Page 103 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Thirty-Two

Jules

I’d barely accepted Cas’s place in my life.

And now he was gone.

And now I was missing him.

It was freaking awful.

Two days without him—unless I counted catching glimpses of him on the TV screen at CeCe’s and random text messages and a few video calls (which, for the record, I did not )—and I hated that he wasn’t there.

But if I was going to do this with him, then I had to get used to it.

Because his job took him away from Baltimore regularly for half the year.

But I couldn’t deny that he was making an effort.

Not just with the calls and texts, but he’d sent me dinner at CeCe’s the night before. That morning, as I’d walked Ethan out to the car to take him to school, I’d almost stumbled over a vase of flowers.

Pretty, gorgeous flowers.

I’d never gotten flowers before.

And the clinking all around my heart as the remnants of my armor dropped away was cacophonous.

I was out there, fully exposed, and…not terrified.

Maybe I’d regret that in the months and years to come, but I wanted Cas—in my life, in Ethan’s life.

Forever.

Which was a scary fucking thought.

But I’d tabled all the fear to be dealt with later.

Right now, I was enjoying pancake dates and flowers and sweet text messages and video calls that took a sexy turn right at the end.

A scream pierced the air, and I jumped, nearly impaling myself on the stack of freshly sharpened pencils I’d just finished running through the sharpener.

Right.

Right then I was volunteering at school and needed to focus on the fact that I was handling sharp objects around small children.

“Julie.”

And on avoiding Mr. Philips, who I’d misjudged, considering what he told me weeks ago and the subsequent conversations—yes, conversations—I’d had with Ethan, none of which I was sure that had really taken.

But he was still too familiar—only now I had to wonder if it was because I wasn’t used to men being nice to me, especially those in positions of authority.

I didn’t trust it.

I trusted Cas.

Though that was probably because he’d worked so hard to earn it.

I forced a smile, glanced up at Ethan’s teacher. “Almost done, Mr. Philips.”

“Randall, please.”

I nodded, not willing to give verbal agreement to his request because it just felt too weird, and then began moving around the space, filling up the organizers in the middle of each container with the sharpened pencils.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he asked.

Too familiar. Too nice.

It made my shoulders hitch up.

And…yeah, it was definitely my past coming into play. Ethan loved him as a teacher and he hadn’t come close like he had that day, had seemed to make a conscious effort to keep his distance between us.

Like he knew that I’d been uncomfortable and was trying to ensure I knew I had an exit route.

Yup.

Definitely my past creeping in.

“Julie?”

I blinked, glanced up and safe he was at the Keurig. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Normally, I’d never turn down coffee, even if it felt weird drinking it with “someone in charge.” But I was in my usual end of volunteer session sweat that had me asking why I did this. Every. Single. Week.

Then I saw Ethan’s nametag taped on his spot and knew it was because of the smile it put on his face.

“Sure?”

A nod at the clock. “The kids will be back from recess in a few minutes, and I should finish this before they do.”

“Okay.” He plunked a pod in, closed the lid, and put his mug under the stream that began coming out. Then he spoke again, and it set my insides going tight. “Ethan hasn’t been talking about…” A wave of his hand. “The situation with his dad.”

Thank God for that .

Hopefully, my gently conversations with him had stuck.

“Glad to hear it,” I said, moving to the far side of the room and starting to organize the kids’ work into their respective folders. “I talked to him after the last time you mentioned it.”

Mentioned the fact that my baby had written a letter to himself for a class assignment and that one of the questions he’d asked his future self was if he was bad and that was why he didn’t have a father.

“I’m glad you straightened a few things out,” he said. “And I’ll let you know if I see anything else concerning.”

Concerning? Yeah, it had been concerning.

But, more, it had been eviscerating.

My baby thinking that…

My eyes slid closed.

“It’s not your fault.” Soft words. Not from too close. And, yeah, I’d misjudged the teacher. “This kind of stuff happens in complicated relationships.”

But not with my baby.

I opened my eyes, shoved a drawing that looked like a combination of the Grinch and a pile of horseshit crossed with a radiated fish into the proper folder, and flicked my gaze up to Mr. Philips. “I’ll keep talking to it.”

He held my eyes and I say that, yeah, my past had definitely come into play with him. “I know you will.”

Then he moved away, sipping his coffee and watching his students play through the open classroom door.

I kept filing. I hadn’t mentioned the letter to Ethan as we’d talked, had just tried to gently navigate to the topic of his father.

It might have been easier to address it head-on, and I might have to if it came up again. But he was five years old, and I hadn’t wanted to invade his privacy that way.

But I had made it clear that it wasn’t his fault that his dad wasn’t involved.

And seriously, I hated Nate Miller.

It wasn’t enough for him to fuck me over, now he had to fuck over my kid?

But if I allowed myself to think that, to be upset about my idiocy, then I’d get bogged down in it. Right now, I needed to focus on giving Ethan the best life he could have.

“He has mentioned someone name Cas a few times.”

This was a tricky statement, from the teacher whose gaze was still on the playground, and it was tricky mostly because I’d already shared far too much with Mr. Philips. We weren’t friends or acquaintances, and I didn’t want to discuss my love life with anyone, let alone Ethan’s teacher.

And yeah, I was calling it my love life—and not freaking out over the L word.

Miracle of miracles.

And also…maybe it was the miracle of video call sex.

“Ah,” I said in response (or maybe, it would be better described as in non -response).

“Someone you’re dating?”

Now he was going to get more non -response.

I’d barely gotten it straight in my own head. I couldn’t talk about it out loud. So, I shoved the final paper in my stack into the proper folder and then glanced over at Mr. Philips. “Did you have any other tasks for me today?”

A glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Message received, loud and clear,” he said softly. Then that amusement grew. “Will you organize the leveled reading books?”

Oh man, that was mean even as I said, “Sure.” Mostly because it was a lesson in futility—the books promptly became un organized since the kids never managed to put them back in the “proper” order.

“I’ll just say one more thing.”

My shoulders inched up.

“I’m glad you’re dating. Ethan needs a good man in his life.”

My shoulders inched up further. That was two things.

“And you do, too.”

Three. Shit.

That was three .

“And—”

The bell rang.

Saved by the bell. Literally.

Kids began pouring into the classroom, settling at their desks, the noise inside the room increasing exponentially as they got ready for their next subject—art.

But I got my reward for the sweat and the uncomfortable conversation with Ethan’s teacher—and that was in the form of two little boys who didn’t go straight to their desks.

One belonged to me and wrapped his arms around my middle, hugging me tight enough that I struggled to breathe.

The other was Finn—Ethan’s teammate that I was just starting to know.

“Hi, Ms. Blackstar,” he said, screeching to a halt.

“Hi, Finn.”

“Can Ethan come over this weekend after our game?”

Game being Ethan’s team’s first hockey game. At nine in the morning. On Sunday after I’d schlepped drinks and food until three in the morning.

I couldn’t wait to watch him play, especially since he’d been working so hard at practice.

However, I wasn’t looking forward to getting him up and to the rink and getting him dressed and ready for the ice (since five-year-olds weren’t great about getting their own hockey gear on) for a game that began at nine in the morning after my shift the night before.

Alas, such was the life of a single mom.

And I thought that I might be able to rope Cas into the gear wrangling. A professional could do it faster, right?

And God, I missed him.

“Mom?”

Right. Two boys were looking at me, eyes pleading, and it was almost impossible to resist their adorableness.

“I’ll talk to your mom at practice tonight,” I said and then added because how could I not add more to that in the face of so much childlike hope and potential disappointment, “But it’s fine with me so long as it’s fine with her.”

The boys turned toward each other, huge smiles on their faces.

Then Ethan was hugging me again, his smile pointed my way. “A sleepover and hockey and friends! This is going to be the best weekend ever.”

I squeezed him back before nodding toward the table where both of the boys sat. “You should get ready for art,” I said, playing it cool even though I was thinking the same thing, thinking that it absolutely would be the best weekend ever.

“’Kay,” he said, releasing me and racing over to his table, Finn on his heels.

As I watched them, lips curved up, I saw Mr. Philips had been watching us.

Being familiar. Or maybe…it was just that he saw too much.

Damn.

I avoided his eyes.

And then I went back to organizing books.