He walks into his trailer and shuts the door, leaving me alone and flustered in his jacket with the taste of his kiss still on my lips.
11
Holden
Duke smiles at me, and I swear to God it’s the best thing in the whole damn world. It’s so bright and so genuine that it completely overrides any whisper of guilt gnawing at me over the fact I didn’t mention this to Bradie at all…yet. But in my defense, she’s not talking to me anyway. I figure she’ll find out now, since I’m waiting with him in the lobby of the arena after practice. Duke hitches his hockey bag higher on his shoulder. “So is this, like, permanent? Are you our coach now?”
I nod. “Looks like it. I mean, Coach really wants me on the team and I want to be here. How about you? You good with it?”
“Totally!” Duke exclaims with an even bigger grin than before. “Mom said you used to play, but she didn’t say that you were good.”
I chuckle at that. Of course she didn’t. “I had my moments back in the day.”
“Yeah right. Coach said you were almost in the NHL. That’s awesome.” Duke is awestruck and I don’t feel the least bit worthy but it still makes me feel incredible.
“What would have been awesome is if he had stuck with it and made the NHL.” Bradie’s hard voice fills the air and I turn and see her standing behind me. Her slender arms are crossed and her lips are set in a hard flat line. She is pissed to see me. What else is new?
“It would have been much better,” I agree with her. “Hey, Bradie. How are you?”
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I’m coaching hockey now,” I explain with a shrug.
“Since when?” she asks.
“Since last week,” I reply, trying not to feel sheepish for purposely avoiding running into her after practices. “A friend of mine told me they were short, so I volunteered.”
Bradie is still annoyed. “So he knows? I didn’t say you could tell him.”
“Knows what?” Duke asks.
“Coach kept it vague. I asked him not to include my last name,” I say and Duke is hanging on every word. “If I take the job, he’ll have to give the parents my last name, though.”
“What are you guys talking about?”
Bradie looks at her son and sighs. “Holden is my brother, which makes him your uncle.”
Duke’s eyes get bigger and ping-pong between Bradie and I and then he grins. “Can I call him Uncle Holden? I want the kids to know we’re related.”
Oh my God. My heart swells. Bradie looks at me. I nod. “Yeah sure, bud. Call me whatever you want.”
“He’s great, Mom!” Duke says. “He taught us this new stick-handling drill and it was awesome.”
Man, I remember being his age and being so damn excited about everything. Those were the days. Bradie was never like that. She was always serious and skeptical. When Mom died, I once accused her of being relieved, like it finally gave her a valid reason to be miserable. Yeah, not my finest moment. But I was thirteen and lonely and wanted a sibling I could bond with since I didn’t feel like I had anyone.
“You don’t like it, clearly,” I say to her and step closer, lowering my voice so hopefully Duke doesn’t overhear. “I’ll quit if it’s really that big a deal to you.”
She sighs. “Whatever. You can keep coaching. I’ll probably have to pull him from the team one day soon anyway. He has to maintain a certain level of grades to be allowed to play and he isn’t doing that.”
Duke’s face falls. “Mom!”
She turns on him with a stern but sympathetic look. “I’m not changing the rules, Duke. I was very clear from the beginning. B average or no extra sports crap. And your math teacher emailed me and said you’re barely holding onto a C and you only have a couple of tests left to bring it up.”
“I’m trying. I suck at math because math sucks,” he declares his voice filled with frustration.
I want to help plead his case, but it’s not my place and Bradie isn’t stupid. School is more important than sports. I wish someone had made me see that when I was his age because I would have probably had the grades to get into college instead of having to take online business classes from some made-up college no one has heard of.
He makes a noise like a huff choking on a groan and storms toward the doors to the parking lot, well, as much as a ten-year-old can storm. Bradie glares at me again. “I’m not being a bitch. He needs good grades.”
