Page 53 of Puck Love

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, there. How’s California?”

“Sunny and beautiful,” I reported, squinting against the glare on my windshield.

“And how was the interview?”

“It went pretty well. McD isn’t arriving till Thursday now, so I have a couple of days till the meeting. I suppose I’m a little nervous. I like LA fine, but I really don’t want to move here.” Okay, I added that last part quickly, hoping to divert any conversation that might include Trinsky. I wasn’t ready to go there.

“I selfishly don’t want you to move to the West Coast either, but I’m sure that’s a moot point. Boston isn’t going to let you get away,” he assured me. “How was Trinsky?”

Well, it was a nice try.

“Fine.”

My father chuckled lightly. “Fine? You can do better than that.”

“There was no bloodshed and no drama. He even offered me a ride to my hotel afterward.”

“He’s a good guy,” Dad said.

I huffed because that was what the script called for, but it felt forced. “Hmm. He’s pretty involved with children’s charity work. Did you know that?”

“I did. See? I told you he wasn’t a bad egg.”

News flash: my father had always liked Trinsky. I used to find that annoying, but now, I wondered if Dad had seen something in him all along that I hadn’t.

“Yeah, well…”

Make a right onto 35th Street and make a left onto Hermosa Avenue.

“Are you with someone?” he asked.

“No, I’m—”I’m on my way to meet my nemesis for a booty call.Nope. I couldn’t say that. I had to lie, and that was a new one. I’d never lied to my dad. “I’m in a rental car. The nav voice is loud. Sorry.”

Your destination is on your left. You have arrived.

“Very loud,” Dad commented with a laugh. “I’m at the office. I hope you’re somewhere more fun.”

I parked, glancing out the driver’s window at the side view of Trinsky’s palatial boardwalk villa. Bicyclists, runners, and rollerbladers vied for space on the wide pathway parallel to the sparkling blue ocean in the distance. Kids squealed while seagulls eyed discarded lunches. It was chaos. Fun chaos.

I turned off the engine just as Trinsky opened his gate and held it for a short, heavyset kid with thick glasses. His brother? Maybe. I couldn’t tell from here. Trinsky guided the younger man by his elbow and steered him toward the sand. And get this…he let go to speak in sign language.

“Uh…yeah. The beach.”

“You win. I’ll let you go. If I haven’t told you lately, I’m proud of you and I love you.”

My lips curled at the familiar endearment. Dad never missed an opportunity to let me know he was rooting for me.

“Love you too. I’ll talk to you later this week. Tell everyone I said hi.” I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I pushed End and jumped out of the car. “Hey, Trinsky!”

Trinsky swiveled to me and waved. I locked the car and jogged to meet him on the sidewalk.

“Of course you got lost,” he snarked in greeting. “Yo, Milligan, meet Eddie. Eddie, this is Jake Milligan. He plays for Boston, but we’re not gonna hold that against him today.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Eddie quipped, pushing up his glasses and thrusting his hand at me. “I know you. I watch hockey…because of Mr. Cool.”

I shook Eddie’s hand, chuckling when he hooked a thumb at his brother. “Mr. Cool?”