Page 67 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Gabrielle

It’d been another two weeks since Maverick had officially retired from the NHL, and we hadn’t heard a word from him, let alone seen him.

The kids, however, seemed to be over his departure and we were back to life pre -Maverick.

Less exciting, less colorful, less flavorful, but still good.

Life was once again routine and predictable.

Damon continued to thrive in homeschool, and Laurel, who won an essay contest at school, was riding that high and practicing her public speaking at home, since she had to read her essay at the school assembly later that day.

I wasn’t allowed to read it or hear her practice because parents were invited to attend the assembly, and she wanted me to hear it for the first time when she read it aloud.

Yes, my kids were doing well, and their hearts seemed to be on the mend. It wasn’t just tape and hope keeping them together now.

My heart, however, was still cobbled together with duct tape and positive thinking, even though I honestly wasn’t sure it would ever truly heal.

We were bottling wine at the vineyard and busy as hell now that spring was officially here, so that helped keep my mind off Maverick—sort of.

However, when I wasn’t in the barn bottling with my cousins, or in my office working, my mind went rampant with thoughts of him, and that’s when my heart hurt the most.

I thought for sure after he retired, he’d come back.

Unless his time away helped him realize that the island, and being with us, wasn’t actually what he wanted at all, and he really was moving on.

I was busy prepping dinner while Damon did his schoolwork at the kitchen table.

Laurel was still at school, and we were set to go to her assembly in about an hour.

With the souvlaki chicken and lemon Greek potatoes marinating in their respective bags, I decided to torture myself by listening to the latest episode of Maverick’s podcast. Because he was still doing that.

And bringing on bigger and bigger names.

Damon’s voice announcing the podcast made me smile. With the help of Maverick’s marketing guru, they’d jazzed up the intro, but it was still my son with a surprisingly charismatic tone. I glanced over at him, his face shielded by his brown floppy hair as he did his homework, headphones on.

“Hey, and we’re back,” Maverick said into my ears, his deep, raspy voice making my nipples instantly pebble. “And we’ve got a very special guest on this episode … my brother … Riot Roy. Welcome, Ri.”

“Thanks for having me on, little brother.”

“I’m sure our listeners held their breath for a moment when I said, ‘my brother,’ then sighed in relief when it wasn’t that brother.”

Riot chuckled awkwardly. “You said we can be real and candid on this show?”

“As real as you can be, bro.”

“Rebel is a fucking idiot, and I hope he goes to prison for a very long time.”

I nodded as I diced the cucumbers for the Greek salad.

“I should have backed you up sooner, but Dad was in my ear and so was Rebel, saying it was career suicide, but it was wrong of me to listen to them. And I’m sorry.”

“Everybody has their own process,” Maverick said sympathetically. “I’m just glad you’ve come around now.”

“It really hurts, you know?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You think you know someone. You grow up with them, then realize you didn’t know that sick fucker at all. And Gina and the kids … have you spoken to her?”

“She reached out,” Maverick said. “I know she’s lying low. Staying with her parents and just trying to shield the girls from the news and mess.”

“You’ve really opened up a can of worms, little brother,” Riot added. “A good can of worms, but a can of worms.”

“You think? I don’t think I opened up anything.

I think I simply helped the women who were already coming forward open a door that had a lot of powerful men trying to keep it closed on the other side.

The door was partially opened, I just … added a bit of white, male privilege muscle on the right side of it.

I certainly don’t want to take away from the bravery or strength of the women who have come forward and told their story.

These are their stories, their trauma, not mine, but I will certainly—and I hope you and all the other players and men that have come forward to support them—will continue to support them.

Continue to help push open that door, until the men like Rebel, Henderson, Franks, and all the rest lose the strength to push back. ”

“Dad always did say you were the smartest of his boys,” Riot remarked with amusement.

They continued to talk more about the league, how Riot’s team was doing in the playoffs, how the Storm were doing, then they circled back to positive masculinity and what they can do to help lead young men in the right direction, and away from the influence of people like Germaine Pratt.

By the end of the show, I had tears in my eyes—and not just because I was chopping onions.

What was it like to have not one but two true callings in life?

Because not only was Maverick an incredible hockey player, but he was born to be a leader.

He was born to be this voice of the future, to help lead young men away from such oppressing, toxic ideologies.

He should be speaking to auditoriums filled with men like my son, deprogramming them and enlightening them.

“You okay?” Damon’s voice right beside me made me jump. I removed my earbud and faced his concerned eyes. “You’re crying.” His gaze narrowed. “Are you listening to another one of your murder podcasts? Did they get to the part where they found the body?”

Swallowing, I reached for a piece of paper towel and blotted my eyes. “No. I’m, uh … I’m listening to the latest episode of Maverick’s podcast.”

“The one with Riot? Wasn’t it great? I ended up having to edit out so much laughter. It went on for ages. You can tell they’re brothers the way they insult each other.” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair.

My head reared back. “What? You’re still editing for him?”

Damon looked at me like I just sprouted another head. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I … I don’t know. Because he moved away?”

“Yeah, but I can still edit. It’s easy. We just send files back and forth through email, or the cloud.”

Why didn’t I know about this?

“A-are you still talking to Maverick?”

Another dumbfounded look. “Uh, yeah. We text all the time. He messaged to apologize for leaving so abruptly. He said he doesn’t want to lose touch and that just because you guys aren’t together, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be part of our lives. Laurel sent him her essay too.”

My bottom lip nearly hit the floor.

“You messed up, Mom. Maverick loves us, and you sent him away. You could have figured out a way to make it all work, but you sent him away.” His lips twisted, then he shrugged and went to grab a yogurt from the fridge before returning to the dining room table.

“When do you want to leave to go to Laurel’s school? ”

Standing there, frozen in shock that not only were my kids still talking to Maverick, but Damon was still working for him, I had to blink a few times, then Damon had to say “Mom” abruptly to shake me out of my fugue.

“Uh, sorry. We’ll leave in about thirty.”

He nodded and put his headphones back on, eating his yogurt while reading the screen in front of him.

You messed up, Mom. Maverick loves us, and you sent him away.

Were these Damon’s words, or Maverick’s?

I set my earbuds on the counter and finished making the salad. Then it was time to head to the school. One of the upsides to the school being on the smaller side meant parking was never really an issue. All the parents were invited to attend since several students were presenting essays.

Damon and I drove Danica while Raina and Jagger drove Naomi.

“How are you doing?” Danica asked, jostling my knee with a warm hand as we sat in the front row of the chairs facing the stage. She glanced at me, brows up.

I exhaled a long, deep sigh. “I’m fine.”

“No, she’s not,” Damon said, sitting on the other side of me. “She misses Maverick. We all do.”

Danica’s brows went even higher.

I rolled my eyes and faced my cousin again. “I do miss him, but now that he’s retired, if he wanted to come back, he could. And he hasn’t. So …”

Danica’s mouth dipped into a frown. “You think that’s it?”

“What else could it be?”

“Well, didn’t you send him away? Maybe he doesn’t feel welcome?”

“Of course he’s welcome. Why wouldn’t he feel welcome?”

All she did was shrug, because Principal Otto Pickford came sauntering onto the stage in all his ill-fitting, brown polo-shirt glory. He cleared his throat and smiled beneath his yellow-tinged white mustache and hiked up his tan chinos, trying to get them over his gut, but failing.

A silence settled over the crowd of students and parents.

“The man’s nose is as red as a cherry tomato,” Naomi whispered to Raina.

Raina snorted.

It was true, Otto Pickford, who was a terrible principal—and person—had burst capillaries all over his cheeks and nose. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t make fun of someone’s appearance, we taught our children better than that, but given just how awful he was, I granted my family some leeway.

However, because we were in the front row, Otto saw Naomi and Raina whispering and shot us all a dirty look. That just prompted my cousins to start giggling.

I reached behind Danica and shoved Naomi in the shoulder, catching Bennett McEvoy’s eye in the row behind us and giving him and Justine a friendly smile.