Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAMESON
I finish the skills sequence I’m leading the boys through, turn my skates to come to a stop, and glance over at the stands in time to see Lauren sitting down with one of those disposable trays of take-out hot chocolates.
I tear my eyes away before anyone can notice me watching her, and focus on five-year-old Caleb, who’s at the front of the line.
Unlike the majority of my team of mini hockey players, Caleb shows a ton of potential.
“All right, Caleb. Go!”
He speeds off the goal line, jumps over the stick laid across the ice, and angles himself right as I pass the puck toward him.
It makes contact with his stick, and he begins to roll the wrist of his top hand back and forth, showing quality stick handling and puck control as he moves toward the wide-open net, and easily taps it in. Not bad for a five-year-old.
“Nice job, Caleb! Hey, Tommy,” I shout toward the next kid in line, our oldest player who’s goofing off with his friend and isn’t ready to go. “You going to practice some hockey, or what?”
He turns toward me right as I yell, “Go!” but he’s slower getting off the line than he should be. “Gotta speed up if you’re going to make it over the stick,” I say, and he digs his inside edges in a bit harder, but his legs are wider than they should be. “Feet closer together!”
“I know how to skate,” he grunts, but as he takes the small jump, he barely leaves the ice and catches a blade on the stick. He lands face-first, spinning off toward center ice.
I push off, and when I stop in front of him, he looks up at me with tears of frustration and embarrassment in his eyes.
I sink to my knees at his side. “So here’s how this is going to go.
You’re going to get up, skate back to that start line, and do it again.
But this time you’re coming off that line with some power.
Keep your skates in a more neutral stance when you go to jump over the stick, get in position, and I’ll have the puck waiting for you. ”
I can tell he wants to say something, but he’s holding back.
He pushes up to his hands and knees, grunts out “Fine,” and pops up onto his skates.
I’m not sure what the chip on his shoulder is all about, but he acts like he doesn’t need a coach and then makes mistakes that could have been avoided if he’d just listened.
He’ll get it eventually, but he’s making it harder on himself.
I make a mental note to chat with his mom about what’s going on.
When we’re done, I skate over to the boards and step through the door, then walk over to where my family sits with Lauren and her kids. It feels so natural to see her here, and I have to remind myself that she’s here to hang out with my sisters, not because of me.
Lauren’s sitting a few rows up, in the seat on the end, and she leans down toward where I stand on the mats next to the seats, her voice teasing when she says, “Looking a little rusty out there, Flynn.”
I grab the railing next to her seat as I look up at her. “Compared to?”
“Compared to when you used to wear the Rebels jersey.”
“Why don’t you throw on your figure skates and show me your triple axel,” I tease right back, but there’s a look that crosses over her face—part pain and part longing.
“Never going to happen,” she says quietly, still looking down at me.
And that’s when I remember that her competitive skating career ended at US Nationals, back when she was still in high school, with a botched landing on a triple axel and a concussion that lasted for months.
She’s never talked to me about it, but I’ve seen the video.
“How about a double, instead?” I give her a little wink so that she knows I’m teasing, but she looks away, her eyes drifting over the ice. Now that our hockey practice is over, the learn-to-skate classes are starting. When she looks back at me, her face is unreadable—which never happens.
“You’ll have to do some digging into old videos if you want to see me on the ice.”
There’s no way she can mean what it sounds like she means.
“You haven’t been on the ice since you stopped competing?”
Her eyes are focused somewhere beyond me. A small shake of her head back and forth, lips held together between her teeth, is her only response.
“Lauren,” I say, because I want her to look at me. I keep my voice low so no one else will overhear our conversation, though her girls are between her and Jules, and Audrey is helping Graham get his gear off, so there’s no one actually listening. “Why not?”
She glances at me, then back at the ice. “I . . . I just never could quite force myself to put my skates back on.”
“Not even for fun?”
“Nope.” She looks back at me, her smile falsely bright, and says, “By the way, I took the job with the Rebels.”
“I heard.”
“Word travels fast.”
“So, when do you start?”
“I’m going in for two days at the end of next week for orientation and some training, and then I’m starting part-time the following week.”
“What are you doing with the girls while you’re at work?”
“I’m still figuring that out, hence the part-time status to begin with. Morgan’s going to help me out—she’s moving back a bit ahead of schedule so she can watch the girls for me on the days I’m at work, just until I can find full-time care.”
“I thought she was Petra’s personal assistant? That sounds like it would be a full-time job.”
“It is. But it’s flexible. Petra’s great like that.”
“Hey,” Jules says as she stands and leans over toward us. “Are you guys talking about Morgan? When’s she coming back?”
Lauren looks over her shoulder, and I focus on my sister so Jules doesn’t comment on me being too focused on Lauren. “She’ll be back next week. She’s going to nanny for my girls until I find something full-time for them.”
“Good! Will you give her my number? I know she’s from Boston and probably knows plenty of people, but in case she ever wants to hang out, I’m around.”
“I’m sure she’d love that,” Lauren says to Jules. “Especially since the last time she lived here, she was in high school.”
They start chatting about where Morgan went to high school and college, and as they do, I walk around to the front row of seats, where Audrey’s finishing packing up all of Graham’s gear.
She gives me the side-eye as I approach, right as Graham runs up the row between the seats toward Lauren’s girls. I watch as he slips into the row and gives Iris and Ivy big hugs, tickling them, then kissing them on their heads.
“You said you’d be responsible for all this if I let him play,” Audrey says, the distinct tone of annoyance hanging from every word as she drops his sweaty hockey gear into the bag one piece at a time, accounting for each thing separately as I taught her.
“Sorry, I got sidetracked.”
“You’re always sidetracked when she’s around,” Audrey says, and smiles up at me. “It seems like she makes you happy.”
I almost blurt out She does, but it only matters if she reciprocates my feelings.
And she made her choice a long time ago.
I catch myself just before I admit how much it still bothers me that she chose Josh.
Instead, I say, “She just lost her husband. There’s nothing going on between us. Just drop it, Audrey.”
“If you say so.” She reaches over and pokes me between the ribs trying to get a smile—or probably any kind of reaction—out of me.
“I’m headed to the locker room,” I tell her. “I have to change and catch a flight.”
“Remind me where you’re going this time?”
“Denver. Trying to get one of my players into a mid-season trade that’s in the works.”
“Oh yeah? Which one?” Audrey asks. She’s almost as disinterested in hockey as Jules, but at least she’s trying to learn more about it because of how much Graham loves it.
“A guy named Drew Jenkins.”
Graham’s skate slips out of Audrey’s hand and clatters against the black plastic seat below. “All right,” she says, picking the skate up. “You’ll be home in time for Graham’s school concert Tuesday night?”
“Yep. Wouldn’t miss it.” I mean, twenty four-year-olds singing for half an hour . . . it’s bound to be amusing. “Oh, and I need a favor.”
Audrey raises an eyebrow. Normally, she’s the one asking for favors.
“Lauren is looking for someone to watch the girls so she can go back to work. You heard about the job with the Rebels?”
Audrey nods.
“Is Tammy doing anything now that Graham’s in preschool?”
“She’s retired Jameson.” After retiring from being a preschool teacher for thirty years, Tammy was Graham’s nanny.
She was the savior who stepped in and watched Graham while Audrey finished the fifth year of her architecture program and then the three-year internship that was required before she could get licensed.
She stayed on last year when Audrey and Jules officially launched their all-female construction company, rebranding our father’s company and calling it “Our House.” So this is Tammy’s first actual year of retirement.
“Yeah, but do you think she’d be interested in watching Lauren’s girls? They’re so easy compared to Graham.”
“You make him sound like he’s a maniac or something.” Audrey grits her teeth together. She’s doing a great job as a single mom, but Graham has so much energy that some days it takes all three of the adults living in our house to parent him.
“He’s just energetic. But Lauren’s girls are pretty calm. They still nap. Maybe she’d be interested, even if just until they’re old enough for preschool?”
“I can ask,” Audrey says. Even though I’m the one who initially found and hired Tammy, she and Audrey grew pretty close. She’s practically family now, as she’s essentially Graham’s stand-in grandmother.
“If she’s interested, would you suggest her to Lauren? Don’t let her know it was my idea.”
“And why not?”
“She doesn’t want my help. She wants to do everything on her own, but she’d probably take your help if you offered it.”
Audrey’s skin is creamy, but her cheeks are always rosy, and they push up toward her eyes when she can’t contain her smile. “You really like her, don’t you?”