okay?”
The question hits the real target so clean it almost knocks the air out of me.
“Yeah,” I say, and that part is true. “Maddie’s fine.”
Coach nods once. Like he filed that away.
“Then handle the rest,” he says. “Because if you take your head out of this room, somebody gets hurt. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Good,” he says, and then he raises his voice like he’s back in show mode. “Next rep. Move your feet.”
We finish with conditioning. Sprints. Lines. That last gut-check where your lungs burn and your brain goes quiet.
It helps.
Until my phone buzzes on the bench as soon as we’re off the ice.
A text from Jenna.
Maddie is great. Finished her homework. She wants to show you the picture she drew.
And then a second text.
Also just a reminder. I can stay until the 18th. After that I need to leave.
I stare at the screen until the numbers blur.
The 18th is two and a half weeks away.
Two and a half weeks until my daughter’s entire routine changes.
Two and a half weeks until my ex has exactly what she wants.
I shove the phone in my pocket like that will make time stop.
Handle it...coach said.
I nod once to myself.
I always handle it.
***
The locker room is chaotic.
Music blasting. Tape ripping. Steam from the showers curling toward the ceiling. Someone arguing about protein powder like it’s a moral issue.
Dex is half-dressed and fully loud.
“So which one is it?” he calls across the room. “You knock somebody up or get dumped?”
Bryce doesn’t look up from retaping his stick. “Dumped. Look at him. That's a dumped face.”
“I don’t have a dumped face,” I mutter, yanking at my laces.
Mason fires a towel at my chest. “Yeah, you do. Either that or you’re 0-for-everything lately.”
