Page 29 of The Dixon Rule

Mom glances from me to Dad. “I will never understand this obsession.”

“Some people just can’t see the big picture,” Dad says, nodding at me.

I nod back. “Exactly.”

She’s exasperated. “What does sausage have to do with the big picture? What big picture are we even talking about? You know what—forget it! I don’t care. I’m just happy you’re home,” Mom says, wrapping her arms around my waist.

Her head barely grazes my chin. At six one, I inherited Dad’s height and the perfect blend of their skin tones. I gotta say, I’m really fucking good-looking.

“I wish you could stay longer,” she clucks.

“Me too, but I’m hosting a goodbye party for Beck on Saturday night.”

Her eyes widen. “Is he moving?”

“No. He’s going to Australia on vacation. This dude demands a goodbye party for a monthlong vacay.”

“I’ve always liked that guy,” Dad remarks, because everyone likes Beckett Dunne. He oozes charm, that asshole.

“I’ll come back again next week,” I promise my folks. “I want to try to be here every weekend for the rest of the summer.”

Mom is pleased. “Your sister is going to love that.” She pauses. “Are you going to see Lynsey while you’re here? We ran into her the other night at the pancake house.”

“Yeah, I know. She told me.”

“Oh, so you’re still talking.” Mom speaks in a careful tone.

I honestly can’t gauge if my parents are upset or thrilled that Lynsey and I are broken up. Sometimes, they really seemed to like her. And then other times, I’d catch them exchanging looks, as they do now.

“You’d be happy if we got back together, right?” I ask them.

Mom blinks in surprise. “I didn’t realize you two were discussing getting back together.”

“We’re not. Just hypothetically, you’d be happy with it if we did?”

“We will always support whatever you do,” she says, and Dad nods in agreement.

It’s not quite an answer. But I’m also not going to push a hypothetical, given that Lynsey has shown zero desire to rekindle our relationship.

“All right, I’m going to track down the squirt and head out. Let her expend some energy on the putt-putt course and then fill her up with junk food and sugar so she crashes hard when we get home.”

“Thanks for taking her out. We’re excited to have a quiet night in.” Dad winks at Mom.

“Seriously, gross. I don’t want to think about the activities you have planned while we’re gone.”

Dad offers a wolfish look. “Probably a good idea.”

“I literally just said I don’t want to know,” I growl.

I hear them laughing at me as I stomp out of the kitchen.

The following night, Dad and I indulge in a Stanley Cup marathon where we watch old footage featuring some of our favorite championship wins. He’s been recording every single game for the last twenty-five years, so we have plenty to choose from. When we get to the game Garrett Graham won with the Bruins, sweeping that series 4–0, Dad says, “I can’t believe Luke married into that family.”

“Right? I mean, I can’t believe he’s married, period. But that’s a serious family to join.” I marvel. “Hockey royalty doesn’t even do it justice.”

I note the way Dad’s eyes shine when Graham scores one of the most beautiful goals I’ve ever seen to secure the Cup for the team. Fuck, I can’t wait for the opportunity to chase that trophy. I want to hold the Stanley Cup in my hands. I want to see the cool silver shimmer under stadium lights.

“Do you miss it?” I ask my father. “Playing?”

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