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35

LIAM

The sound of Jessica settling onto the couch reaches my ears. I have a two-second argument with myself before dragging my tired butt to the living room. “Hey,” I whisper slowly.

“Hey,” she replies.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I mentioned I have insomnia, but now that we live together, I hope it doesn’t disturb you. I try to be very quiet.”

“Is it contagious?”

In the dim light, I can see her face screw up. “No, of course not.”

“What causes it?”

Jessica shrugs. “Stress. Hormones. There can be lots of reasons.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“I’ve tried all the things. From traditional Western medicine solutions to woo-woo witch doctor quackery. I’ve come to accept that I’m a person who doesn’t sleep. It’s a hopeless situation.”

“That’s the least Jessica-esque thing you’ve ever said.”

Lifting her mug to me, she says, “I’m drinking an herbal chamomile blend, but you’ve been warned that our coffee bill will always be high. Short of moving to Brookking Sound or that hotel in Colorado—I slept well while we were in both places—I’m sorry to say that you married a night owl.”

“Me,” I say, more of a statement than a question because I realize the common denominator.

She flashes her hand and the ring shines. “Yes, you, Liam. We got hitched. Remember? Thanks for not standing me up.”

“I’d never.”

“You’re a man of your word. That’s admirable.”

“Me,” I repeat.

More to herself, Jessica says, “One of my foster siblings once sleepwalked and would carry on half a conversation before we realized what was happening. Liam, go back to bed.”

“Only if you come with me ,” I say, emphasizing the word.

She splutters her tea. “What? We got married and kissed, but we never discussed?—”

Shifting from foot to foot because we’re both losing precious winks, I say, “No, to sleep. The three nights you got a full rest were with me—in Colorado, at my parents’ house, and on our wedding night.”

We were both exhausted and I slept in my tux.

She leans back as if assessing the veracity of my statement. “You’re right.”

“Come on.” I wave my hand.

She follows me down the hallway.

Fluffing the pillow, I pat the bed.

Jessica mutters. “Don’t be romantic or anything.”

Looking cute wearing a pajama set with little penguins holding hockey sticks, I say, “Nice jammies.”

“They were a wedding gift from Colette and Hendrix. You have a matching pair but look dressed for a workout.” She slides onto the bed next to me.

I don’t mention I normally sleep in just my underwear, but because I was going to check on her in the living room, I threw on some clothes.

“They’re clean.”

“I know. I washed them.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

I feel her shoulder lift with a shrug. “I don’t mind. I’ll earn my keep around here.”

“No, seriously. We’ll hire a housekeeper.”

Jessica is quiet for a long moment. “Maybe at some point, but for now, I’d like to do the laundry.”

“The deal was a ring for a ring. I’m going to get KJ a new nanny and find another assistant too.”

“No, Liam. You’re not.” She speaks with such firmness in her voice that I almost don’t dare argue.

“You. Don’t. Owe. Me. Anything.”

She twists and props onto her elbows. “Even though I tell myself every day that this is fake between us, did it occur to you that I’ve always wanted a family and a home? If that means doing laundry and dishes and all the rest, let me try it out. If I hate it and want help, I’ll let you know. But there seems to be something, I don’t know, kind of special about knowing that I’m taking care of the people I love—” She rolls over and settles against my chest.

If I didn’t feel the movement of her chest rising and falling with breath, I’d think she’d died, practically in my arms.

Yet, we’re both very much alive … and in love?

If she meant that in the way that we’re playing house and she’s acting the role of a mom and wife, fine. But what if she …? I don’t let myself go there.

I am not lovable.

But Jessica is huggable. Like has happened the other three times we’ve shared a bed, I hold her close, hoping she can fall asleep.

It’s for practical reasons. Mostly. I want her to be fresh tomorrow, especially if she insists on taking care of KJ. Also, I don’t want to find pencil shavings in my lunch. Back in grade school, my mother had a lot going on and was helping with homework while preparing meals … and the little cup holding the wood and graphite must’ve been tipped into my chicken salad rather than the salt and pepper.

After a few minutes, Jessica says, “You’ve started calling your son KJ instead of the kid.”

“So I did.” I can’t keep creating the illusion of distance and not using his name, pretending that he’s not mine. That Jessica is too even if our situation is still murky.

“Did you notice he stopped sucking his thumb?”

“Yeah.”

“Also, he’s more than doubled his vocabulary and even mouths some words now like Grandma Dolly. Someday he’s going to hear your voice, Liam. I just know it.”

My jaw tightens and my eyes tingle. I’ve realized that people with varying hearing abilities aren’t necessarily at a disadvantage like I believed. More that they may face challenges people in a hearing-oriented world don’t. But that doesn’t mean people with the gift of hearing always listen. Learned that lesson.

Soon, Jessica’s breathing turns soft and deep. However, I can’t sleep and my thoughts peel away like little curls from a sharpened pencil, drawing me closer and closer to the point. It’s then I realize that maybe if I can fix her sleeping problem and if there’s a solution to what she deemed hopeless, maybe forgiveness is possible too.

I wake up to a heavy weight on my chest. It pokes my shoulder and then mushes my lips together. I blink open an eye to see Jessica sprawled out on the other side of the bed in her hockey-player penguin pajamas.

I meet a pair of blue-gray eyes that match mine. KJ wants breakfast, so we go to the kitchen and make a big mess, trying to replicate Grannie Bell’s blueberry pancakes. When we take the first one off the griddle, Jessica shuffles in, looking adorably sleepy with floppy hair and heavy eyes.

“Morning, boys. It smells good.” She points to the pancakes. “Don’t throw out the first one. I’ll take it. I’ve always liked the sacrificial pancake.”

“The what pancake?” I ask.

Even though Jessica is signing and speaking at the same time, the concept of the first pancake always being a dud, goes over the kid’s head. I get it though and our second one comes out much better with nice crisp edges and a perfectly fluffy middle.

Maybe there’s some life wisdom there, but then why does Jessica like the first one? Wouldn’t she want the best of everything?

I have training followed by practice all day and then fly out for an away game against the Titans.

Coach Badaszek asks to have a word when we’re done warming up. “Thanks for inviting me to the wedding. You’re a man of few words and I knew there was something you weren’t telling me. Figured a laugh or two would help you get your feet under you.”

He searches my expression as if expecting me to politely chuckle. That’s the normal response, right?

Instead, I ask, “You knew about the kid and that’s why you pulled me out for those two weeks?”

“I didn’t know the details and was certain that you wouldn’t request a leave of absence.”

“So, you took the first opportunity to force me out?”

Badaszek claps me on the shoulder. “Sometimes you need to know when to toss out the first pancake.”

I frown. “Did you talk to Jessica today?”

“Not since the wedding, why? Everything okay?”

I inhale a long breath. “Yeah. Everything is great and you’re right about the pancake. I just learned about that recently. This morning, in fact.”

“Personally, I like the first pancake—they can be imperfect, but they still taste good.”

If Coach Badaszek and Jessica are both first pancake eaters, what does that make me? A fixer-upper? In their own ways, did they spot the problems in my life and swoop in? I thought I was the fixer, the father. The thought that haunted me last night appears along with a certain word that Jessica and I talked about.

Forgive .

As if sensing the wild river rapids of my thoughts, Coach remains quiet for a long moment.

“But you made me captain too.”

He nods. “That was a risk, but I know you, Ellis. You stomp around in those skates at first, but then you glide. Never seen a guy as big as you move with such grace matched with speed, agility, and stamina.”

I’m glad at least I get one thing right.

Then, Badaszek points at the ice. “There’s still one piece of unfinished business.”

He could only be referring to one thing. “Valjean?”

“I don’t want any blood on the ice tonight.”

“Mine?”

“Or his.”

“He’s the one who?—”

Badaszek cuts me off. “Your father told me the whole story while we were in Brookking Sound. You’re the one keeping the unforgiveness alive. When you let it go, he’ll show mercy.”

“I don’t expect this to turn into a redemption story.”

“It probably won’t, but he’ll move on when you do.”

“How do you know?” My voice sounds like it belongs to a little boy rather than a man.

“Because I’ve been Henri Valjean.”

Before I can ask what he means, Vohn calls him from the nearest doorway.

Badaszek starts to move away, then over his shoulder, he says, “You don’t get this far by remaining stuck in the past. And I’m not talking about just hockey. Take the lessons with you. Recognize the first pancake when you see it, do what needs to be done, and move on.”

Later, at the game, we play a dominant first period, with Savage picking up the puck and passing it to Pierre who dashed down the left side while I kept Valjean off his tail. Redd gets a wrist shot before the buzzer, making for a two-zero score. Second period, we continue the assault, getting two power plays, leaving the Titans trailing. ‘Bama is a dynamo and Mikey is slick as ice.

My brother gives his all, getting a nifty wrist shot through bumper-to-bumper traffic at the end of the second, but during the last period, we hold the gap then widen it with strong defense and another score thanks to Grady.

I’d like to say Valjean and I play completely clean. There are some close penalties, but no blood for once. Maybe that was the first pancake. We have a chance to try again. Next game, we’ll both leave the past behind.