Chapter 4 Ruth
four
Ruth
I’m shivering, and it’s not from the cold, though it’s definitely seeping in through the seams of my old coat. This is all nerves, curling up like they always do when something feels too good to be true.
Outside the rink, I do my best to scan the crowd. Parents are loitering like me. We all pretend to scroll on our phones, but I don’t doubt for a second everyone’s ears are attuned to the conversation around them, as we wait for a word of how things go.
Unlucky me, I’m stuck replaying the exact moment I casually handed Bill Baker, the team’s owner, trash.
Seriously?
Out of all the possible interactions with a living legend, I went with, “Here, sir, please dispose of this garbage.”
I’ve lived in Mapleton the majority of my life, and I’ve never had the chance to meet him. How in the universe did it only happen that today, of all days, I casually run into him.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I had to double down with an extra dose of humiliation by blabbering about my son like I was on a personal mission to sabotage Noah’s chances of making the team.
Shaking my head, I resist the urge to scream or cry or both.
In romance novels, people get these fun little meetups called meet-cutes.
Me? I get meet-garbage.
Bill was nice about it, but he must think I’m looney. And what team owner wants a kid with a looney mom on the team?
And then there was that fall Noah took. He went down hard. Sure, he got right back up like he always does, but it had to be the worst timing because Bill was looking directly at him. I press my lips together, trying not to let the fear take over me as the players start spilling off the ice.
Standing on my toes, I struggle to see around the hordes of people. I knew there was a good turnout, but this is crazy. It’s shoulder-to-shoulder people as everyone meanders to find their party.
“Mom,” a voice I’d know anywhere slices through the cold air, and I spin on my heel. Noah jogs the last few steps toward me, waving a sheet of paper in his hand like it’s a golden ticket. “I made it!” He beams at me with a smile so wide, I take a second glance at it.
For a second, I just blink. “You made the team?”
“Not the team, but I made it to the next round!” He passes the paper to me. “They scheduled me back tomorrow at ten. I have school, but there’s no way I can miss this.”
My hand goes to my mouth. “Noah, I, uh, I’m speechless, you made it?”
He beams the brightest smile he’s had in forever. “I can’t believe it, especially since I didn’t play that well.”
“I believe it,” I say, steadying my voice. “They are lucky to get you.”
He throws his arms around me, squeezing hard. “Thanks, Mom.”
I blink fast, trying not to let tears blur the moment.
I sort of want to tell him I met the team owner, and I handed him garbage like an idiot.
Maybe it will lighten the mood, but what if Noah gets embarrassed?
He doesn’t need to know everything I do.
Instead of saying something, I hug him back, tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”
At a beat, he pulls away and practically runs to the car.
I follow behind, still floating somewhere between shock and joy.
Inside the car, he takes the driver’s seat, talking a mile a minute.
It’s like he’s too hyper to sit still, and he drums his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with whatever song is playing faintly through the speakers.
His window is cracked enough to let the cold in, pinking his cheeks even more.
He’s glowing. “I mean, okay, yeah, I fell,” he says with a laugh, “but maybe nobody saw that, because they never said anything. That coach, uh, the one in the blue jacket? He gave me this little nod. You know what I mean?”
I smile, trying to mirror his energy, but my stomach knots.
“Did you see that one kid try to cut me off?” Noah continues, animated. “He was fast, but I got around him. The coach definitely noticed how fast I was at that time. You saw that, right?”
“I saw that,” I confirm softly. “You’re always the fastest guy out there.”
His eyebrows hike. “Right? I felt it, you know? Like I belong out there.”
My heart lurches, as I can’t help but allow it to swell with pride.
This is my son.
He’s almost got a shot at his dreams.
It’s surreal, and I turn toward the window. The defrosters are on, melting the frost into little rivers across the glass. He’s still talking, lost in the thrill of the moment. “Like I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but this could be it, right?”
I nod, because it’s true.
“And if I make it through this next cut…” He exhales, full of wonder. “Everything could change.”
I swallow hard, because he’s right.
Everything could change.
My phone buzzes on my lap, and I drop my gaze to see an email notice.
Email: School Counselor – Re: Noah Miller Hockey Eligibility
My stomach sinks before I even open it.
Hi Ms. Miller, I wanted to reach out about Noah’s academic standing. His GPA has dropped below the eligibility line for extracurricular participation. Specifically, math is the concern.
In the past, Mr. Brooks allowed retakes if there is a specific reason. However, he’s not just going to offer it. We’ll need to schedule a meeting to allow Noah to show his seriousness. I’m happy to coordinate with Mr. Brooks (his math teacher).
My chest tightens.
I glance at Noah, who's drumming his fingers against the wheel like he’s already imagining his name on a jersey.
My heart fractures. I don’t think Granite Ice is concerned about his high school GPA, but they will be concerned if he’s not holding up his responsibilities and gets kicked off his high school team.
I type back quickly.
Me: Would it be possible to offer extra credit? This is really important to him.
The response comes within a minute.
I understand. Mr. Brooks is known to be somewhat flexible, and he has offered extra credit in the past. I’m looking at his calendar, and his prep time is tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM. He said he can meet with us then.
10:00 AM.
The same time as tryouts.
I freeze, thumb hovering over the screen. My gaze cuts to Noah, who is still happily drumming away. He’s never happy. He’s been at the peak of his teenage-grumpy years, not to mention he suffers from anxiety that at times is debilitating. I haven’t seen him like this in a long time.
Now what do I do?
I stare at the screen as my pulse hammers in my ears. I could make up an excuse tomorrow. Maybe I could tell them we are coming, but then my car didn’t start. That way we aren’t purposely late, and hopefully Mr. Brooks still sees us.
I hate to lie.
But this is Noah’s one shot to play hockey.
But can he really get this shot if he loses his eligibility to play high school hockey? There’s only one more game left in their season. If he doesn’t get a chance to play after that, what is the point?
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat as stress swirls around my head.
Noah isn’t the smartest kid. He’s clearly intelligent in some things, but I knew since he was a little kid he had a bit of a learning disability that made it hard for him to do math.
Sure, he’s behind what teachers consider average, but I’m proud he’s passing.
Noah chuckles beside me with unfiltered joy. “Did you see me on that last drill? I was flying.”
“Yeah,” I reply, my voice catching with my eyelids clenched.
This is where I miss having a co-parent.
Noah’s dad was the love of my life. God had other plans for us, taking him when Noah was just a toddler.
I hate to think about all the ways we missed out.
It’s times like these where it would be nice to have someone else I can pull into help.
If anything, he could go to the school meeting with Noah, while I ran down to the park to try to explain our situation to Bill.
My head tips to the side as I rewind my thought:
I wonder if I could speak to Bill?
I mean, I know who he is now, and he seems nice enough.
Sure, he has hundreds of guys all fighting for the same spot, but he must see something in Noah. There’s no way I can possibly be any more embarrassing than I was today.
No.
There’s no way that will work.
If I don’t show up to school, his math teacher will be upset.
I tip my head the other way, arguing with myself, but he’s likely to be upset anyway, and Noah can handle himself.
If I don’t try to explain it to Bill, then Noah misses his shot, and the worst Bill can say is no.
I’m not afraid of being told no. I’ve heard it many times.
I tip my head back the other way, pondering how to explain this all to Noah. He’s so insanely happy. At least for the moment, I can’t take this from him. I’ll tell him in the morning after he has a good night’s rest. He’ll need all the sleep he can get.
“Hey,” he says, cutting into my thoughts. “Is everything okay? You’re quiet.”
“Everything is great.” I force a smile, my voice catching in my throat. “I’m just proud of you and enjoying how happy you are.”