Page 14 of Wake Me Up (New England Bay Sharks #5)

“D o you ever get tired of having everyone, you know … follow you around and stuff?” Cash says, sitting beside me on the team bench. “Like, what if you’re having a bad day, but people won’t leave you alone for an autograph? How do you deal with it?”

For being ten years old, he’s an insanely deep thinker.

Most boys his age would just think I had it made because I’m an NHL player and would probably even believe that the fame is the best part.

The truth is, there’s a lot to this job that I love, but there’s a lot that I fucking hate too.

And at the top of the list is having people treat me differently just because I’m a professional athlete.

“Well … I give them a quick autograph and act as polite as I can but let them know I’m limited on time,” I tell him honestly. “Lucky for me, everyone thinks I’m grumpy anyway. So, they don’t think anything of it either way.”

“Dang, that must be hard,” he says considerately. “To have to just pretend like everything is okay all the time.”

Because of my hectic schedule right now, this is only our third session together in three weeks. I like this kid, but I feel bad that I’m helping him and not his older brother. But Cane made it clear he’s not interested in playing hockey anymore, so I don’t want to push it on him.

I haven’t seen Freya for more than a few minutes at pickup and drop-off, and during those times, she takes off quickly like her ass is on fire, and it really seems like she’s avoiding the hell out of me.

“Nah, you get used to it, I suppose,” I utter, even though it’s sort of a lie because half the time, I’m not even used to it. “So, tell me, has your love for playing goalie grown? Or are you still bent out of shape over it?”

“I’m not bent out of shape over it,” he says quickly. “I’d play anywhere I had to, just to have time on the ice.” He looks me over for a moment before sighing. “The truth is, I love playing goalie, Tripp. It’s my favorite position so far.”

I can’t even act like I’m surprised by his answer because I knew something was off about the whole situation weeks ago, when he was complaining that his coach wanted him to play the position, but he seemed disconnected from what was actually coming out of his mouth.

He kept glancing nervously over at where his brother was standing, and that was a dead giveaway that it had to do with Cane.

“So, go on. What is it?” I shrug, and when he’s silent, I decide to take a guess. “You’re afraid that you playing goalie will make Cane upset? Is that it?”

His eyes stare at the floor now, and his shoulders sag a bit lower.

“My brother started playing hockey before he was five. By the time he was six, he became obsessed with being a goalie. My dad—well, I’ve heard Mom talk about him taking Cane to hockey; it was kind of their thing.

” He pauses. “I guess my dad really loved hockey too. He didn’t play, but I’ve heard he loved to watch it. ”

I’m not the guy you want to have a heart-to-heart with because I don’t know what to even say.

I’m not sensitive, and I’m not even that good of a listener because other people’s problems make me uncomfortable, and I usually suggest to rub some dirt on it because that’s what I’ve always had to do.

But this kid, I can feel the pain in his voice as he talks.

I want to help him, but I don’t even know how.

Losing my dad at a young age fucked me up. I’m in no position to give anyone advice. I’ve run from facing my feelings from that loss and worked myself to death instead of dealing with the pain. But for whatever reason, I want to say something, anything, to make Cash feel better right now.

“So, you don’t want to be a goalie because Cane was one before your old man passed away?” I say, acting like I’m guessing but I know that’s his reasoning. “And you feel like you’d be betraying your brother if you see this thing through?”

“I guess,” he whispers. “Cane is the only one who really remembers our dad. He spent the most time with him. He was seven when Dad died. I just don’t want to make my brother sad.

He gave up hockey because it makes him think of our dad.

I’m sure he doesn’t want me throwing it in his face by playing his favorite position too. ”

From the outside, looking in, I know he’s being crazy. This is a small problem, and to be honest, Cane probably wouldn’t even think that way about it. I don’t want to downplay his feelings though because he’s a kid worried about his brother.

“What if …” I stop, trying to figure out how the hell to word this without sounding like I’m pushing aside his fears. “What if he isn’t mad at all? What if he’s happy for you?”

He keeps his eyes on the ground without answering.

“Cash, you’re good. You’ve got a ton of talent.” I breathe out a laugh. “You’re probably better than I was at your age, if you want to know the truth.” I sigh, patting his knee. “I think you should talk to your brother. Or maybe your mom. I’m sure she’d know what to say.”

“I guess,” he utters. “Thanks, Tripp.”

“For what?”

“For being my friend,” he answers, taking me by surprise and making me feel this weird sensation in my chest that I’ve honest-to-fuck never felt. “I know it doesn’t seem like much—what you’ve done for me, but I know you helping me has made my mom really happy too.”

Before I answer—or even have time to digest his words—he stands up and nods up at the clock. “We still have fifteen more minutes till my mom gets here.”

Inside, it makes me glad that I’m not just making Cash happy, but his mom too.

That woman has been through hell and works her ass off, and she deserves to have a little help with her kids.

But I grin because, of course, this kid is worried about getting every second in of this practice.

That’s what makes me like working with him so much.

I was him at that age. Hungry for more playing time and ready to soak in any extra time on the ice that I could.

I stand, swatting him on the arm before taking a step back toward the ice. “Well then, we’d best get back to work, huh, Moneybags?”

He rolls his eyes but laughs. “You gotta stop calling me that.”

“Your parents named you Cash. No chance in hell, kid. Sorry.”

I rush through the sliding glass doors, absolutely panicked because I’m fifteen minutes late to get Cash and I’m never late. Ever. It’s actually an annoying trait of mine to be on time for everything and be organized too.

It’s not completely my fault though because Cane had to be dropped off at basketball, and then Aviana failed to mention she had a kid’s birthday party tonight until an hour prior, which also meant we needed to stop at the store and get a gift on the way there.

Rushing into the arena, I see Tripp standing down at the bottom of the stands, leaning against the plexiglass. I’ve done well, avoiding him, but I feel the need to explain that I didn’t forget about Cash, that something just came up.

When Tripp joined us for dinner after Cash’s game, I realized how incredibly nervous he made me, and I knew I needed to put some distance between us.

I’m not dumb. I know someone like Tripp Talmage would never be into a widowed mother with stretch marks, a flabby tummy, and three kids—one who is almost a teen.

But the point is … I enjoy talking to him way too much.

And it makes me feel guilty, so I can’t do it.

No way am I taking this opportunity away from my son though, so I’ve chosen just to politely stay back.

It became even more obvious that I needed to keep him at arm’s length when my seven-year-old noticed how he made me react. And while, in her head, she thinks we should date, she doesn’t understand that I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I ever will be.

I have my kids and my work, and I don’t think I need to add in anything else. I mean, when would I even find the time?

When I finally reach him, I’m out of breath. I ran from the parking lot and into the building, and that was probably the most running I’ve done in years.

“I am so sorry I’m late,” I huff out, and he turns toward me.

Putting my hands on my hips, I drag in a breath.

“I had to get Cane to practice and then Avy—well, she suddenly had a birthday party she’d failed to tell me about.

” I throw my hand on top of my head. “I swear, I’m not the mom who is late and leaves my kids with strangers. ”

Once I’m done ranting, I look out at the ice, where I see Cash in the center with Walker James, and I smile. “Wow, … he’s … he got to work with him too?”

“He just got here a few minutes ago and offered to take Cash out and show him a few things.” He grins at me, giving my side the slightest nudge. “It worked out for him that you were late, Freya. You can take a breath now.”

I’m caught off guard by his playfulness, but I’m also flattered that he’s trying to make me feel better for being late. He watches the ice again as Walker and Cash make their way farther away from us. Tripp’s body turns slightly toward me, and when I glance up at him, he’s swallowing nervously.

“I don’t know if this is my place or not, so I’m sorry if this comes out the wrong way.

” He reaches up, gripping the back of his neck with his hand.

“Cash sort of … well, he said why he’s hesitant to play goalie, despite him loving it.

Anyway, I told him he should talk to you, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up.

” He pauses, cringing. “I’m not trying to get in the middle of anything.

I’m sorry. I just … I see his potential, and I want him to follow through with this dream if it’s something he wants. ”