"CanIaskyousomething?"I say.
She looks surprised."Uh, yeah.I guess."
"Your last name, Wheeler…" I start, then trail off, looking for the best way to phrase it.
"It's Mom's ‘maiden name,’” and here she uses air quotes and heavy verbal sarcasm, “which is, like, themostarchaic phrase of all time, but whatever.She changed her name back to Wheeler after the divorce.And then spent, like, months filing petitions and stuff to change my last name.Eventually, she got my sperm donor to consent, and here I am, Mallory Morgan Wheeler, as god intended."
"Sorry if I'm prying."
She smiles, shrugs, and shakes her head."Nah, not at all."She looks away, then back to me."So.The game is tomorrow.How are you feeling?"
I widen my eyes, letting out a breath."Oh boy, honestly…ready.I'm in good shape, we've got a good roster this year.The cops do too, though, so it's gonna be as close a game as ever."
"Mom is freaking out a little," Mallory says.“She hasn't skated in front of an audience in a long-ass time."
"I'm freaking outa lot, if you must know."Morgan comes down with her hair dry and braided down her back, wearing tight, black jeans and a lavender Wheeler Figure Skating Academy hoodie with a black pair of Uggs.She pauses beside me, glances at her daughter, and then lifts up to kiss me—quick and soft.
Mal grins as we pull apart."Awww.You guys are cute."
Morgan goes to the pot and fixes herself a mug of coffee."No, 'ew, gross'?"
Mal rolls her eyes."What, am I twelve?No, Mother."She drops her gaze to her cereal bowl."To be perfectly honest, seeing you guys being all cute together gives me hope.I was pretty turned off to boys after what Heath did."
I glance at Morgan."Do I want to know?"
Mal answers."No, you do not.Mom handled it."
I chuckle."I have no doubt.I pity the fool."
Morgan snickers at my A-Team reference, but it goes over Mallory's head, unsurprisingly.
"I know people, Mal," I tell her, stage-whispering conspiratorially."I can have him put in a holding cell for a few days."
Mal seems to consider it."No, as tempting as it is to keep messing with him, I just want to put the whole thing behind me and hope that I find a good guy someday."
"You will," I assure her."A pretty, smart, independent, athletic young lady like you?You'll need a big fat stick to beat the boys away with."
She snickers."Thanks for using the right preposition there, Coach."
I frown."What?"
"Noah.”Morgan’s voice is even, but shaky with barely-restrained laughter.“Beat the boysawayversus beat the boysoff."
My eyes fly wide."That isnotwhat I meant.Jesus.Like I'd make a joke like that to a seventeen-year-old girl?"
Mal cackles."Relax, guy.Imade the joke."
"Guy?"
"Fella?"she smirks."Dude.Bro.Chief.I've got more."
"Let's just stick to either Coach or Noah," I say.
"Noah?"She tilts her head, her gaze going from me to Morgan.
I shrug."I get enough of titles and formality at work.I'm not technically your coach anyway.If you like calling me Coach, go for it.If Captain or Cap suits your fancy, fine.But I'm good with Noah.Seems appropriate enough to me at this point."
"Yeah, I'll never call you Cap," Mal says."If you're cool with me calling you by your name, then I'm cool."
