Page 68 of Faking the Goal

"You should smile more," she says quietly.

I look at her.

She gives me a sad little smile, the kind that already knows I'm about to brush her off. "You carry too much on those shoulders, Ken-chan. You act like you have to hold everything together all by yourself."

I look away, focusing on the stairs. "I'm fine."

"Mmm." The sound she makes tells me exactly what she thinks of that answer. "I miss your smile."

I don't say anything.

We reach the stairs, and I guide her carefully, staying close as we take each step. She's quiet for a moment, and speaks again, voice softer now, laced with something that sounds too much like longing. "I miss that scrunchy little boy who was always up to no good. The one who used to run through the house with grass stains on his knees and that huge grin on his face, like he had a secret the rest of us didn't know yet." Her fingers brush my sleeve. "The one who always had that sparkle in his eyes. I wonder where that little boy is now."

My throat tightens.

I keep my eyes on the second floor landing and say, almost under my breath, "He grew up."

My mother's smile turns sad around the edges.

"I know you grew up," she says softly. "But I don't want you to grow up into someone who forgets how to live."

She reaches out and cups my cheek again, her thumb brushing lightly over my skin. "I want you to enjoy your life, Ken-chan. I want you to have fun. To be a normal college student. To go out with your friends and make stupid memories and do all the things boys your age are supposed to do." Her brows pinch faintly. "You don't have to check on me every night, especially when you already have so much on your plate with school and hockey."

I lower my gaze and busy myself with pulling the blanket over her legs because it's easier than looking at her when she says things like that.

She's quiet for a beat, then her whole face brightens. "Speaking of hockey," she says, as if she hasn't just cracked my ribcage open with maternal emotional warfare, "how did it go tonight? Did you boys win?"

That, at least, is easy.

I look up and give her a small smile. "Yeah, Mom. We won."

Her face lights up instantly.

"Oh, my sweet boy." She cups both my cheeks and leans down to press a kiss to my forehead, then one to my cheek. "I'm so proud of you. Always. Do you know that?"

I huff out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh. "You say that every time."

"And I'll keep saying it," she replies firmly, like there's no world in which she wouldn't. "I don't care if you win by ten goals or lose by ten goals or spend the entire game sitting on the bench glaring at people. I'm proud of you because you work hard. Because you have a good heart."

She smooths a hand over my hair again, her smile gentler now. "Though winning is very nice too."

That one actually makes me laugh.

"There he is," she murmurs, smiling like she's just caught a glimpse of someone she's been missing for a long time. "I knew he was still in there."

I shake my head, but I can't stop the smile from lingering.

"Get some sleep, Mama," I say, pulling the blanket up higher over her. "And please, for the love of God, stop sending your nurse home."

She settles back against the pillows, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "I'll think about it."

I lean down and kiss her forehead. "Oyasumi, Mama."

"Oyasumi, Ken-chan." Her fingers curl briefly around my wrist before letting go. "And try not to worry so much."

I switch off the bedside lamp, and when I step out into the hallway, I let out a deep breath. For a moment, I just stand there in the dark hallway with my hand still on the doorknob, listening to the silence on the other side.

Then I drag a hand over my face and stay there in the hallway for another few seconds, already knowing exactly how this is going to go.