Chapter 6
6
JONAS
"The volcanic rocks represent the island's ancient history," Alexa explains to my kids, who are somehow more fascinated by geology than they've ever been by anything I've taught them. "Each one tells a story from when the world was young."
"Even older than Dad?" Lukas asks with complete seriousness.
"Way older."
I catch her smirk.
"These rocks remember when the islands were born, and when the volcanoes first woke up and started dancing."
"These?" Jace clutches her collection of black rocks like they're precious gems instead of pieces of ancient lava.
"Yes these." Alexa kneels down, eye-level with my daughter. "They were real magic. Wild magic. The kind that built entire islands from the ocean floor."
I should be checking my phone. The PR team has texted six times about the upcoming season's publicity calendar. My agent wants to discuss contract negotiations. The team needs my pre-season photo shoot schedule.
Instead, I'm watching Alexa turn science into magic, thinking how much Genny would love this. She always said kids learn best through stories.
"Look at this one," Lukas holds up a particularly sparkly specimen. "It's got stars inside."
"That's volcanic glass," Alexa tells him. "It's what happens when lava meets the ocean. The stars are tiny bubbles."
My phone buzzes. It’s Vince Vincent, PR man extraordinaire:
Need to discuss media strategy. Also, your mother-in-law called about 'that travel writer'
Of course she did.
"Daddy, look." Jace presents her rock, carefully selected for maximum sparkle. "Miss Minty says this is older than dinosaurs. And even you."
"Way older," Alexa confirms, and I catch myself staring at how the sunset lights her hair.
Another buzz. Vince again:
Seriously, call me. Season starts soon and we need to talk about your image. The single dad angle was great but we need something fresh
My image. Right. Because apparently being a single dad isn't enough of a story anymore. The team wants more. The fans want more. Everyone wants more. They just love trotting me out as the face of the team... widower, single dad, keeping it all together.
If they only knew.
"Dad." Lukas interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "Can Miss Minty come to dinner? She knows ALL about rocks."
"And magic.”
I watch Alexa's professional mask slip for just a moment. "I should really get back to work. I have notes to organize..."
"It's sunset dinner." Lukas employs his best pleading face. " With torches."
"And shave ice." Jace bounces with excitement.
Jesus, my kids really know how to work it.
"The resort does have excellent sunset dining options," I find myself saying, like a freaking advertisement. "Could be good for your article. Research opportunity."
God, I’m such a dork. Trying to talk a woman into having dinner with my family and me by talking about “excellent dining options.”
Alexa raises an eyebrow. "Just finished a family-friendly dining article yesterday."
"Maybe you need... additional research? Can never be too thorough." I hope I don’t sound like a beggar. It’s just that the kids like her so much, and well, it’s easier with two adults.
As if that’s the only reason I want her around. Asshole.
She laughs, and it sounds nothing like Genny's. It's fuller, deeper, more surprised—like joy catching her off guard. The guilt hits immediately, followed by something else. Something that feels dangerously like optimism.
"Please?" Both kids slip into maximum persuasion power.
"I suppose..." Tapping her chin, Alexa pretends to consider it carefully. "For research purposes..."
"YES." Lukas punches the air. "You sit next to Dad."
"Oh?" Her eyes meet mine, amused. "Why would I want to do that?"
"'Cause you're pretty like Mommy," he says with a kid’s certainty. "And Daddy looks at you funny."
God help me with this kid.
The silence that follows is heavy with awkwardness and I wish the earth would swallow us all up.
But my phone saves us by buzzing again. Team manager this time:
*Need to discuss pre-season schedule. Ice time starts two weeks. Media day following Monday
Ice time. Hockey. Real life.
When did I start thinking of hockey as separate from real life?
"Miss Minty." Jace tugs Alexa's hand. "Will you come see the shave ice stand? I invented a new flavor."
"Invented?" Alexa looks slightly concerned, which is the correct response to Jace's culinary experiments.
"She combines them," I explain, grateful for the subject change. "Currently the record is five syrups in one cup."
"That's... creative," she says with a grimace.
I grin. "Very on-brand for Minty Fresh Adventures."
She laughs again, and this time I let myself enjoy it without guilt. Because Genny would want that.
My phone buzzes one more time. Vince:
TMZ asking about you and a mystery woman in Hawaii. Need statement ASAP.
Um, what?
Holy shit, are there media spies everywhere? I thought this place was safe. That no one would bother us here.
Without meaning to, I look around at anyone who might be paying attention to us. Problem is, a lot of people are paying attention to us—guests, staff, and most likely even the annoying drone circling overhead.
Fuck me.
I turn back to see Alexa with my kids, showing them how different rocks catch the light and turning science into stories in a way only a writer can. She's nothing like Genny—where Genny was soft edges and careful plans, Alexa's all sharp wit and spontaneity.
But maybe that's okay. Maybe that's exactly what we need.
"Daddy." Jace waves to grab my attention. "Miss Minty's gonna try my special shave ice."
"Brave woman," I mutter, crossing my arms.
Whatever this is—this pseudo professional, pseudo research, pseudo vacation—it’s not real. And it’s not permanent. Writers leave. Vacations end. Shave ice melts.
Same as hockey seasons. Same as careers. One minute you’re a big deal, and the next, you’re yesterday’s news. Everything has an expiration date, whether it’s a story, a job, or even people.
I should know better than to think this is any different.
Our two-bedroom suite is finally quiet, miraculous given the sugar high from Jace's "special" shave ice creation. After three bedtime stories, two glasses of water, and at least fifteen minutes convincing Lukas that tomorrow's beach crabs will still be there in the morning, both kids are down. Jace is curled around her favorite stuffed unicorn and Lukas is on the other side of the bed, sprawled out like he always sleeps.
I meet Alexa outside where she’s waiting on the balcony, staring at stars that seem close enough to touch. She's still wearing her sundress from dinner, and the way it catches the breeze makes my heart do complicated things.
"Both down for the count?" she asks without turning.
"Finally. Though Lukas is still convinced we could fit a volcano in our backyard. He's already sketched out plans for the lava routes through the neighborhood."
"You could always get him a science kit. Much more HOA-friendly."
"Where were you when I tried to explain that to him? Apparently, my suggestion of a model volcano was 'boring' and 'not magic enough.'"
"Future volcanologist?" Alexa asks.
"Future something. Yesterday he wanted to be a hockey-playing astronaut who also drives trains. Last week it was a professional dinosaur trainer who moonlights as a pirate."
"Dream big or go home?"
"That should be the Knight family motto. Though sometimes I think it should be 'expect bedlam, embrace adventure.'"
We fall into a silence, watching the resort's volcano perform its cheesy hourly show. The fake lava catches real starlight, creating an illusion of magic that's not entirely artificial. Kind of like this moment—something real hiding behind something that's supposed to be for show.
"Do you ever miss it?" she asks suddenly.
"Miss what?"
"The… hopes. The plans. The expectations. The ones from before... before everything changed." She gestures vaguely at the suite behind us, where the kids sleep.
I consider this, a not-so-casual question, while watching Alexa’s profile in the mixed light. The way she asked makes me want to give real answers, not the media-trained responses I’m using to spitting out.
But the real answers are not so pretty.
"The dreams… at first it was like they all died with Genny. The pain was so devastating, you find yourself wanting to forget… everything. At the same time, you are terrified of forgetting, because the memories are all you have left.
“So I guess, over time, they’ve changed shape, if that makes sense," I say after a moment. "Funny how it goes. Now, instead of worrying about game stats, I worry about whether I'm reading enough bedtime stories."
"Big shift,” she says without pity.
"Bigger than you can imagine. But you get through it, because you have no other choice." I turn to face her. "Life sneaks up on you. I never planned on teaching them about volcanic rocks—or watch them try to play cupid with a travel writer. They're very determined little matchmakers."
We laugh, and the space between us gets smaller. And smaller.
"Jonas..."
"I know." But I'm leaning in anyway, drawn by gravity or fate or maybe just the way light catches her hair. "This is probably a bad idea."
"Definitely a bad idea."
"Very unprofessional."
"Completely unprofessional."
But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she sways slightly closer, and I can feel her breath on my lips, and the whole world narrows to this moment, this balcony, this woman who turned my carefully planned vacation into something magical?—
"DADDY."
We jump apart as Jace's scream pierces the night.
"ICE CREAM EMERGENCY."
Of course this would happen now. Of course my daughter would choose this exact moment to remember the ice cream she'd hidden in her bed "for later."
"I should..." I gesture helplessly toward the chaos erupting inside.
"Go." Alexa steps back, professional mask sliding back into place, though it looks a little shaky. "Handle the ice cream situation."
"Be right back?—"
"DADDY IT'S EVERYWHERE."
“Coming, Jace.”
One top of everything else, my phone buzzes. Vince again:
TMZ has photos of you with mystery woman in Hawaii. Care to comment on your romantic sunset dinner? Also, Twitter's already calling her your “vacation love story.” Need statement ASAP.
I look at Alexa, still starlit and beautiful despite my screaming children and buzzing phone.
"Go," she says. "Before the ice cream claims another victim."
"We should talk about?—"
"About the very professional article I'm writing? Of course."
But her smile suggests she's thinking about the same almost-moment I am. About what might have happened if ice cream and PR crises hadn't intervened.
"DADDY THE ICE CREAM IS WINNING."
"Duty calls," I sigh. "Knight in shining armor, off to battle dairy products."
"Knight in board shorts, hoping this isn't another syrup-in-the-washing-machine situation?"
"Hey, we survived that one. Mostly. The washing machine was never quite the same, but at least it smells good."
She follows me inside, where I find Jace surrounded by what appears to be an entire pint of chocolate ice cream. She looks up at me with Genny's eyes and says, with complete sincerity, "I was trying to save it for Miss Minty."
My heart does something complicated.
Phone buzzes again because, of course:
*Jonas, we need to get ahead of this story. The 'eligible single dad' angle is huge right now. Fans are loving the mystery woman angle. Call me ASAP.
I’m looking at my daughter, covered in ice cream but wearing her biggest smile, at my phone, promising drama I'm not ready for, and at the beautiful woman in my suite, and I realize I’m having a pretty good vacation.
After the ice cream mess is cleaned up—two sets of sheets, one unicorn, and half our room towels—I find Alexa back out on the balcony. She's made herself comfortable in one of the loungers, feet tucked under her like she belongs there.
Like this isn't just work anymore. Like she might be on vacation. Enjoying herself.
"Crisis averted?" she asks, making room as I join her.
"Mostly. Though that mattress will never be the same."
"The hazards of parenthood?"
"One of many." I settle next to her, careful to maintain some distance, though that seems to matter less and less. "The ice cream ambush is new. Usually it's just Legos in unexpected places or finding chicken nuggets in my hockey bag."
"The silent killers of parental feet everywhere?"
"Speaking from experience?"
"Ha, no." she says. “How’d you meet your wife?”
“Genny made that part easy. We met at a children's charity event—I was there as the team's representative and she was coordinating the whole thing."
"Love at first sight?"
"Love at first disaster, more like. I knocked over an entire display of signed memorabilia trying to impress her. Premium items too—signed jerseys, collector's pucks, the works."
"Smooth."
"Oh, it gets better. I tried to catch a falling trophy, and ended up taking out a cardboard cutout of myself in the process. She looked at the mess, looked at me, and said 'Good thing you're better at hockey than walking.' Then she made me clean up my mess while giving me detailed stats about childhood literacy rates."
Alexa laughs—that full, deep laugh that’s beginning to turn my insides.
"She sounds cool."
"Yeah. She was. She had everything planned out—our wedding, our kids, our future. She even had a binder for our first family vacation, color-coded by activity type.'" I swallow hard. "We never made it to that one. Well, we did, but it was without her. And it sucked."
Alexa's hand finds mine in the dark. She doesn't say "I'm sorry" or offer platitudes. Just sits with me in the quiet.
"It was so fast," I find myself saying. "One minute we were planning Disney World, debating whether Lukas was old enough for Space Mountain, and the next... the doctors said she probably never felt pain. That it was quick. Like that's supposed to make it better."
"Does it?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes I think about her last morning—she was teaching Lukas a new song, something about dinosaurs, as usual. She was so alive. And then she wasn’t.”
Alexa squeezes my hand. "Do the kids remember her?"
"They were so young. Lukas sometimes says he remembers her laugh, but I think he just remembers me talking about it. And Jace..." I trail off, thinking of my daughter's earlier comment about Alexa's smile. "She knows Genny through stories. Through photos. Through the way people talk about her. Sometimes she'll do something, make this particular face when she's concentrating, and it's pure Genny."
"That's remembering," Alexa says.
Before I can respond, my phone lights up with a video request from Gloria.
"Speaking of remembering... can I grab this call from my mother-in-law?"
Alexa nods and I answer the call, my mother-in-law's face filling the screen.
"Hello Jonas... oh I see you have a friend visiting?"
Alexa starts to move away, but Gloria's already locked on the target.
"Don't leave. Miss Minty. The kids haven’t stopped talking about you. Every call is 'Miss Minty this' and 'Miss Minty that.' And from Jonas's PR team, though I'm sure that's just speculation... Even though TMZ does have some lovely photos..."
"Gloria," I warn, but she's unstoppable.
"You look different," she announces, studying me through the screen. "Happier. Relaxed. Are you having fun, Jonas? I know the kids are, but what about you? I want to see that spark back in your eyes. The one Genny always talked about. And you’re wearing a little tan.”
Ah, Gloria.
"The kids are asleep," I say, trying to change the subject. And also trying to figure out how to politely end the call.
"Okay, good. Say, on our call this morning, Jace says Miss Minty makes you smile all the time. Out of the mouths of babes, hmmm?"
Alexa tenses beside me, but Gloria continues, "And you know what? Genny would love that. Remember what she wrote in her last birthday card to you? 'Love multiplies, it doesn't divide.'"
"Gloria..."
"I know, I know. I'm meddling. But Jonas?" Her eyes are suspiciously bright. "You're allowed to be happy again. Both of you." She looks pointedly at Alexa.
After we say goodbye, the silence is heavy. And awkward.
"Your mother-in-law is..."
"Subtle as a body check?"
"I was going to say 'interesting.'"
We sit there, hands still linked, looking at the stars because it’s easier than looking at each other.
"Jonas?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For telling me about her."
I glance at our joined hands, at the woman beside me who’s nothing like Genny and not someone I should be thinking about.
"Thanks for asking," I say, pulling my hand back as I get to my feet.
This isn’t a beginning. It’s a moment. That’s all. And a fleeting one, at that.
Travel writers stick around until they don’t. Kids believe in magic until reality kicks in. Moments like this aren’t built to last.
I lead Alexa to the door of my suite. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m suddenly beyond exhausted and if I don’t get in bed right away, I might fall asleep standing up.
"Goodnight, Alexa," I say.
She nods and I close the door.