Page 117 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

But there’s a fire in my belly I haven’t felt before. A fire from fighting for how valuable I am, for my own worth. Yes, I know I’m good at my job, but I’ve never blown my own trumpet about it. Maybe I should do that more.

I stand a little taller, pull my shoulders back. Is this how confident people feel? People like Gabe who never have an ounce of uncertainty about how great they are at what they do? It’s a weird feeling—not like I’m showing off, which is how I always thought it would feel, more like I’m just telling the truth about my own knowledge and abilities.

“Okay, well, anyway.” Victor straightens and takes long strides across the office to his desk that sits in front of two tall windows. “Before you got here, we had a serious conversation. And we realize that this is a tricky role to fill. It will take approximately two weeks to getapproval for the wording of a new job posting. Then regulations say it has to be advertised for two weeks. Then there’s another two weeks assessing the applications. Then we have to give at least two weeks’ notice to applicants of their interviews. Then it’ll take another couple of weeks to decide who to call back for a second interview. We have to give at least two weeks’ notice for those as well. Then after we’ve interviewed the final candidates it will take us at least two more weeks to decide. Then we’ll have to let them know our decision and the lucky candidate will likely have to give at least two weeks’ notice on their current job, so we’ll be looking at…”

He stares out of the window while he tries to add up how many multiples of two weeks he’s just rattled off.

“The long and the short of it is,” he says, clearly having given up on the calendar math, “it would take us an incredibly long time to find anyone like you to do this job.”

“We’d never findanyonelike Natalie,” Uzma says.

“No,” Gavin agrees.

“Absolutely not,” Dorothy adds.

“They’re right.” Victor taps his fingers on the edge of his desk. “No one could even hope to scratch the surface of the drive and passion you have for not only the kids but the community itself.”

His words turn my fingers and toes ice cold. He’s clearly building up to saying they are scrapping the program—or at the very least putting it on hold. Dear God, no.

Victor walks around to the front of his desk and perches on the edge. “And given the dearth of qualified applicants when we posted the position in the first place and the issues we are now experiencing with the candidatewe selected, we are in somewhat of a quandary because?—”

“Oh, for the love of God, Victor. Shut up.” Uzma stands up and looks at me as she straightens her skirt. “It’s good to see this fight in you, Natalie. Inspiring, in fact.” Dorothy and Gavin nod and make noises of agreement. “So what we really need to ask you is—is your heart absolutely set on moving to New Orleans?”

“Um.” Victor’s gaze darts from one committee member to the next. “This is all exceptionally irregular. Not to mention a little prematur?—”

Uzma’s side-eye to Victor immediately silences him.

My brain freezes, stuck on trying to process what she just said. I glance from one face to the next, each one looking at me with a hopeful smile. A pleading, hopeful smile. Well, except Victor, who’s folded his arms and has more of a resigned look ofokay thenon his face.

Are they asking me to stay?

My stomach flips over. The domino effect of the consequences if I were to undo my plans for moving and back out of the new job rattles across my brain.“What?”

Gavin picks up one of the plates and holds it toward me. “I bet you can’t get cake like Kneads Must’s in New Orleans.”

CHAPTER 37

GABE

Of course Mom calls me right as I enter the hubbub of the locker room before the crucial game. Of course she does. Usually I’d just ignore it and get back to her later, but, given how the conversation ended on Saturday, the last thing I want to do is snub her now.

I’ve been riddled with guilt these last few days, and almost called them dozens of times. Yesterday I even got as far as my thumb hovering over “Mom” and “Dad” on my phone before I backed off and decided to give them time and let them come to me when they’re ready.

All I’ve wanted to do is punch myself in the head for being so stupid as to confess my Christmas trauma to them. The whole reason I’d kept it bottled up was because I knew it would upset them. And, hey, guess what? They were upset.

After everything they’ve sacrificed for me, it’s not right that I made them feel that way.

Anyway, it seems they’re ready now, three hours beforeour clash with the New Jersey Ironmen—one of our most anticipated games of the season. Excellent.

I shove in an ear pod and answer the video call. “Hey, Mom.”

From around the locker room a few teammates chuckle and call, “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, Mrs. Woods,” one says, peering over my shoulder.

“We’re happy to have your boy back,” shouts another.

“Oh, gosh.” Mom looks stressed. “This is bad timing. I wanted to catch you before the game. But you’re surrounded by people. I’ll go.”

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