Chapter 20 Lola #2
I worry I’ll spend the day with Mom dodging boy questions, but she is blissfully quiet on the subject.
I enjoy our day immensely because my mom is awesome, and I can’t remember the last time we got one-on-one time like this.
By the time we get to the arena for the game, I’m exhausted but happy.
I’ve also told my mom my tentative plan to switch careers and focus on art, and she’s beyond supportive, so mentally, I feel lighter.
Dad meets us at the rink with Randie, who looks happy as a clam. Dad’s in a C. Casco jersey, and Randie is in a custom baby jersey I had made that says DaDa on the back and has both Grady and Landon’s numbers—Landon’s on the back and Grady’s on the sleeves. “You didn’t kill her. Bonus points, Dad.”
“I’m a baby whisperer,” he announces happily as she bounces strapped to his chest. “Girl babies love me best, too. You were a way bigger fan of chilling with me than your brothers at her age.”
“Landon and Callan were mama's boys,” Mom says proudly. She’s pulled on a L. Casco jersey, which I wasn’t surprised to learn she keeps in the car, along with a C. Casco jersey. In case of a hockey emergency, I guess.
Randie squeals delightedly when she sees me, and I walk over so her chubby little hand can grab mine and kiss her head.
Because Dad used to play for the Thunder and was the starting goalie for two Cup wins, he’s been asked to do some press, so I take Randie and the carrier from him, strapping her to my chest. We could sit in the team owner’s box, but because we’re cheering the visiting team, Mom got us regular tickets in the lower bowl, by the glass directly across from the team benches.
I settle in, taking Randie out of the carrier and getting her comfortable on my lap.
I’ve missed the warm comforting weight of her.
I watch both teams filter onto the ice for warm-up.
Mom jumps up and waves like an excited puck bunny as Landon and Callan skate by the glass in front of us, going too fast to notice her.
“Oh God…” I mutter, smiling because my mom is such a fan girl, it’s adorable.
As the players blur by the glass for a few minutes, I stand up and notch Randie onto my hip. Landon skates up to the glass, smiling. He waves at Randie, and she claps and smiles at him. I nod and turn my focus to Randie, cooing at her. “Daddy! Say, daddy!”
“Da! Da!” she squeals, and Mom and Landon both beam with pride. It’s one of her only words so far, and she doesn’t always say it on command. Landon skates away, and Randie lets out a disgruntled sound. “He has to take shots on your other daddy.”
I look out onto the ice, and for some inexplicable reason, I don’t want to think about it.
My eyes move away from Landon and past Callan to Theo.
He’s stretching on the other side by the boards.
It’s a groin and hip stretch with his knees splayed and his pelvis rocking toward the ice.
My insides warm, especially when I see his head turn to me. I smile. He smiles.
“Who are you looking at?” Mom asks, and I rip my gaze from Theo and shrug. Her eyes narrow, and she glances at the ice, then back at me. “Since when do your brothers’ hockey games make you smile? And blush?”
“I’m not blushing. It’s frostbite. It’s cold in here.”
Before she can respond, Randie lets out a squeal, and I realize the back-up goalie is in net and Grady has pulled off his helmet and is lumbering toward us on his skates. He’s grinning widely, and Randie claps. “Da!”
Grady’s eyes shine, and he makes a goofy face at her.
She claps but then lets out the same disgruntled squeak she did for Landon when Grady has to head back into the net.
As the warmup comes to an end, and the teams skate their way to the gate to get off the ice, I lift her little hand and help her wave as they go.
Once all the players from the Riptide are off the ice and I’m about to settle into my seat, a blur of red and black flies by, and I look up and lock eyes with Ryan Cordon.
The gaslighting ex from hell. Mom bristles as she sees that he’s come to a stop right in front of us.
My gaze gets cold, and I look away. When I glance back, he’s gone.
“What was that?” Mom asks.
“I have no idea.”
Randie settles into the crook of my arm, and Mom pulls a blanket out of the baby bag she took from Dad as I adjust her little noise-canceling headphones, which she always has in arenas. Her eyes look heavy, and she’ll probably be asleep before the national anthem.
“Lo, please tell me if you’re back together with him.”
“Who?” I ask. “Ryan? Oh God no. I haven’t even spoken to him in forever.”
“Then whose cologne was all over your room?”
“You have the nose of a bloodhound,” I mutter, and she just shrugs, keeping her “mom” stare on me until I crumble. “Not his. I promise.”
“Hmmm…” I can literally see her brain scrambling to figure out what man was in my hotel room. “Well, that’s good. He wasn’t right for you.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
There’s a little bit of blissful silence, but then… “I hope this new one is a better fit.”
“It’s not serious.”
I don’t look at her because I don’t want to know how she’s taking that. Then, as the lights dim and the music amps up in preparation for the players coming back onto the ice, she says, “I didn’t think your father was a serious thing either.”
I pretend I didn’t hear it.