Chapter 20 Harrison
CHAPTER TWENTY
HARRISON
Coach has the clicker.
That’s problem number one.
The screen freezes on a still shot of the opposing winger mid-stride, his stick angled just enough to be annoying.
“And here,” he says, circling the player in red for what feels like the tenth time, “is where we lose the neutral zone.”
Ledger exhales loudly through his nose and August leans toward Oliver and whispers, “I’m about to punch him in his neutral zone.”
Oliver doesn’t even look at him. “He’s on slide twenty-seven. Someone just kill me now.”
Coach rewinds the video. Again. For the fourth time.
“Watch Harrison’s gap control here,” he continues, laser pointer jittering. “It’s good. It’s textbook, don’t get me wrong. But—”
But what?
He just said it was textbook.
“—it could be better.”
I resist the urge to bang my forehead on the table. The clip plays, the puck moves and what do you know, nothing catastrophic happens.
Probably because it was textbook.
Because I’m me. And I know what I’m doing.
Griffin squints at the screen and then murmurs, “So…does he want us tighter? Or looser?”
“Your mom likes it tighter, Ollenberg,” Bodhi whispers teasingly. I cover my mouth to hide my snort as Griffin flips him the bird while Barrett straight up belly laughs, interrupting Coach’s presentation.
“Something funny back there, gentlemen?”
Bodhi shakes his head with a surprisingly straight face. “No, sir. We were just uh, teasing Meers about his gap control.”
“Yeah, well…let’s think about this for next time,” Coach continues, flipping to the next slide. “Better gap control means keeping the opposing players on their toes.” He points to everyone. “And that goes for all of you.”
“Especially Bear, right, Coach?” Bodhi gives his future father-in-law a knowing wink. “You know, gap control is pretty fucking important when you’re guarding the net.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bear mumbles. “If we could wrap this up before I fossilize in this chair, that’d be great.”
Coach ignores everyone’s comments and rewinds the clip one more time.
For the love of fucking Christ.
“You all can laugh about it now, but I don’t see you out there winning playoffs. And this”—he says, pointing to the video clip for the hundredth time—“this is the detail that wins playoff games.”
Not all team meetings are like this. Sometimes we have a shit ton to talk about, but this one?
Yeah, this meeting is fucking dragging.
Ledger keeps shifting in his seat like he’s about to vibrate straight through the chair. Barrett is literally twiddling his thumbs, Griffin is tracing the stars on his latest pair of pajama pants, and I’m only half-listening, pen tapping against my notebook, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I shouldn’t look but I do anyway and when I see a text from Connor, my heart drops in my chest. I know I told him he could text me whenever he wants, but he’s never actually done it.
Until now.
Connor
Hey. Um, so my mom is throwing up. She was sick when she got up this morning and she just threw up again. Do you think I should call my friends and cancel my birthday party?
My chest tightens so fast it feels like someone reached in and squeezed my insides. I’m on my feet before I fully realize what I’m doing.
Coach glances up. “Meers?”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, already backing toward the door and pointing at my phone. “Uh, family emergency.”
He nods immediately. No questions. No attitude. Just understanding.
Thank God.
The hallway outside the meeting room feels too quiet as my thumbs move swiftly across my screen.
Me
Hey buddy. Is she okay right now?
Three dots pop up almost instantly.
Connor
She says she is, but she threw up a few times. I took her some ginger ale like she does for me. But the decorations are still on the table and my friends are supposed to be here in an hour. I’m not sure what to do.
Fuck.
That one detail hits harder than anything else. Harper doesn’t leave things undone unless something is really wrong. I lean my shoulder against the wall, jaw tight, forcing myself to think.
Me
You did the right thing telling me. I’m proud of you. Can you remind her to make sure she drinks some water?
Connor
Yeah. She told me not to bother you though.
I huff out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a curse.
Me
You’re never bothering me. Okay?
I don’t wait before texting Harper.
Me
Hey. Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?
The reply comes slower this time, and I can practically see her hesitating.
Harper
I didn’t want to make it a thing. And anyway, how did you…oh. Connor.
Me
Yeah. And I’m glad he did. Are you okay? Like—really okay?
There’s a pause long enough that my heart starts hammering harder.
Harper
I’m just not feeling great, H. I don’t think I’m sick.
I’m just nauseous as fuck and you know, better out than in.
I’m trying, but I don’t know how I’m going to pull off his party today if I keep feeling lousy.
I feel badly letting him down but how am I supposed to be the hostess with the mostess when I feel like shit?
That’s it.
Decision made.
No debate.
No hesitation.
I push off the wall, already pacing.
Me
You don’t. New plan. I’ll take it from here.
Harper
Harrison—
Me
Nope. You’re done for today. You’re resting. Send some texts. Move the party to the arena. I’ll handle everything.
Harper
No, no, no. You don’t have to do that.
Me
I want to. It’s already done. I’m on it. And Connor’s going to love it. Trust me.
Harper
Are you serious?
I smile for the first time all morning.
Me
Dead serious. It’s his birthday, Harp. I promise I’ll take care of every single detail.
I glance toward the meeting room, knowing I’ll catch hell for walking out on a team meeting, but when my son needs me, I’m there. One hundred percent.
I type one more message to Connor before I move.
Me
Don’t you worry about a thing. The party will go on and I’ll be seeing you very soon. Happy birthday, buddy!
I’m not back inside the meeting room three seconds when I clap my hands together and announce, “Sorry, Coach, but I need a favor.”
Seven heads turn my way.
Oliver narrows his eyes at me. “You sound like you’re either about to ask for something illegal or emotionally binding.”
“Is this about Harper?” Bodhi asks immediately.
“Or Connor?” August counters.
Ledger grins. “Or both? And let’s face it, you never ask for favors so whatever made you get up and leave this meeting and then stand here asking us for help means the answer is already, hell yes. Whatever you need, my man.”
The guys all nod and their sincerity hits me square in the chest. My eyes start to water because Ledger is right. I’ve never had to ask them for help and now I’m standing here ready to cash in on all the times I’ve supported them and they’re not even questioning my request.
Well fuck.
I exhale. “It’s Connor’s birthday today and Harper’s sick.
Like…can’t-get-off-the-bathroom-floor sick.
That was Connor texting me because his friends are supposed to be at his place in a little under an hour and nothing has been done yet.
That’s very unlike Harper, especially when that something involves Connor. ”
Coach straightens, his demeanor softening from his usual hard-edged persona. “How old?”
“He’s eleven today.”
Griffin’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, that’s prime ‘best birthday ever’ age.”
“I know,” I say. “And she’s wrecked about it. I told her I’d handle it, and I meant it,” I explain, removing my ballcap and shoving my hand through my hair. “But I don’t exactly have a Pinterest board ready to go when it comes to kid birthday parties.”
Griffin nods solemnly. “Say less.”
Bodhi points a finger at me. “We throwing a hockey party?”
“I mean…is there any other kind of party to throw?”
“Fuck no.” August laughs. “We doing it here?”
“It’s the only place with ice that I’m pretty sure I can get permission to use.”
“Extra team practice today, fellas,” Coach announces, nodding at me. “There you go. Ice time secured.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Barrett is already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call facilities. Community room’s open till six. We’ll need cones, pucks, sticks, and skates.”
Ledger wags his brows. “Locker room tour?”
“Absolutely.”
Oliver claps his hands together. “Team store raid?”
I laugh, relief bubbling up fast and unexpected. “Whatever they want. It’s on me.”
“Nah. It’s on the team,” Coach says, coming through for my son in more ways than I could have ever imagined.
“Coach that’s—”
He lifts his hand to stop me from saying no.
“Hey. Kids are only kids for so long. And I kind of miss kid parties. My wife always did all that shit for Corrigan when she was little. And between you and me, she never wanted a hockey party so…let me live vicariously through you and give those kids the most bad-ass party favors they could ever imagine.”
He winks and I smile, nodding in complete appreciation. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”
Bodhi whistles. “Dude, I hope you’re ready because you’re gonna be Connor’s favorite person forever.”
My throat tightens.
I hope he’s right.
But not because of some birthday party.
This is just something I can do.
Something I want to do.
For Harper and for Connor.
“Okay,” I say, forcing myself back into logistics before I let Bodhi Roche wreck me. “I also need help on the food and decorations front.”
August’s mouth quirks. “You’ll want Ella for that.”
“Call Marlee and Layken too,” Ledger says. “I’ll do it. They’re both working upstairs. I saw them about an hour ago.”
“Blakely might be around too,” Bear tells me. “I’ll text her.”
They say it takes a village to raise a kid and damn if my village isn’t the best goddamn one in the whole wide world.
I find them clustered near the café, Marlee with her laptop open, Layken scrolling her phone, Ella sipping an iced coffee like she’s mid-life-administration, and Blakely on a call…something about cupcakes.
I stop short. “Hey. Uh, I was just coming up here to check in with you guys about—”