Page 63 of Pucking Daddy

He sends a laughing-crying emoji.

Okay. Now’s the time.

Me:

Actually, you might see me in the media soon.

Danny:

What???!!! What are you talking about?

Me:

Yeah… I’m dating my boss. He’s the head coach here.

Danny:

WTF!

Me:

I know.

Danny:

And you’re telling me this now?

Me:

There’s more.

Danny:

Oh no. Tell me.

Me:

We’re getting married.

My phone starts ringing, but I decline Danny’s call and put it on silent. I’ll deal with that later.

For now, I turn my attention back to the ice.

The third period has started rough—two penalties in quick succession, the other team's power play clicking with dangerous efficiency.

Jaxon's shoulders climb toward his ears, tension visible even from three stories up.

Then someone scores. Not the Raptors.

The family suite falls silent.

I watch Jaxon's spine go rigid, watch him pull his headset off and say something sharp to his assistant coach, Nate. The players on the bench stare at their skates.

This is his world. High stakes, higher pressure, and a six-year-old girl waiting at home who thinks her daddy can fix anything.

The Raptors rally in the final minutes, tying the game with forty seconds left. When the buzzer sounds, Jaxon allows himself exactly three seconds of visible relief before his mask slams back into place.

I wonder if anyone else noticed the crack.