Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice. No. No no no. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Evan who’s sitting twenty feet away taking fucking notes.
“SEVEN IS PERFECT!” I practically shout, panic making my voice carry across the entire rink. “GREAT TO DISCUSS TYSON’S DEVELOPMENT AND MAYBE SOME ADDITIONAL TRAINING OPPORTUNITIES!”
Dex blinks, clearly startled by my sudden volume and the random mention of training opportunities. “Uh... okay. Training opportunities. Sure.”
“WONDERFUL! REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO REVIEWING HIS PROGRESS IN DETAIL!”
I’m making it worse. So much worse. But I can’t stop the words from tumbling out, each one louder and more professional than the last.
“Right,” Dex says slowly, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “His progress. Definitely.”
Behind me, I can hear Evan’s footsteps approaching. I don’t turn around.
“Ready to go, kids?” Evan’s voice is pleasant, authoritative. “Tyson, grab your gear. Blythe, let’s move.”
“Dad!” Tyson turns around, beaming. “Did you see practice? We worked on power plays and Coach Dex says I’m really understanding the timing now!”
“I saw,” Evan says, his eyes moving between me and Dex with calculated interest. “Very... educational.”
Dex finally notices the man in uniform, the kids calling him Dad, and I watch the pieces click into place on his face. This is the ex-husband. The co-parent. The person I mentioned in passing during coffee.
“You must be their father,” Dex says, extending his hand. “Dex Malone. Great kids you’ve got here.”
Evan doesn’t shake his hand. Just looks at it for a moment before turning back to the kids.
“Come on, we’re late for lunch. Say goodbye to your coach.”
“Bye Coach Dex!” Tyson calls out. “See you Tuesday!”
“Thanks for the awesome practice!” Blythe adds.
And then they’re gone, Evan herding them toward the exit without another word. No pleasantries, no acknowledgment ofDex’s attempt at introduction. Just a demonstration of authority and dismissal.
“Well,” Dex says once they’re out of earshot, “he seems... friendly.”
“He’s having a bad day,” I lie, gathering my things with shaking hands.
“Right.” Dex watches me fumble with my bag. “So about tonight?—”
“I should go,” I cut him off, suddenly desperate to get out of here before Evan decides to come back and ask more questions. “I’ll see you at seven.”
“Golda, are you?—”
“Fine. I’m fine. Just need to get home.”
I practically run to my car, hands shaking as I fumble with the keys. In my rearview mirror, I can see Dex standing by the boards looking completely confused.
My phone buzzes before I’m even out of the parking lot.
Interesting practice. We should discuss the coaching situation soon.
I delete the message without responding and drive home through Seattle’s gray streets, trying to calm down before tonight.
By seven o’clock,I’ve changed clothes four times and am seriously questioning my sanity. The black dress I finally settled on is nice but not too fancy, appropriate for dinner without looking like I’m trying too hard.
Sapphire is downtown, upscale, the kind of place I haven’t been to in years. I’m early enough to people-watch in the lobby while I wait.
The clientele is exactly what I expected—well-dressed professionals, couples who look like they dropped serious money on their outfits, the kind of people who belong in places like this. I smooth my dress and try not to feel like an imposter.
