“He offered to leave the game,” I tell her, still somewhat stunned by this. “Just walk off the ice in the middle of a professional hockey game.”
Elliot whistles low. “Wow. That’s... intense.”
“I didn’t let him,” I hasten to add. “That would be insane.”
“Still,” she says thoughtfully. “Not many guys would even offer.”
As the third period begins, I find myself watching Dex with new eyes. The intensity with which he plays, the focus he brings to every shift, the determination evident in every movement. But also the way he checks the family box between plays, making sure we’re still here, still okay.
He’s not just playing for the team anymore. He’s playing for us. And that realization both thrills and terrifies me.
Blythe tugs at my sleeve as the period hits the halfway mark. “Mom? Are we in trouble?”
Her question catches me off guard. “What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?”
“You were upset,” she says, her usual volume replaced with a small, worried voice. “And you and Elliot were whispering. And you looked at your phone and your face went all scary.”
Sometimes I forget how perceptive children can be, even ones as seemingly self-absorbed as Blythe.
“It’s just grown-up stuff,” I assure her, pulling her into a side hug. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Is it Dad?” Tyson asks quietly from my other side, his eyes too understanding for a ten-year-old. “Is he mad we’re here?”
My heart sinks. Of course Tyson would put it together. He’s spent his whole life reading adult moods, anticipating problems before they fully materialize.
“I don’t want you to worry about that,” I say firmly. “Today is about having fun at the hockey game. That’s all.”
Tyson studies me, his expression far too serious. “He’s not going to mess this up too, is he? Like the overnight field trip and the science camp.”
The reminder of Evan’s previous interventions—blocking Tyson’s participation in activities that would take him away from home overnight—makes my chest ache. How many experiences has my son already missed because of his father’s need for control?
“Not this time,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “I promise.”
Seattle scores another goal, putting them up 4-2 with five minutes left in the game. The box erupts in cheers, the tension temporarily broken by collective excitement.
“DEX ASSISTED!” Blythe announces, having appointed herself the official statistician of Dex’s performance. “THAT’S TWO GOALS AND TWO ASSISTS! IT’S BECAUSE WE’RE HIS LUCKY CHARMERS!”
“Lucky charms, Blythe,” Tyson corrects automatically. “Not charmers.”
“I KNOW WHAT I SAID!” she insists, spinning in a circle that sends glitter floating through the air. “WE CHARMED THE LUCK!”
Despite everything—Evan’s threats, the impending legal battle, the uncertainty ahead—I find myself laughing at her mangled idiom. Because maybe that’s what we’ve done. Charmed some luck into our lives in the form of a hockey player who sends sparkly jerseys and offers to leave professional games for us.
The final buzzer sounds, Seattle winning 4-2. The box erupts in cheers, the children jumping up and down in excitement. I join in automatically, clapping and smiling while my mind races ahead to tomorrow, to lawyers and threats and potential custody battles.
“We did it!” Tyson exclaims, face flushed with excitement. “We won!”
“OF COURSE WE DID!” Blythe agrees. “BECAUSE WE’RE THE LUCKY CHARMERS!”
As the crowd begins to disperse, Elliot leans in. “Stay put. Brody texted that Dex is coming straight up. Just give him ten minutes to shower and get through the tunnel.”
Sure enough, less than fifteen minutes after the final buzzer, Dex appears at the entrance to the box, his expression a mixture of concern and determination as his eyes search the now-emptying space.
When he spots us, the relief on his face is palpable. He makes his way directly to our group, ignoring the curious stares from the few remaining family members.
16
DEX
