Page 19 of Fall Wherever They May

He and I watch Tucker try to fake Cal out, but of course, Cal can see it from a mile away and steals the puck from him.

“Alright, Tuck, listen, the guys you play against are going to study you. They’re going to pick apart your weaknesses on the ice. You’re right-handed, and guys will pay attention to that. The best way to fake someone out is to skate up the left, wind up—almost like you’re going to shoot, but instead you need to slice the puck to the backhand, then slice back to the forehand. Like this,” Cal demonstrates. “When you do that, make sure toinclude your body and your head. You’re going to cut across, wind up, and shoot. Now, let’s go.”

Tucker takes off skating to the left, then does a series of moves too fast and complicated for my eyes to follow. When he’s inches within reach of the goal, he winds up, shooting the puck into the net.

Cal skates over to Tucker, picks him up, and spins him around.

“You did it, Tuck! Did you see that? You did it exactly right that time!” Shrieks of laughter spill from Tucker, and my heart stops. I don’t know if it’s from seeing Tucker so happy, seeing a man with him in this way, or from the pure terror that Cal might drop him.

“Now, try it out on me,” Cal says, setting him back down.

Tucker handles the stick with quick movements, alternating the puck between the back of his stick and the front. Cal closes in on him. Tucker shoots the puck between Cal’s legs. He dekes, recovers, then takes a shot that sends the puck flying into the goal again.What just happened?

“Nice wrist shot,” Cal calls out.

“Who’s the man?” Tucker yells, nodding his head and putting his arms in the air. “Better watch out, dude.” He points the hockey stick at Cal. “I might take your job.” They fist bump, laughing.

“No doubt! I can see it now: you playing in the pros for your mom.” Cal looks up, and a huge smile lights up his entire face when his eyes meet mine. I know that smile isn’t for me, but God, with him smiling like that, I can’t help my body’s reaction. My heart skips a beat, and butterflies take flight in my stomach. Cal is beautiful. Okay, he’s not just beautiful; he’s insanely hot, especially when he’s with my kid . . . and not scowling . . . or talking. Luke clears his throat, and the connection breaks. I try to curtain my face with my hair, so Luke won’t see how Calis affecting me. I cast my sight on Tucker. His smile drops in disappointment.

“Mom. Please don’t; not today.” He begs.

“Sorry, Bud. We need to register you for school.”

Tucker drops his head and begins to skate to the boards but quickly turns back around and skates towards Cal. He throws his arms around Cal’s waist to hug him and mumbles something. Cal squats down and talks to him for a second. Standing back up, he pats Tucker’s back and sends him to me.

Luke whispers under his breath, “Well, I’ll be damned,” before shaking his head, turning around, and walking to the hallway leading to his office.

Tucker takes off the skates and heads into a storage room, slipping inside. He’s been wearing someone else’s skates for weeks. I never even thought to buy him his own. What kind of a mother am I? He slips out of the room and sits down on the bench to put on his shoes.

“While we’re out today, we can buy you a pair of skates. Okay, Buddy?” I know he is bummed out, so hopefully that will cheer him up.

“Those are my skates.” I frown in confusion, and he continues, “They used to belong to Elija, but he outgrew them, so Ivan told me that I could have them.”

“Oh, that was nice,” I say, as Cal exits the ice.

“Actually,” Cal cuts in. “Those are regular skates; if you want to keep training for hockey, you will need a different pair. Elija joined a little league hockey team this year and retired them. Those are considered figure skates, and they’re easier to balance on. Hockey skates are made for speed and agility. Since you’re getting the hang of things, and your skating technique is good, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to switch.”

I had no idea there was even a difference. I look down at the ones Cal has on. I can’t even tell you what the skates Tuckerjust took off look like, but now I have an idea of what to buy for him.

Several hours and a ton of paperwork later, Tucker is registered for school. We shop from place to place, gathering school clothes and supplies.

He stops in his tracks and pulls on my arm. “Mom! Can we stop here, please? There’s a chapter book I want.”

I turn around and follow him into the bookstore. The chime rings out above the door, announcing our entrance.

“Hi, welcome in!” A young college-aged guy greets us. “If you need any help, just let me know.”

“Thanks.”

The children’s section has a guest reader, so I leave Tucker to listen to the story with the other children. There are a few books that I’ve been anxious to add to my shelf. Finding the romance section, I skim through, finding four books that I have been dying to read. Strolling back to the children’s section, I round an endcap.Umph.I slam right into a very tall, firm, muscled, brick wall of a man.

“Oh, I’m—”

I look up, and standing there is Callan freaking Miles.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” I stammer.

The way Cal was with Tucker today shifted something in me. I’ve had several hours to reflect on our unique situation and concluded our little spats are just stupid. Not only does this manwork for me, but he also takes time out of his solo practice to teach my kid hockey. Maybe it’s time I break the ice—no pun intended.

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