Page 18 of Knotted Laces

I owe him that much—owe himsomuch more.

Plus, I can’t risk cutting off my supply of baked goods, so I need to keep Frankie and Martha happy and that means I can’t piss off one of their adopted kids.

Who am I kidding?

I need to keep Martha and Frankie happy because I can’t stand for them to wake up one day and look at me like?—

Well, like my mom used to look at me.

“Ugh,” I mutter, slamming my laptop closed and walking into the kitchen. I need a beer, to throw one of the cinnamon rolls in my freezer into the air fryer, and to go to bed.

But that doesn’t happen.

Oh, I get my cinnamon roll and my beer.

But I don’t go to bed.

Instead, I turn on the TV and…

I watch the Eagles win their playoff game.

And I worry that I’ve already begun to see what’s in front of me.

CHAPTER FIVE

Cam

We won.

Barely.

But we sneaked out the win and I wasn’t the cause of anything that directly led to our team getting scored on.

Of course I also didn’t do anything that helped the Eagles win.

Which is why Coach calls me into his office to talk before media.

To talkbeing code for being torn to pieces.

So now I’m grinding my back teeth together, sitting in the chair in front of his desk in sweaty undergarments, and listening to a lecture on protecting the puck.

And getting my fucking head in the game.

And pulling my fucking weight if I want to stay on the fucking roster.

“…I fucking mean it, Cam,” he screams, spittle flying across the air to land in gross droplets on top of his desk and the plethora of papers and the tablet he’s been shoving in my face. “You need to figure out what the fuck is going on in that big brainof yours and fix it. The team needs you and you’re not doing enough.”

Not enough.Not enough.

Right.

Exactlywhat I want to hear after my doctor’s appointment this morning—something I squeezed in between morning skate and coming to the arena for warmups, hoping that this time it might be different news, that something might have changed. But it’s the fucking same. It’sbeenthe fucking same for the last year and?—

“So get your fucking head out of your fucking ass and do fuckingsomethingout there on the ice. Or you’re fucking gone come next season, Cam. I fuckingmeanit.”

Normally, I’d be amused by the sheer number of f-bombs that Coach has managed to insert into this conversation.

But…

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