18. The Miles Factor
THE MILES FACTOR
Leighton
Even though I’m not Riley’s third parent, I like to steal as much time with her as I can. Since her school starts late on Wednesdays, we grab a lychee bubble tea for her and tea for me before the first bell at school, and before I’m due at the Sea Dogs arena.
As we walk toward Harris Academy on the outskirts of Japantown, the streets dotted with cherry blossom motifs on banners, I ask about her classes. “How’s chemistry treating you?”
“Nope,” she denies me, grinning. “We’re chatting about you. It’s my turn. I have advice for you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, you do, missy?”
“Definitely.” She gives a little skip. “I know most of the hockey guys.”
I blink, surprised. “You do?”
“Hello! While you were away at college, I had to hang out at the arena. Go to games and all.”
Right. Fair point—she’s probably been to more games than I have.“Okay, Miss Mini Coach, tell me everything,” I say as we pass a small bakery, and I catch the faint aroma of matcha. Riley lifts her nose. She’s a matcha girl too. “The guys on the team are kind of like uncles to me.”
“Then wouldn’t that make me their niece too? Because I’m not loving that,” I say, shuddering at the thought. I definitely don’t want to be seen as a niece, especially with one player in particular.
“Fine, you’re like an aunt, then.”
“Riley, I know you’re good with genetics, but I don’t think I can be an aunt or a niece.”
My sister makes a swirling gesture with her hands, her fingers covered in rings. “My point is, remember: Hugo is the team teddy bear. His wife makes amazing cookies—we ordered them for the science competition last year.”
“Right,” I say. “Those cookies were delicious.”
“Then there’s Christian. Everyone looks up to him. Very serious.”
“Got it.” I nod, knowing this to be true about the current team captain.
“And Max, of course. The city loves him because everyone loves a goalie—even a grumpy one.”
“Is he still grumpy? Didn’t falling madly in love with Everly mellow him out? I watched him in that Ice Men documentary, and he definitely gives less battery acid vibes than before.”
“True. But he’s still the king of glowers,” she says with a laugh.
“Fair enough,” I say, then tap my temple like I’m noting these details.
“But Rowan Bishop definitely attended the Max Lambert School of Grouchy-ness so he’s been picking up the slack in that department,” she says, mentioning one of the veteran defensemen on the team.
“Noted. This is seriously helpful.”
“Apparently the only time he even smiles is when his little girl comes to games.”
That makes me smile. “That’s adorable.”
Riley taps her chin, as if she’s deep in thought, her ponytail swishing as we walk.
“Then there’s Tyler. I don’t know much about Tyler, but I did some research, and apparently some Supernova fans call him ‘Daddy.’ Like, actually call him that.
They sometimes play that ‘Daddy’s Home’ song on socials when he jumps onto the ice. ” She hums the tune.
I cringe. “Okay, I actually never want to hear you sing that again.”
“I’m just giving you all the intel,” she says, counting off on her fingers, delighting far too much in her knowledge of the team as we pass a small group of tourists snapping photos in front of the Peace Pagoda.
A few families are gathered there, some kids playing tag as Riley continues with her team trivia.
She tells me about Ford, a veteran on the second line who I don’t know terribly well, but who’s had a rock-solid career. “He’s recently divorced, so he gets marriage proposals from fans every few games,” she says.
I laugh. “That’s one way to find a husband.”
Then she gives me all the details on Wesley and Asher, even though I know them well enough since they’re involved with my friends.
I brace myself, knowing exactly who she’s going to bring up next. “And then there’s Miles,” she says casually. “Basically the hot nerd of the team.”
“‘Hot nerd,’ you say?” I tease, tugging on her ponytail. “You’re judging him for the glasses?”
“I don’t make the rules, okay? I’m just saying. He was photographed once in, like, slacks and a gray cardigan with those glasses, and he gave off total professor vibes. My friends all talked about it.”
I shoot her a disapproving look. “You’re sixteen. You can’t think someone on Dad’s hockey team is hot.”
Honestly, I can’t either.
“Don’t worry,” she says dryly. “Hockey players are not my type.”
Ah, this is a better topic—her. “So, what’s your type?”
“I’m totally into nerd kings. Give me a nerd, and I’m happy,” she says proudly. “But seriously, stop distracting me. What about you?”
“You’re asking what I’m into?”
“Yes. You haven’t dated really since you’ve been back in town. Is it because dating is miserable, and the apps are full of liars?”
I pull her into a quick hug. “I’ve raised you well.
But there are good ones out there. Just…
not the guys I dated in college.” Like Nick, the guy who, on our third date, told me my hearing aids were an embarrassment.
He’s definitely one of the reasons I’m not interested in dating anyone here.
But so is Jameson, the guy I went out with after him.
Jameson was an engineering major, had a dry sense of humor, and loved to play board games.
But one night, when we were watching a TV show, I asked him to turn on the captions.
He looked at me like I was asking him to fly to the moon.
A few days later, he broke up with me, saying romance was too complicated.
Was it the captions or was it just a line because he wanted out?
I don’t know. Either way, I didn’t want to jump back into dating after him.
But I don’t tell Riley any of that—she doesn’t need another reason to feel disillusioned.
She’s relentless though, she snaps her gaze to me, a twinkle in those blue eyes. “But have you noticed that, among your friends, you’re the only one not dating a hockey player?”
Of course I’ve noticed. Of course I’m acutely aware of it. “Well, Fable’s with Wilder. So not all of them,” I say, pointing out the fallacy in her argument.
“Still. Odds are you’re next in line,” she says with a mischievous grin.
I shake my head. “Not a chance. Have you met our father? Have you heard his warnings?”
“He did tell me never to date a hockey player.”
“What a surprise. He said the same to me the other day. Hockey players can be charming,” I say, imitating him and his euphemisms.
“That’s so him.”
“And it’s sound advice,” I say, hoping that’ll end the topic.
But Riley doesn’t give up so easily. “Like I said, Miles is the hot one, so…I could kind of see you with him.”
Her comment catches me off guard. Even my sister thinks we’d be a good match.
And maybe, if things were different—if I had a different last name—I’d be able to think so too.
Which means I’m going to have to double down on the friendship plans with Miles in, oh, say, thirty minutes when I arrive at work.
“You’ve always had a good imagination,” I say, giving her a quick squeeze as we reach her school. “Now go, before you’re late.”
Once she’s past the doors, I check my phone.
There’s a text from my father with a photo he’s snapped on his digital photo frame, likely this morning.
It’s a picture of me heading into work at the boba shop I worked at during high school.
Look what my frame showed me this morning!
A first day of work pic! Good luck today!
I smile from the note. I think it’s the only time Coach McBride uses exclamation points—with his daughters.
* * *
With my camera bag slung over my shoulder and my brand-new temporary employee badge in my hand, I stop at the doors into the corridor of the arena that leads to the locker room, the weight room, the rink.
I’ve been here a hundred times, but this is the first time my stomach has flipped like a pancake so many times.
I’m not usually a nervous person, but I’m made of nothing but jitters right now.
It’s not simply the Miles factor. It’s that I want to prove I belong here—that I’m not a daddy’s girl or a nepo baby.
It’s not like anyone’s said it outright, but I know what people might think.
And that sliver of doubt, that little what if, keeps gnawing at me.
And there’s this bit of a worry too—what if I don’t hear something someone says?
I swallow before I open the door, slide a hand into my jeans pocket, and check my phone. My hearing aids are fully charged, and the program is set for speech. It’ll be fine. I don’t usually have a problem. And besides, pro athletes aren’t usually soft-spoken.
And really, it’s not like asking what did you say is the worst thing.
I tuck my hair over my ear, then stop, breathe, and untuck it. Better to let it fall long and loose.
I’m ready, and the second I push open the door, I spot Everly on the other side.
She’s laughing with Jenna Nguyen, the promotions manager, who wears glasses and has her sleek black hair cinched back in a clip, and Chanda Kumar, the director of marketing.
Chanda’s wearing a bright red blazer over her blouse, and has a tablet in hand, her usual energy practically buzzing in the air around her as she scrolls through notes, presumably.
I head over to them. I know them all already, but I still feel all the first-day-of-school vibes.
When I arrive, Everly turns her gaze to me. She’s friendly but professional as she says, “Hey, Leighton. Welcome to the team. We have a busy day for you.”
“I’m ready,” I say, and I slough off all my nerves since I am ready. Ready to focus on work and to safeguard my future. Starting with photos for a series of social media posts around the “we’re back” theme.
I’ve got the talent, the vision. I’ve been doing this long before I ever thought about working here. This is just another gig. Another opportunity.
* * *