“Mom!” Blythe waves from the ice, where she’s managed to remain upright for a whole ten seconds. “Did you see? I’m doing it!”
“I saw, baby!” I call back, pulling out my phone to snap a picture. “Very impressive!”
As I’m adjusting the camera angle, a shadow falls across my bench.
“Great kids,” Dex says. He’s somehow gotten off the ice without me noticing, now standing beside me with his helmet tucked under his arm. “Tyson’s got natural balance, and Blythe’s got more determination than half my teammates.”
“They’re trying their best,” I say carefully, not looking up from my phone.
“Listen,” he says, lowering his voice. “About the coffee shop—I hope this isn’t weird. I was just surprised to see you here.”
“No, it’s not—I mean, it is a little—” I fumble with my words, hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “I just didn’t expect... I mean, when they said there’d be a coach, I thought...”
“You thought you’d get some college kid, not the guy who spilled your coffee?”
Despite everything, that pulls a small smile from me. “Something like that.”
“For what it’s worth, you’re getting the same instruction everyone else gets. Maybe better, since I owe you for that whole collision thing.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say quickly. “Really. This is just... it’s their first lesson, and I want them to have a good experience.”
“They will,” he says, “I promise.”
Before he can respond, a crash from the ice draws our attention. Tyson’s down in a tangle of limbs, looking like he might cry.
“Excuse me,” I say, already moving toward the boards.
But Dex is faster, gliding across the ice to where Tyson sits rubbing his knee.
“You’re okay,” he says, offering a gloved hand. “Happens to everyone. Want to know a secret? I fell seventeen times in my first lesson.”
“Really?” Tyson’s voice is small but interested.
“Really. My dad said I looked like a baby giraffe.” Dex helps him to his feet. “But you know what? Baby giraffes eventually figure it out. Come on, let’s try again.”
I watch from the boards as he skates slowly beside Tyson, offering quiet encouragement that I can’t quite hear. My son’s shoulders relax, his stride becoming more confident.
This is exactly the kind of thing I was afraid of. Not the falling or the expense or even Evan’s inevitable disapproval.
2
DEX
Game day startswith the suit.
Not just any suit—the charcoal bespoke that cost more than most people make in six months, tailored to perfection by a guy in downtown Seattle who charges a fortune to make hockey players look like fucking gods. I adjust the tie in the mirror, checking the fit across my shoulders. Perfect, obviously. The fabric moves with me like a second skin, expensive enough that women notice from across the room.
My phone buzzes as I’m grabbing my keys and I see a text from Rodriguez.
Bro you see the crowd forming outside the arena already? Ladies looking FINE today.
Always do when I’m playing. Try to keep up tonight, rookie.
Friday night games against Chicago always bring out the best crowds. The kind of energy that makes the whole building electric, the kind of night where I remind everyone why they put my face on billboards around the city.
The drive to the arena takes me through downtown Seattle, past that coffee shop where I bought the redhead her latte a few weeks ago. Golda. Even her name sounds classy, like she belongs in some fancy art gallery instead of wrangling hockey gear in a public rink. The way she got all flustered when she saw me, couldn’t form complete sentences—definitely interested. They always are, even when they try to pretend they’re not.
She’s got kids, which normally would be a hard pass. But there was something about watching her during that lesson, the way she looked in those leggings, the challenge of someone who doesn’t immediately fall over herself to impress me. Plus, single mom probably means she’s not looking for anything serious. Perfect for what I have in mind.
