Page 14

FOURTEEN

HUDSON

The first month of the season flies by.

Madeline, Lucy and I settle into a routine, and whenever I’m home, they include me in the things they’re doing.

We went to the National Air and Space Museum last Sunday, and today we’re working on Lucy’s Halloween costume while she’s at school. It’s a character from a show called Bluey that’s been on the living room television every afternoon, and Madeline spent the last fifteen minutes explaining how it’s a kids show for adults.

I still don’t understand.

“I appreciate your help.” Madeline holds up the fabric she’s been stitching all morning. “It’s much faster with two people, and I’m working on borrowed time after Lucy let me know yesterday she needs something to wear for class tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure I’m actually doing anything.” I nudge over the piece of felt she needs to finish the costume. “But I’m happy to assist.”

“What are you up to the rest of the day? The calendar shows no game tonight.”

“No game, but I have a meeting with Coach at five. I’ll be back in time for dinner at six thirty.”

“Meeting?” She puts the needle between her teeth and sets the costume on the table. “Are you in trouble?”

“Hope not. Coach likes to talk to us individually every other week. He checks in and makes sure we’re doing all right mentally and physically.”

“I’ve never played a sport before.”

“Really? I didn’t get that impression with all your sports expertise.”

Madeline tosses a spool of thread at my head, and I laugh. “Does every coach have meetings with their athletes?” she asks.

“God, no. Some don’t even bother to learn every player’s name. When I was a rookie, our coach thought my name was Harold. Coach Saunders is a hard-ass, but he’s the best of the best. He’s young, so he’s easy to relate to. Sometimes he’ll join us in our workouts so we’re not out there busting our asses alone. We’ve only gotten better since he’s been with the team, and a Stanley Cup Championship wouldn’t have been possible without him.”

“He sounds like a good guy.” Madeline sticks the fabric with the needle and pulls the thread through. “You were young when you started playing hockey, right?”

“Yeah. I was seven or eight. I watched Miracle on Ice , and I became obsessed. Wouldn’t shut up about it.” I smile at the memory of following my parents around the house. Begging for a pair of skates and promising to pay for them with lemonade stand money. It’s humbling to know how far I’ve come. To know I was able to pay off their mortgage and completely wipe out the cost of Mom’s medical bills because of the sport. “I took some lessons, joined a club team, realized I was good, and here we are.”

“Making Halloween costumes for a stranger’s kid,” she muses. “A yacht in Turks and Caicos would be way more fun.”

“Are you a stranger? I know a few things about you.”

“Like what?”

“You’re always wearing socks. And you hate cabbage.”

“How do you know I hate cabbage?”

“Because you made a face when you were cutting it up for coleslaw the other night.”

Madeline lifts her chin. “You noticed that?”

“I notice a lot of things.”

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a minute, working the needle through the fabric again. “No one’s done that in a long time.”

“Done what?”

“Noticed the little things.” She shrugs, still hyperfocused on that damn needle and thread. “There’s nothing special about me.”

I frown.

She’s not wrong about many things, but she’s wrong about that.

Madeline Galloway is special, and I’m sad she’s been led to think otherwise.

“Agree to disagree,” I say, and her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. “Talk to me about cooking. You said you worked at McDonald’s, but did you always want to be a chef?”

“For as long as I can remember. My mom used to let me help her in the kitchen. She was a stay-at-home parent while my dad worked as a plumber, and cooking was something we did together. She’d pull a chair up to the counter so I could reach, and by the time I was a teenager, I was making four-course meals like it was nothing. We still cook like that together sometimes. She’s the best.”

The usual pang of sadness hits me like it always does when someone talks about their mom. It’s a jealous ache of knowing they get to spend time with a person important to them, and I don’t.

“How old were you when you learned that knife trick?” I ask, swallowing down my emotions, and her laugh is soft. A gentle sound that makes me smile and feel instantly better. “Two? Three?”

“Sixteen, actually. And I nearly lost a finger the first time I did it.”

“Now that is a cool party trick.” I tap my phone to check the time. “Lucy’s bus comes soon, right?”

“It’s already two? Where the hell has the day gone?” Madeline stands and takes a long look at the costume. “It’s not the worst thing in the world. I could’ve cut up a sheet and told her to be a ghost. This is a little more creative.”

“You also could’ve given her one of my jerseys and let her be a hockey player.”

“Dammit, Hayes. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Because it’s unoriginal.” I run a hand through my hair and toss her a sheepish grin. “And I didn’t think of it until you were halfway through the second ear. It felt cruel to mention it when you had been working so hard.”

“Too late now. My fingers will just be bruised for a week.” She holds up her hands, showing off the red marks between her knuckles. I should’ve offered to help more, even though I don’t know how to sew. “It’s fine .”

“Next time there’s a costume contest, I’ll make sure Lucy doesn’t tell you. She can raid my gear drawer and call it a day.”

“Fine by me.” Madeline grins and heads for the door. She slips on her jacket and fixes her ponytail. “I’m going to wait for her downstairs.”

“See ya in a few, KG.”

When the door closes, I walk to the kitchen and grab an apple from the fruit basket. Lucy always eats one after school, and I cut it into the slices she likes before sliding it onto a plate.

Ten minutes later, feet thunder through the apartment. I smile and grab a small notebook sitting on a stack of mail. Gus and Millie climb out of their beds under the window and trot toward me.

I wait at the end of the hall, and Lucy waves when she sees me. I smile and flip to the first page of the notebook, my pen poised above the paper.

Hiya, Lucy . How was school ? I write, holding up the notebook so she can read it.

She gives me a thumbs up, then beelines it for the dogs, giggling when they lick her face and forgetting all about me.

“Is it okay if I communicate with her like this?” I ask Madeline, tapping the notebook. “I want to do things right, and I’m not sure if this is the way to do it.”

“You’ll want to keep it to basic questions. ASL—the sign language Lucy uses—is different from the English you and I use. She does read and write at school, but her primary form of communication is with her hands. It might be hard for her to have full conversations with you on the pages,” she explains. “But we can try.”

“Got it.”

I whistle, and the dogs follow me to the kitchen with Lucy in tow. I set her on the barstool, laughing when she smiles at me with a missing tooth grin, then sliding the plate of apple slices her way.

Thank you , Lucy signs, which is one of the only phrases I’ve picked up on, and I nod. She bites down on the apple and looks at Madeline, signing something else to her.

“ Lucy wants to know if we can take the dogs for a walk ,” Madeline tells me.

“Oh, yeah. They need to go out, and I could use some fresh air,” I say, and I don’t like that I have to use Madeline as the middleperson to communicate. “We’ll go to the park up the road.”

“ Hudson said we can take the dogs, but you have to finish your snack first ,” she explains, and Lucy doesn’t waste a second.

She eats the apple slices in record time and jumps off the stool with another eager grin. I grab the dogs’ leashes from the pantry and gesture for her to come close to me.

Without words, I show her how to hook the leash to their collar, and I let her do the second one. She’s careful and gentle, placing a kiss on Millie’s head when she’s attached.

“ Way to go, baby. ” Madeline opens Lucy’s backpack and hands over her coat. “ Make sure you zip up. It’s getting cold outside .”

“I hate the cold,” I say, and Madeline moves Lucy’s empty plate to the sink. “I’d rather be in ninety-degree weather.”

“You play on ice.”

“I know, and I wish I were in a sauna.” I lead the dogs to the foyer. Madeline and Lucy trail after me, and I pull on a hoodie. “I love to sweat.”

“Your socks got mixed in with mine last week, and I almost gagged when I opened the washer,” Madeline admits. “Why do you bring that stuff home?”

“I don’t bring game stuff home. The place would need to be fumigated.” I hold the door open for them and we move into the hall. “Just some practice gear.”

“I say this respectfully, but it’s horrific . When Piper gave Lucy Maverick’s jersey, I had to wash it four times before it didn’t smell like a dead body.”

“Been around a lot of dead bodies, Madeline?”

“I told you I’m good with knives.”

I laugh. “Trust me, I know how horrible all of it smells. I shower after the game, then I shower when I get home. Feels like it takes two washes to get clean some days.” Lucy runs ahead and presses the button for the elevator. Gus and Millie sit beside her, and she strokes their fur. “I’m glad she and the dogs get along.”

“She loves them. We’ve never had any pets because my schedule has always been too chaotic, so it’s good to see she’s not afraid of them.” Madeline smiles and gently ushers Lucy into the elevator. “Have you always been a dog person?”

“No, actually. I was terrified of them growing up. When I entered the league, I realized how isolating this career can be if you’re not into the party scene or married with kids. I didn’t like sitting around the house alone, so I went to the shelter and adopted Millie. Gus came later, when I had a better handle on balancing my responsibilities. They help keep me sane when it feels like the world is up against me. They don’t care if the Stars win or lose, and it’s nice to be loved even if I make a mistake.”

“That’s parenting,” she says as we head for the ground floor. “I’ve made so many mistakes as a mom. I’ve messed up, but despite it all, Lucy loves me unconditionally. It’s scary, honestly.” The doors open to the building’s lobby, and we file out.

“Here.” I stand behind Lucy and lift her arm so she’s holding the leashes. I fold my hand over hers so I’m still in control, but it lets her feel like she’s the one leading Gus and Millie. “I have a good grip on them, so they won’t yank her.”

“ Does that feel okay, baby? ” Madeline asks, and Lucy nods. “ If they’re too strong, let me know . Mr. Hudson will take over. ”

“Mr. Hudson.” I laugh. “That’s what the kids at the Stars’ summer camp call me. Makes me feel ancient. Then you have my teammates who call me Huddy Boy.”

“What do you prefer?”

“Hudson is just fine. Beyond that, Hud. Huddy Boy. Hayes.” I shrug and let Lucy dictate our pace. Millie and Gus realize they’re on a short leash, and they don’t sprint ahead like they do when we go out for a jog. “The internet calls me Blond Bombshell, but I’m not a huge fan of that one.”

“Blond Bombshell.” Madeline starts to laugh, and she covers her mouth. “Sorry. That’s—people actually call you that?”

“Don’t ever look at my social media comments. It’s a scary place.”

“Wow.” She opens the gate to the dog park, and I show Lucy how to unhook the leash from the collar. Gus and Millie take off across the grass, with Lucy not far behind. “I think I’ll stick with Hudson. That feels safe.”

I smile. I like how my name sounds coming from her. “Fine by me.”

“Hudson Blond Bombshell Hayes. You know what? I take it back. That is what I’m going to call you from now on. It’s too good.”

“Dammit. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“You should’ve. Too late now, BB. You’ve got a nickname for life.”

“Watch your back, Madeline. I’ll think of something just as humiliating to call you.”

“I’d like to see you try, Bombshell. Oh.” Her laugh is loud, and she holds her side. “This is going to be so good.”

“Shut up.” I nudge her with my elbow, a move that makes her laugh even more. “We’re no longer friends.”

Madeline wipes a tear from under her eye. Her shoulders shake, and she tips her head back so she can look at me. “You’re stuck with me, hockey guy. Unless you want to go back to eating peanut butter for lunch.”

Her smile grows, and there’s an ache in my chest. The spot that’s been fractured for years feels warmer. Brighter. Like a stitch has gone through it. Like I’m being pulled back together.

“I guess there are worse people to be stuck with,” I say.

When she sticks out her tongue and waves to Lucy, I know I made a damn good choice with these two.