Page 62

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

Tyler

But getting the kids up before sunrise on Saturday is an ordeal.

Even though one of them had the idea. Hell, me getting up before sunrise is a challenge.

But I do it, and ten years of early mornings as a dad is good training.

Still, Luna yawns and Parker grumbles as we load into my car, the sky still inky dark.

The only one with real energy is Sabrina—she’s the earliest riser of us all.

“You can take the girl out of four-thirty a.m. wake-up calls, but you can’t take the early bird out of the girl,” she says as she slides into the front seat, caffeine-free.

Meanwhile, I need a serious jolt. I can’t believe I forgot to brew coffee, but before I can even suggest swinging by a drive-thru espresso hut in the Marina, Sabrina hands me a travel mug, a tendril of steam curling from it.

Fuck, I think I love her.

“Thank you,” I say, leaning in. I’m this close to dropping a chaste kiss on her lips across the console when her eyes widen—right as I come to my senses.

The kids are in the backseat. I can’t kiss her in front of them.

I yank back at lightning speed, by stealing a glimpse in the rearview mirror with a guilty gulp. I hope they didn’t notice my almost mistake, but I can’t tell. Luna is still yawning, and Parker is staring at something on his phone.

“By my calculations, we have forty minutes to get there, Dad. If you go seven miles over the speed limit on the highway?—”

I pull out of the garage and step on it.

Sabrina turns around and offers sliced apples to the kids, along with Rowan’s homemade peanut butter to dip it in—probably a Christmas gift from Mia to Luna. That perks them up, along with the promise to snag pancakes when we’re done.

Before the sun pokes its head above the horizon, we arrive at the rink in Cozy Valley. It’s an outdoor rink, and I reserved it the other night. We hustle out of the car, check in, and head outside.

The thing about Cozy Valley is that it’s nestled in the rolling foothills at the edge of Wine Country. Even though it’s California and we don’t get much snow around here, the tiny peaks are gorgeous in their nudity—no white caps, but all powerful rocks rising amidst trees still green.

It’s chilly, in the high thirties, though it’ll warm up soon.

Sabrina wears black leggings, and she’s pulling on pink leg warmers and a white jacket—light enough for her to move freely in. We hit the rink as the kids huddle on benches.

“I’ll be your backup, Dad,” Luna says.

“I’ll be the director,” Parker adds.

“Perfect,” Sabrina tells them as she laces her white skates while I tug on my black ones .

The thing is, she can shoot videos herself, using the stick and the stabilizer thingy.

But I want to do this for her.

I want to be the one capturing her.

We step onto the ice in this rink that looks like a frozen lake in winter. It’s still and bracingly beautiful in the chilly dawn air. I’ve got her phone in my hand, the video settings already adjusted for movement and tracking.

“Let’s do it, Snow,” I tell her.

“Catch me if you can, Falcon,” she says.

I want to RSVP with a hell yes .

An always yes .

She pushes off on one foot, then glides on both blades, quickly gathering speed, her blonde hair flying like a mane behind her. I keep pace with her the whole time, filming her as she moves—graceful, athletic—while the sun peeks over the horizon, peach and pink painting the morning sky.

She races backward, a blur of black and white and pink motion, shiny and strong, and I do my best to capture every crossover, every spin, every jump.

And as she builds strength and momentum, her arms widen, like she’s inviting all of us into her world—of ice, of beauty, of strength, of grace, of confidence.

I can’t help but think of the hand she was dealt by her family, by her ex.

But here she is.

As resilient as the morning. As strong as the ice beneath her blades.

As brave as the birds soaring past her while the sun climbs above the horizon, bringing on a new day.

When she spins—head back, arms wide—it’s like she’s melting into nature itself.

And I can only hope I’ve done this justice.

Then she finishes, and her breath comes fast as she skates over to me, cheeks rosy, face glowing. There’s a look that says she’s about to come in for a celebratory kiss too.

And it’s my turn to hit the brakes.

I give a quick nod toward the two little kids rushing toward us on their blades.

It hurts to keep holding back.

Especially when they ask to skate with us, and the four of us take laps around the rink together.

The four of us .

This is what I want.

More than I want to have a great season. More than I want to win every game. I want to catch her and keep her. With us .

But how the hell I’m going to do that is still up for debate.

We meet Corbin at The Cozy Griddle, where we demolish more stacks of pancakes than I can count—most with hemp hearts and bananas, of course. When we’re done, it’s past nine, so the town has fully woken up.

From the other side of the booth, Corbin’s daughter, Charlotte, clears her throat, straightens her spine, and says, “The way I see it, we can either go to the bookstore now, then to Hey Nice Nails for a mani-pedi, or check out the pop-up board game exhibit on Lily Lane.”

“Is there really a Lily Lane here?” Sabrina asks, intrigued.

“Yes! I can show you. But first, you have to tell me which one you want to do,” she says to Sabrina in a no-nonsense tone.

I turn to Corbin, laughing. I’ve met Charlotte before, but every time I see her, I swear she’s ten times smarter.

“She’s organized. What can I say? She keeps me on top of things,” my friend says with a what can you do shrug as he pushes messy hair off his forehead .

“No doubt,” I reply.

“Looks like that’s a good thing,” Sabrina says to him with a playful rib, fitting right in with the crew.

That makes me smile stupidly, but I wipe the grin off my face so fast.

Corbin lifts his empty coffee cup in a toast. “Sure is.”

Charlotte, efficient and focused, swings her gaze to Sabrina. “You seem to be in charge. My vote is for the board game exhibit. Do you second it?”

Yup. Total take-charge kid. “As long as they have Operation ,” Sabrina says.

“Let’s find out,” Luna chimes in, and just like that, the kids are wiggling out of the booth, off to hunt for the next thing to do.

“Excuse me. We’re not done,” I point out, gesturing to the cups of coffee.

Luna waves me off. “Oh, but you seem like you’re about to do the dad talk thing—blah, blah, blah, hockey. Blah, blah, blah, my back hurts. Blah, blah, blah, I can fall asleep anywhere. Last week, it was the barber.”

I whistle. “Damn.”

“I feel triggered,” Corbin mutters.

“Looks like someone knows you both well,” Sabrina observes. Then she slides out of the booth. “I’ll take them.”

And just like that, she’s off.

Funny how a few months ago, she would’ve asked if it was okay, and I would’ve wanted her to check in. Now? I don’t need her to ask. I trust her completely with the kids. And it feels like…it feels like she’s a partner.

I sit back in the dark green booth, walloped by that realization, the weight of it, the scope of it.

Corbin must notice, too, because once he confirms they’re gone, he leans back, draping his arms across the booth, and gives me a knowing look. “Looks a whole lot more than you just having it bad for her.”

I exhale, dragging a hand over my jaw. He’s not wrong. “It’s definitely more than that. I told her in New York I was…well, pretty much in love with her.”

He jerks back, blinking. “You said the L-word?”

“Well, not yet. I said I was crazy for her. But close enough.”

“Not really,” he says as no-nonsense as his daughter right now. “But it’s a start.”

That’s a fair point, I suppose. “True. But that’s what I was going for. To let her know my feelings were real.”

“Like I said, it’s a start. A good one,” he adds before he gives me a long, assessing look. “So what’s next, man?”

I shrug, my chest twisting as I try to navigate the road in the dark. “I guess we tell the kids that…we’re together together.”

Corbin arches a brow. “ Together together? That’s how you’re saying it?”

I scrub a hand across my beard. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but do you ?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Because telling the kids is one thing. But if this is real real …have you thought about what that looks like for you?”

I know what he’s asking. Have I thought about where this could go? If it’s long-term? Marriage again? Another ring, another house, a whole new future I wasn’t planning on?

That twisting feeling intensifies, but it’s not bad. I’m not afraid. I just want to do it…right. I don’t want to make mistakes. Don’t want to set the kids back. Don’t want to promise too much too soon to anyone.

I drag a hand over my jaw, my mind zigzagging with all the next steps I’m not sure how to take. But they’re ones I want to figure out. “I’m working on it,” I say, meaning it .

“Good to hear. I’ll be here for you,” he says, and that’s another thing I like about the move from LA—I’m close to family but close to all these new friends too.

“Appreciate it,” I say, but then Corbin gets distracted as a brunette with blonde streaks in her hair, wearing jeans and a sweater with a line drawing of a slice of cake on it, walks by. No, rushes by. Like she’s late.

“Hey, Mabel,” he calls. “Did you forget to say hello?”

Mabel stops, then backtracks. For a split second, something flickers in her expression when she sees Corbin, like she didn’t expect to run into him. “Sorry. There’s a space I need to go check out.”

“Oh sweet,” he says, “let me know how it goes.”

“I will, and speaking of,” she says, lips curving up in a smile, “did you forget to answer my email?”

Corbin smirks. “Of course not. I’m still mulling it over.”

“It’s a good idea, and you know it,” she teases.

I glance between them, noting the way she holds her own but teases him too. Then I turn her name over in my head. She must be Mabel as in Mabel’s Cookies. The one who did a partnership with a San Francisco ice cream shop a few months ago.

As if reading my mind, Corbin nods to me.

“Mabel, this is Tyler. He plays hockey for the second-best team in the city. Tyler, this is Mabel. My best friend’s sister,” Corbin says, his tone lighter now, “also known as the best baker in the world.”

“Nice to meet you, Mabel,” I say.

“You too,” she says.

“Her cookies are the best,” he adds.

Mabel lifts a shoulder and holds his gaze. “You know that sounds vaguely dirty, right?”

Corbin wiggles his eyebrows. “I do. ”

Mabel rolls her eyes. “I’ll catch up with you later. We can talk about that idea.”

“Absolutely.”

“And nice to meet you, Tyler. Also, I’m sure your team is actually the best.”

“We are,” I say and once she takes off, I glance at him. “What idea?”

Corbin tells me the plans, and color me intrigued. “Will you do it?”

“I think so.”

“Sounds like a recipe for trouble,” I say, thinking of the way he looked at her when she nearly passed him by.

Corbin grins. “But I like trouble.” Then he clears his throat. “But back to you. What’s the plan with Sabrina?”

That’s the question. And I need to figure it out fast.

On the drive home that afternoon, my mind spins with how to make it real. What to say to Sabrina. How to figure out if she’s even ready. How to tell the kids we’re…well, into each other.

And fuck, it’s hard.

They’ve only ever known me with their mom. Since the divorce, I’ve been decidedly single. They’ve been introduced to exactly no one.

Do we just skip ahead and say, Hey, we live together now? And then I move her upstairs?

I really need to talk to Sabrina. Tomorrow, I’ve got morning skate, and then a game in the afternoon. Maybe we’ll have the talk tonight, after the kids go to bed.

Yeah. That’s a good plan. Because all these almosts are getting hard to manage. Pretty soon, I’ll loop an arm around her in front of them without thinking—and that’s not the way for them to find out.

But Corbin’s words keep pressing on my brain. “Have you thought about what that looks like for you?”

I need to figure out what this looks like for all of us.

I put those thoughts aside when we swing by Little Friends and pick up our newest foster—a calico named Olive. Sabrina holds the carrier in her lap the rest of the way home, peeking inside as the kitten lets out a soft meow.

“She’s perfect,” Luna whispers from the backseat.

Parker nods solemnly. “I think she likes us already.”

Sabrina laughs. “I bet she does.”

By the time we pull into the driveway, the kids are plotting how to introduce Olive to her new temporary home and debating when she’ll use Drama’s cat tower. They race ahead as I grab the bag of kitten supplies from the backseat.

Once inside, Sabrina heads for her apartment and unlocks the door. “Oh my god. Maybe I didn’t leave the heater on,” Sabrina gasps, her teeth chattering. “It’s freezing in here.” Sabrina hugs herself.

“The cat can’t stay there then,” Luna announces.

“Sabrina can’t either,” Parker points out.

“Obviously,” Luna says dryly.

“It’s not dangerously freezing. Just, like, fifty degrees,” Sabrina says.

Which is still way too cold for a home.

I check the thermostat. Adjust it. Check it again. Fiddle with the Nest.

Twenty minutes later, her place is still an icebox. I call the repair place, and they say they’ll come in the morning.

“Sabrina, you’ll have to sleep upstairs with Olive,” Luna announces, then wiggles her brows. “Slumber party in the living room!”

“Can we?” Parker asks, clearly already planning the movie and popcorn situation like he did the last time we had one. We’ve got a massive couch with ottomans that slide into the middle, turning it into an even bigger bed.

“Does that work for you and Olive?” I ask Sabrina.

She grins. “All I have to say is…we’d better get in jammies now!”

So, no big talk tonight.

Instead, we’re all bundled under blankets in the living room, with a new foster cat exploring the home, watching Frozen for what has to be the fiftieth time.

And as Anna arrives at the ice palace, I decide I’ll talk to my mom, my sister and my brother as soon as possible. Yeah. That’s it. They can help me figure this out.

I send them a text, and somewhere between Kristoff grumbling about ice sales and Olaf singing about summer, I drift off under the covers, with my kids sandwiched between me and Sabrina.

In the morning, I wake up to—what the hell?

Is that a carrot hanging around my neck?

And a sign that says: Be Right Back. Auditioning for Olaf.

Sabrina’s sound asleep, but my two kids are smiling at me, like they’re up to something.

What, I have no idea.