Chapter 26
BEN
“We’re so happy to have you here at our school!”
Sam had told me his teacher, Ms. Evans, reminded him of a Sesame Street regular, and now I can’t unsee it.
Her wide, animated eyes are paired with an even wider, almost cartoonish smile.
Add in a voice so high and bright it could easily belong to a professional Minnie Mouse impersonator, and the resemblance is uncanny.
“Thank you for having me,” I tell her. “I’m really happy to be here.”
And I truly am. These days, I’m happy to be anywhere. Probably because I’m just so fucking happy. Happier than I can ever remember being in my entire life.
It’s the kind of happiness that feels rare.
The kind people experience in life-altering moments—a patient waking up to find they’ve been cured of a chronic illness, an inmate granted an unexpected pardon and a fresh start in paradise.
Or a man who lost the love of his life, only to have her hand him a second chance.
“Yay!” Ms. Evans claps her hands together before turning to the two dozen eleven-year-olds seated before her. A few of them join in enthusiastically, their hands smacking together in an impromptu round of applause. I glance over at Sam, sitting in the corner with his arms crossed, smirking.
With hockey in full swing and his chess club meeting more often, we haven’t been able to find time to hang out lately.
I miss the sarcastic little punk.
I’m on Fellowship Ambassador duty today, but I was able to choose what elementary school to go to. I could have gone with Beth’s school, but decided I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to visit Sam.
After the school visit today, Maddy and I are taking Sam out to dinner—something we’re both looking forward to.
I sent him a message this morning, jokingly asking him to help me look cool in front of his class. His response? "You’re asking too much. I’m only a child."
Maddy laughed so hard when I showed her the message, she spilled coffee all over her shirt.
The coffee I made for her. Because I slept over again. And when she changed her shirt, I got to help. Because I get to do those things again.
Although, given how me “helping” her change also made us forty-five minutes late leaving the condo, I’m not sure how helpful I actually was.
It was totally worth it.
I sneak a glance at where she’s standing in the doorway of the classroom next to the vice principal. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid. It’s a stark contrast to how it looked this morning, fanned out around her on my pillow like a fiery halo while she screamed my name.
She meets my eye and raises an eyebrow like she knows I’m thinking about things I have no business thinking of while at a school.
I refocus on the faces in front of me. This school visit is my final official ambassador duty before the Gala next month. The experience has been incredible and while I’m sad it’s wrapping up, I’d be a lot more upset if it meant losing my connection to Maddy.
Luckily, that’s not the case.
For the past week, I’ve been waking up every day more grateful than the day before that this thing between us is real, that I still get to see her, talk to her, be with her.
After a few minutes explaining to the kids what the Love and Light Foundation does and the children’s charities it supports, I open the floor to questions. Their excitement is contagious, their hands shooting up before I even finish speaking.
“Did you always like hockey?” asks a girl with dark hair and round glasses in the second row.
“Yup,” I tell her. “I started so young, I don’t actually remember not playing hockey. Apparently, after my first game ended, I refused to leave the ice. I wanted to keep playing. My dad had to carry me off.”
Laughter ripples through the room, and when I glance toward the doorway, I catch Maddy grinning at me.
I point to another eager hand, and a girl in the front row loudly blurts out her question.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
A wave of giggles spreads through the classroom.
My first instinct is to look at Maddy. Her lips part slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t look upset. If anything, she seems amused. Maybe even pleased?
We haven’t defined things. No labels. No deep discussion about what this is—just that it is. That we’re happy. That, for now, it’s enough.
But as she meets my gaze and gives me a warm, knowing smile, I take a chance.
“Yes, I do,” I answer, steady and sure.
The kids erupt in delighted squeals.
“Is it her?” a boy shouts from the back, pointing directly at Maddy.
I laugh, but before I can respond, Ms. Evans claps her hands, herding the chaos back under control. “Okay, okay, let’s get back to hockey!”
I spend the last hour of the school day in the gymnasium, surrounded by a hundred kids and the kind of noise that could shake the walls of an NHL arena.
A floor hockey game is quickly organised, and within minutes, the gym is a whirlwind of laughter, sneakers squeaking, and high-pitched cheers that echo off the rafters.
I’ve played in packed stadiums with tens of thousands of fans, but I’m certain I’ve never heard anything this loud.
The biggest surprise of the afternoon? Sam.
Not only does he join in, but he’s actually good. Quick on his feet, confident with the ball, and despite his usual claims of indifference toward hockey, surprisingly competitive. He scores twice!
By the time the final school bell rings, I’m sweaty, slightly winded, and grinning like an idiot. Elliot arranged ahead of time for us to take Sam after school, so we pile into the car and take off.
I wait until we’re off school property to start my interrogation. “I thought you didn’t like hockey?”
Sam stares out the window. “I don’t.”
“You played pretty well.”
“I played for a couple years when I was younger. Right there, actually.” He points out his window at a small community rink. There’s a packed parking lot on one side and a string of houses on the other.
“No shit?” I ask as we drive by it.
Maddy elbows me for swearing and Sam chuckles.
“Why did you stop?”
The backseat grows quiet. I look at Sam in the rearview mirror, his eyes downcast. He slouches in his seat like he’s trying to sink into his slightly too-big ski jacket.
“It just wasn’t for me,” he says finally. Before I can dig further, he asks, “What are we doing at the mall?”
“Arcade?” I ask, hopefully. He doesn’t like hockey and I’m shit at chess, but we both like video games.
“Sure.” His face brightens and my relief is immediate. I turn on the radio, the sounds of Run, Run, Rudolph filling the vehicle.
“I think Santa Claus is going to be at the mall, too,” I add. “Maybe you can tell him what you want for Christmas?”
“Maddy,” Sam’s sarcastic tone carries over the music. “Did you not have the Santa talk with Ben yet?”
Maddy shakes with laughter in the seat beside me before answering. “I didn’t think he was ready yet.”
I try to scowl at them, but I’m just too goddamn happy. I reach across the console and take Maddy’s hand in mine.
“You’re both on the naughty list.”