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24

LIAM

We had our rules and Jessica threw them out the window like a bouquet of helium balloons.

Except one.

I left her one of my jerseys and a piece of chocolate. I regret my behavior and that my default setting is to jerk. I want to change that. For her. For KJ. I’m pleased to see she’s wearing it at my game against the Mustangs.

She’s also here with the little guy, which is a big deal.

I flash them a sign after we score a goal and they both clap and cheer.

I can only imagine the speculation. But perhaps anyone paying attention will think she’s a single mom and we’re friends.

But the feelings I’ve developed for Jessica aren’t friendly. They’re not acrimonious either. More like strong. Bigger than I’ve ever felt.

She makes my heart pound.

My breath shallow.

The woman grew a smile inside of me so big, that I imagine it’s going to break out any minute.

But one of the Mustangs’ defensemen drives toward me to make room for his forward to pocket the puck. I deke and pivot, turning the tables at the same time Grady swipes the biscuit. Hayden offers an assist and then slaps the puck to ‘Bama who slams it into the net.

Our goal song comes on and the arena chants along.

I skate to the boards and press my hand to the glass just in case the kid doesn’t know it’s me under this helmet. I was always so proud to see my dad out there, a titan on the ice. Scoring goals and taking names.

My son grins ear to ear and then scrambles out of Jessica’s arms and starts to try to scale the glass. Now, we’re really making a scene. I’ll deal with the fallout later.

Grandma Dolly plies him with a cookie and he returns to sitting.

After the win, the three of them meet me in the hall outside the locker room.

It’s like a do-over from before. I’m prepared this time.

It’s rare for me to have people waiting—other than occasionally my family.

A thought floats through my mind, this is my family. At least here in Cobbiton.

Grandma Dolly signs, congratulating me on the win. Asks to see my abs. I pretend not to understand.

Jessica speaks and signs, “I promised KJ that he could touch the ice.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I’m eager to get out of here to avoid questions but lead them to the rink.

It’s time for me to shift priorities, but that doesn’t make it easy. It’s one thing to know what to do, but an entirely different thing to understand how.

No sooner do we exit the warm room, the child goes bonkers, it’s like I let a bull into an arena draped in red. He slides in his little sneakers onto the ice, arms windmilling, but I don’t need to catch him before he finds his balance. The Zamboni just resurfaced the ice and he glides.

Grandma Dolly signs, “Looks like a natural.”

She’s got that right. “Everyone says that about their kid, but wow.”

“Takes after his dad,” Jessica says and signs.

A little beam of pride shoots through me.

She lifts onto her toes and whispers into my ear, “Remember when I said I don’t want hockey to ruin KJ like it has you? I’m sorry.”

A defensive retort rises and falls inside, but I don’t recall her saying that. It’s then I realize she’s calmed my inner barbarian by lacing her arm around my waist. I almost don’t know what to do other than drape mine over her shoulders. We’re like two proud parents, watching the light of our lives find his calling.

Or not. If he wants to be a climber or an insurance adjuster, that’s fine too. I don’t care … but the thought dies. I am his father and I do care. A lot. About him. About this woman by my side.

Glancing down at Jessica, I take her hand and lead her onto the ice. We glide together and my palm around hers feels better than holding my stick. A long sigh escapes.

We’re more than halfway toward the home net lines before we catch up with the little rascal. Jessica takes his hand and I grab the other. Wearing street shoes, the three of us slide—linked up, it’s both graceful and clumsy yet perfect. When we get to the little door where Dolly watches, I urge her to join us.

She shakes her head.

I point to my abs and wink.

She smiles and slides forward, meeting us.

Everyone knows that the sun melts ice, but I feel it shining, in each of my hands, in their smiles and mine grows.

Until we’re back in the hallway where we pause because KJ wanted to look at the trophy cases. While I talk to Mikey for a minute, Grimaldi sidles over. Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I dare him to flirt with Jessica. The guy is the one broken link in the Knights chain. I have no idea why Coach keeps him around.

She laughs nervously.

He whispers something to her.

Her expression darkens.

He leans closer.

She turns guarded.

Mikey’s voice fades.

I march over, ready to redefine “Stick salute” and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

“Let’s go,” I growl.

Jessica mouths the reminder, Sotto voce .

I shake my head. Not with this guy.

“I was just talking to your ‘Work wife’ about how she could offer me some assistance of the personal kind.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“If she’s my work wife, then I’m her work husband, meaning she’s not available to offer you any assistance of any sort ever.”

Grimaldi’s expression turns weasel-like. “Don’t see a ring.”

She glances at her hand.

To her, he says, “Don’t worry, baby. I don’t sting.”

Jessica’s smile is tight. “I’m not worried and don’t call me baby. Your comment is weird and not at all appealing.”

My jaw practically hits the floor. I half expected her to brush him off with sparkle fingers.

Just then, a little pudgy hand fits into mine. I hesitate. Jessica beams a smile, her expression glowing as if Grimaldi doesn’t even exist.

I can’t say no to whatever grows between us or to my son.

Don’t want to.

Not anymore.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Grimaldi asks, breaking into the moment.

Jessica takes my other hand as if to say, We’ve got this together .

Grimaldi adds, “Looks like a happy little family.”

Grandma Dolly bustles over and signs, “We have celebration cake waiting at home.”

Hate to say it, but Grimaldi is right.

* * *

The next week, while the little guy is at “Kinder Care,” Jessica and I go to a brunch sponsored by one of the brands that endorses me.

Anytime we’re out, people flock to her and she gets excited about kids and babies. She makes friends wherever we go and has a sort of magnetism that people can’t resist. It’s like a weird symbiosis that leaves everyone but me smiling and laughing.

I tell myself I abhor it, but my occasional smile defies that lie.

Back at the loft, while she’s on the phone talking to a woman we met at the luncheon who introduced herself as the Cobbiton Activities Commission coordinator, about Easter events, I get a text. It’s one I don’t want to read.

Unknown: Nice family moment at the Ice Palace. Looks like you were the king of the castle. But I could tell everyone Jess is not our little prince’s mother.

My stomach twists, but I reply because this message could only be from one person, Pam, my ex. No doubt she saw social media posts, put two and two together, and is now attempting to put me in an uncomfortable position.

Me: I don’t care what you do to tarnish my reputation, but leave her out of this, and above all don’t mess with my son.

Unknown: That depends on what you’ll do for me.

Blood rushes in my ears. Without thinking, I take a swing at the wall and shove my desk over before realizing what I’m doing.

Jessica appears in the doorway with a spatula in her hand. “I was just making a cake when I thought I heard?—”

“Baked goods don’t solve everything.”

“Sure they do. I could add some whipped cream. Remember what you said about not taking yourself so seriously.” The corner of her lip flickers with a smile.

I hammock my hands on top of my head and pace. Pam must’ve seen the game. She knows about Jessica. Now I have something at stake which is exactly what I’ve worked so hard to avoid. It’s been better to keep my life simple and not let anyone in.

In a small voice, Jessica says, “I was making it for you to have this afternoon. I have an appointment.”

Probably a job interview. I already came so close to losing her. Saved by the pie to the face.

Glancing around at the dented drywall and the mess I made of my desk, I realize I’m not managing my anger.

She starts picking up the scattered papers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Stuff triggered me,” I say vaguely, a shoddy explanation.

She lets out a dry laugh. “You were triggered, so you smashed your wall?”

“Better than punching someone in the face.” What if she’s really done with me this time?

She gets to her feet and locks onto my eyes with a ferocity I’ve never before seen. “It’s your job to get over that.

“Harsh.”

“Direct,” she says, using my words against me … for me?

I grunt.

“I’m talking about healing. It’s not the responsibility of the world to tiptoe around you so we don’t upset you, set you off, or trigger you. That’s on you.”

Now, she’s being ultra direct. Have I created a monster?

“I’m telling you to get over it.”

I ask, “What happened to one of your upbeat, optimism-laced unicorn and sparkles pep talks?”

Jessica plants her hands on her hips. “Life can be a boxer. It’s going to knock you down. It’s up to you to get back up.”

“But I don’t know how to come back from this.” I flash the texts from my ex which have intensified in recent weeks, including her financial demands and my questions about why she didn’t give the kid proper medical care and attention.

Jessica’s eyes grow as she reads the messages.

I say, “A Bundt won’t fix this.”

“Are you suggesting we don’t try to kill her with kindness?”

“Are you suggesting we resort to murder instead?” Even for me, that’s a bridge too far.

Alarmed, Jessica motions with her fingers in a solid No gesture that could be understood by anyone even if they’re not fluent in ASL. “I meant to make friends. Everyone?—”

“Not Pam,” I say, referring to my ex.

“Who?” Jessica’s tone lifts in question.

“Pamberlie,” I add, using her full name.

Jessica’s gaze grows momentarily distant. “Pamberlie Coogan?”

“How’d you know?”

Jessica presses her hand to her forehead. “She was almost my sister-in-law.”