Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Sean
Saturdays without a game were rarer than a quiet shift at the local coffee shop this time of year. After morning drills with the guys, I headed home. Cassy was ready at the door, skates slung over her shoulder, backpack packed, and….
“What’s up with the stuffed penguin?”
“He’s going to watch me skate,” she declared, as if that was the most obvious truth.
Abby threw me a knowing grin and handed Cassy off. I’d obviously signed up for a half-marathon without training.
“Finally, it’s you and me today, Sweet. Are you happy?” I said as she bounced into the car.
She nodded vigorously.
We ended up at the arena. The place was empty, save for the refrigeration units’ hum and Cassy’s excited chatter filling the air. I laced up her skates and held her steady on the ice, guiding her small waist as she wobbled and giggled.
Her joy and little huffs echoed off the glass.
I’d done this before. Same stance, same grip, same gentle uplift. But not with a five-year-old. With Mel.
I’d planned to fly to Alberta this weekend for the game together. That would’ve been the excuse to smoothly get into conversation after the way she left the dropoff. But we’d won, stayed home, and my half-baked strategy vanished.
I hadn’t seen her since, and I didn’t know what I’d say when I did. One moment, I thought I understood my lines; the next, the script was missing its first page.
I was a guy who planned, who scheduled, who definitely did not wing it. Especially not with women, and certainly not in the middle of playoffs. But now I was stuck with a kiss that blindsided me.
After an hour of huffs and giggles with a five-year-old, I figured Cassy had enough stories to last a few months.
“Alright, one last thing,” I said, steadying her at center ice. “How about a picture for your big debut?”
She gasped, eyes wide as saucers. “Really?”
“If you can stand still for five whole seconds...”
“I can do it!” She planted her feet, squared off with the ice. “Pitou has to be in it too,” she declared.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Pitou.” The stuffed one I’d nearly tripped on earlier.
I skated to the boards and brought the plush toy to her.
“Don’t drop him,” she whispered, taking him with utmost care.
I backed up a few paces, pulled out my phone, and snapped shots.
Her arms wrapped around Pitou as if guarding a priceless treasure, cheeks pink, beaming, she looked like she’d just won a stuffed-animal trophy for cuteness.
“Did you get it?” she called, her voice echoing with triumphant glee.
“Yeah. You look like an adorable, penguin-loving pro.”
“I want it. Please.”
“I’ll print it for you when we get home,” I promised, already picturing a framed copy on my desk.
She gave me a thumbs-up that nearly toppled her, and I laughed. An honest belly laugh. It was such a small thing, this photo, this moment, and warm settled in my chest, refusing to budge.
The sky stretched wide and gold as we left the arena. It was the kind of afternoon I hadn’t noticed in too long—soft, open, and unhurried. Time with Cassy was rare, and my headspace, tangled with thoughts of Mel, needed a detour.
Across the highway was the park Mel had mentioned in Alberta, a place she used to visit and wanted to again. Maybe today would be the day.
We dropped the skates in my car, and I walked with Cassy toward the path beneath the highway.
“Uncle Sean, where are we going?” she asked, skipping to keep up.
“It’s a surprise, Sweet.”
The tunnel was bustling with humanity—strollers, bikes, rollerblades zipping by in both directions. Then we came out.
“It’s a park!” Cassy shouted, dropping her backpack and sprinting toward the swings with her penguin clutched to her chest.
The place was wide and sun-drenched in the late-afternoon, typical Sacramento in late May—green lawns starting to crisp at the edges, sycamores casting long shadows, and scented honeysuckle drifting from a nearby fence with the breeze.
Cassy perched on a swing, carefully balancing Pitou beside her. When he toppled over a third time, she jumped off and brought him to me with a dramatic sigh.
I watched her make friends in the blink of an eye, a true social butterfly. Meanwhile, her uncle was stuck figuring out how to chat up the hockey assistant with the world’s most intimidating cheekbones.
Cassy and her new friends played games as I watched on. Kids, a welcome change from my usual exclusive adult interactions. I texted Abby to say we’d eat out. We weren’t making it home before dinner with this level of childish enthusiasm.
“Uncle Sean, I saw Pitou in my dream,” Cassy said, panting slightly after a particularly vigorous game of tag. “He was flying.”
I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “Yeah?”
“In the sky, like an airplane.”
“That must’ve been one wild dream.” I chuckled. My ever-growing responsibility just grew wings.
“Can you throw him really high, P-L-E-A-S-E?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.
Really. I scanned the park—wood chips, scattered kids, and grass beyond the play area. I was out of my league, but if I was going to wing this day, I might as well learn to roll with the flying penguin.
I grabbed her backpack. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s try it over there.”
She grabbed Pitou and followed me to the edge of the grass. I tossed Pitou into the air and caught him. Cassy clapped, jumping with delight.
“Higher, Uncle Sean! Higher!”
I tossed it again and again, then nothing landed in my hand. The penguin got stuck in a tree branch. Cassy went quiet, her face crumpling into the pre-cry expression. My stomach dropped.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. What was the recovery protocol for penguin-related tree emergencies?
I shook the branches I could reach, a mad man behind the playground, until the toy dropped, thankfully before any tears spilled. Crisis averted.
The moment was saved by the tinkling song of the ice cream truck.
“Can I get ice cream, Uncle Sean?” Cassy tugged my hand, Pitou clutched to her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the truck parked on the other side of the park, away from the playground.
This might be the same truck Mel had mentioned.
“Let’s take a look,” I said, ushering Cassy forward.
We crossed the park and stood in line, scanning the menu board.
I chuckled. “Is this one of those ‘don’t tell Mom’ things—”
I didn’t finish as my chest cinched taut. One of the women in line had turned. It was Mel. Our eyes met.
She froze. Then—“Hi.”
Her voice was barely above the truck’s soft music.
“Hi,” I said back. “Turns out we’re thinking alike today.”
She looked away. “Yeah… hanging out with my sister.”
Her hair hung over one shoulder in a loose braid, the kind you’d do in a rearview mirror, with a white tee tucked casually into soft-wash jeans rolled at the ankle and paired with worn sneakers. Saturday casual never looked better.
Cassy tugged at my hand. “I want chocolate! That one!”
I glanced back at Mel, and she looked at Cassy. A flicker of a smile touched her lips, not the warm kind I remembered from Alberta. This one was polite, no more than that.
“Say hello, Cassy,” I said, motioning toward Mel, happy my niece was a bridge in this surprising moment.
“Hello,” Cassy said, pushing her hair out of her face. Her braids were loose now, strands falling over her cheeks.
“Hi, Cassy,” Mel said. “Nice to meet you. You had a fun afternoon?”
Cassy smiled. “We went skating today. I stood in the middle by myself, and Uncle Sean took my picture with Pitou.”
Mel paused, her polite smile turning to surprise. Then, slowly, her shoulders dropped as if a heavy weight had finally let go of her spine. It was the first real movement I’d seen since she’d turned.
“Did you?” she asked.
“Her penguin watched her. Big day,” I added.
“Yeah, Pitou was happy.” Cassy clutched her stuffed animal tighter.
“Sounds fun,” Mel replied, a small chuckle bubbling up.
Then the line moved forward, and Mel stepped up to order.
I moved and stood beside her. “It’s on me.”
She blinked. “I was going to get two. Another for my sister.”
“I got both,” I said again, before she could out-stubborn me in public.
She looked at me then, really looked, a question hanging in the air, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she glanced at Cassy. “What flavor are you getting?”
“Chocolate!” Cassy declared excitedly.
“For us, vanilla and strawberry,” Mel said.
“I want strawberries too,” Cassy added, bouncing a little.
We chuckled, the initial awkwardness breaking.
Her smile was for Cassy, but it landed square in my chest. I’d missed that version of her—free, unguarded. The one I’d barely gotten to know.
Cones perched upside down on top of cups—less mess, more genius—we stepped away from the truck.
“Mel?” A woman approached slowly, taking in the scene.
“Sam! Hey—this is Sean. Sean, my sister.”
No doubt they were sisters. Same don’t-mess-with-me eyes.
“Hi,” Sam said.
She gave me a quick once-over. Pretty sure I’d been sized up and sorted in record time.
“Hi and congrats. Big stuff,” I managed.
“Thanks,” she replied easily, then crouched down to Cassy. “Hi there.”
Cassy looked up, mouth rimmed in a cute, sticky strawberry mess. “Hi!”
Sam laughed, fished a tissue from her bag, and wiped Cassy’s face, all calm precision. The doctor in her was showing without trying.
If I ever choke on a gummy bear, I hope she’s nearby.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem,” she replied, standing up.
We moved farther from the truck, late-May sun easing off as it dipped behind the tall trees lining the park.
Shadows stretched long over the grass. A couple of kids darted between picnic blankets, their parents pretending not to be watching.
Behind us, Cassy walked slowly and carefully, guarding that ice cream from falling.
“Want to sit?” I asked Mel, nodding toward a nearby bench.
She glanced at Sam, who shrugged. “Sure.”
We sat. Cassy eventually flopped at the edge, stuck in her own sugar-filled world.
For a beat, we ate ice cream in silence, watching people mill about in the park, the sound of laughter and distant conversations a soft backdrop.
It was comfortable sitting near Mel, making me forget there was anything serious to talk about between us.
“So, Sean, what do you do besides babysit your...?” Sam asked.
“My niece,” I supplied, scooping a bite. “Coach a hockey team.”
Sam’s spoon paused midair. Mel kept her eyes superglued on her cup, radiating ‘don’t look at me.’
“Good to finally put a face to the mysterious rescuer. Thanks for taking my sister home,” Sam added with the glee of a cat who’d found the cream.
Mel shot her a glare, as if she might flick her forehead. Oh, the sisterly love! I smirked, enjoying the show.
“Uncle Sean,” Cassy piped up, startling me. “You rescued her?”
I flinched. I thought her brain was happily lost in the strawberry swirl.
Sam chuckled, then stood and looked at me. “Do you mind if I take her to the restroom?”
I nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Come on, Cassy. Let’s go clean up and take a restroom break.”
“Yeah, I gotta pee so bad.”
I blinked. How did Sam know Cassy needed to pee? I watched them walk toward the park restrooms, leaving me alone with Mel. I gave it a moment, eyes on my nearly emptied ice cream cup.
Then, “So…that kiss last weekend, not standard workplace stuff.”
Her head snapped toward me. “That’s what you’ve got?” she said tightly. “You think that’s my problem right now? That kiss is a vacation compared to the crap going on.”
“Hell. What did I say?”
I gazed at her. The pulse in her throat flickered fast. Sunlight caught the fine hair falling along her jaw. Her eyes, usually warm, had that glassy shine people get when they’re already three disasters ahead.
I was used to reading locker rooms full of men, calling plays, getting to the damn point. Not this. Mel had that edge again, the full suit of emotional armor she’d worn since her parents showed up.
“What’s going on? Has there been news about the fraud?”
She exhaled bitterly. “The Ponzi scheme has a solution. You fight it in court, or you swallow the loss.” Her fingers tightened on the spoon, a faint tremor mirroring her frustration, then she pinned me with her gaze.
“What doesn’t have a solution is my mother inviting my ex to my sister’s graduation, and yes, he’s really coming,” she ranted.
“Everyone else keeps moving forward. I’m the one stuck standing still, with the past circling around to take a second look. ”
My back stiffened. I wasn’t expecting this raw, punch-to-the-gut rant.
She shook her head. “Anyway, not your problem.”
That line hit. My jaw clenched. I hated it. I heard it from Abby the night she showed up with Cassy and a suitcase full of broken marriage. It was deflection, as if pain had to be carried alone to be real.
Maybe I wasn’t great with words, but for Mel to sit here firing off sharp, bitter lines and then telling me to back off? It struck a nerve. She didn’t give me a choice to make it my problem; she dismissed that I could offer something, even small.
“I don’t know who you think I am, Mel, but when I said you could ask for help, I wasn’t playing some white-knight crap. I meant it.” My voice sliced.
“Really? Any type of help, Sean? Even in the middle of an ambush, you would?”
She was pushing my buttons and that was the worst thing to do.
“Try me,” I shot back.
We stared at each other, the air crackling between us, neither of us blinking. A silent negotiation over ice cream.
“Graduation party next Saturday. You show up as my fake date.”
“What?”
I blinked first. She blinked second.
I hadn’t seen that coming. A fake date? It sounded like a joke.
“Are you serious!?” My disbelief was loud and clear.
“Yeah!”
I hadn’t taken a dare since senior year, one that nearly tanked my GPA. This had that same feel: small ask, big consequences. But after that kiss, and with the way her eyes made my pulse kick… Didn’t I want to know what this was? Who she was outside the job?
I studied her.
Saying yes to that meant coming out as a couple at that party. For any other guy it would be fine, but for me, a guy in the media, it could mean unleashing a whole new beast in the middle of the playoffs.