Page 4 of Tempest

“I do,” I admit. “And I love having you here, but I won’t be mad if you decide you aren’t getting out of it what you need.”

“I know,” she says, rolling her eyes because we’ve gone through this abundantly. “And I told you that this decision felt right. Now I have confirmation that it was.”

“How could you possibly have confirmation when school hasn’t even started yet?”

“Because they just emailed us all to let us know of some major staffing changes and a new mentorship program that they’re rolling out this term.” Her eyes sparkle with the same enthusiasm her voice carries. “They’ve hired an industry professional to basically work as an advisor for us this year. Someone who will check in with us on at least a weekly basis to give us pointers, or whatever. And at the end of the year, we’ll have our own student fashion show that will be filmed and streamed to industry insiders.”

“So, something like a university version of Project Runway?” I may be a big bad hockey player, but I sat through every season of that show with Tori.

“Exactly. They’re promising that not only will design houses see it, but fashion magazine editors, celebrities, and celebrity stylists, too. Like, everyone! It could land us jobs straight away. The exposure is huge.”

“This is only for the Seattle campus?”

“Yep, they’re trying it here first since we don’t have the same access to the industry as the New York campus does. I think they want to establish a better rep for this campus or something. I don’t know. I don’t really care the why, you know? I’m just so excited!” She pauses to eat a few bites of her breakfast, happily humming around every fork load. “This is really good, Dad. Maybe you should open a breakfast spot or a food truck. That could be fun.”

“For who?” I ask with a grimace. Sleeping in is the best thing I have to look forward to. After retirement, I’m only getting up early to make breakfast for her, if she’s here. No other reason.

“Yeah, I guess that’s a lot of stress,” she considers. “But you’ll need something. Golf, maybe? A lot of your teammates like that.”

“No, thank you.” That’s never been a favorite pastime of mine. Tori isn’t wrong, many of the guys play golf during their downtime. Or video games. Mine was spent with my kid and doing whatever she wanted to do. Even if that meant tea parties where she made me wear shiny plastic necklaces or letting her play beauty parlor and dotting my hair with seventy-two tiny ponytails. Because of that, other than workouts and crime documentaries, I don’t have much in the way of a hobby.

“You could just throw yourself into dating,” she hedges. I haven’t done any of that since the divorce. Honestly, it’s a daunting idea. I wouldn’t even know how to go about meeting a woman. Other than the ones who hang around the team in the hopes of catching one of our eyes. They’ve been coined “puck bunnies”. Mostly they’re no different than band groupies. They’re fans. They just happen to be fans that are maybe actively looking to bed a pro athlete.

Many of them do. The younger single guys take them up on their offers often enough. I’ve done it a few times since the divorce. Each time was weird, the first, especially. I’d only ever been with two women, and I’ve been with Caroline since we were fifteen, minus the short break up we had before her pregnancy. Even then, I’d thrown myself into another relationship and fucked it all up. I don’t know how to be single.

I’m not even sure I know how to navigate a casual, sexual relationship. My dick doesn’t have a problem with it, but my head does.

“Why do I need to date?”

“Mom is,” she says, albeit with hesitation.

“That’s good, Tori. She deserves that.”

“So do you.” She sounds far stronger than I know she feels. This hasn’t been easy for her. Caroline and I put on a good show. From anyone’s perspective, we had a great marriage. We were a solid team, working well together to create a great home. But as a couple…we lacked a lot.

“My schedule is crazy,” I remind her. “Who has the time?”

“Dad…”

“Tori,” I say, mimicking her slightly annoyed tone.

“Fine. But you at least need a hobby.”

“I bought a book the other day. Maybe that will be my new hobby.”

“You going to start a BookTok?”

“I don’t know what the hell that is.”

“You’re getting old, Dad.” She rolls her eyes dramatically, but a wide smile plays on her face.

“If you stop getting older, so will I. Deal?”

“Yeah, sure. Deal,” she answers easily.

“How did we end up talking about me anyway? We’re supposed to be talking about you, future Miss Fashion Designer.” I reach over the kitchen bar to tap her nose, something I’ve done since she was a toddler. Another thing I’ll miss now that she’s growing into an independent young woman.

“Do you really think I’ll make it?”

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