Page 39 of Fall Wherever They May

“Good God, Aspen. What the fuck was that?” It’s taking all I have not to hurl. I reach into her glovebox and pull out a napkin, trying to wipe the taste off my tongue.

Aspen laughs; it’s a full-on, uncontrollable, body-shaking, tears-rolling-down-your-cheek kind of laugh.

“Oh! I have an idea!” She wipes her eyes. “Let’s pop them one at a time into our mouths and see who makes a face first.”

“You and your ideas, let me see that.” I snatch the box out of her hand and look over the flavors: earwax, rotten egg, vomit. I shake my head vigorously. “Nope! No way.” I pass the box of jellybeans back to her.

“Oh, come on, Callan Miles, live a little. Don’t be such a wuss.” She giggles as she dumps the jellybeans into her hand. She holds out a fistful of them and bats her gorgeous green eyes.Fuck! For some reason I can’t say no to her.

I relent and hold out my hand. “Fine! Ugh . . . you are the worst; you know that, woman?”

“On the count of three . . . One. Two. Three,” she says and pops a jellybean into her mouth, and I do the same. Mine tastes like black pepper. The flavor isn’t terrible, though a little strong. I can see her eyes watering, but she is trying like hell to keep a straight face.

“Wait!” I hold up a hand after the first one. “What do we get if we win?”

“Winner’s choice. But just so you know, if I win, you have to come over and do my laundry . . . for a whole week,” she says, coaxing a chuckle out of me.

We repeat the process on the count of three, two more times, before she jumps out of the car and heaves. I feel kind of bad, but karma is a . . . well, you know, and she did trick me with the first jellybean and she also made me wear that ridiculous outfit today.

Aspen slides back into the car and reaches into her purse before popping a stick of gum in her mouth.

“Do I even want to know what flavor that was?” I ask curiously.

She laughs at her expense and runs her hand through her hair. “Probably not.”

The way her face lights up causes my heart rate to spike, and for the second time today, I feel a little more alive. She’s brought out a playful side of me that I never knew I had.

Once we’ve completed our shopping at the hockey store, I drive us to pick up Tuck. I pull up behind the long line of cars parked in front of the school, and we wait for classes to be released. Kids begin to filter outside of the building, then Tuck bursts out the glass doors with a group of boys. Finding Aspen’s SUV, he says goodbye to his friends and makes his way across the crosswalk to the passenger door. As he sees me in the driver’s seat, he becomes visibly excited and moves to the rear door of the SUV.

I push the button to unlock the doors, and he hops into the back seat. While putting on his seatbelt, he begins to chatter about his day. Leaning forward, with both hands on each of our seats, he asks, “Cal, are you coming to watch me practice?”

I look at him through the rearview mirror. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Tuck turns his head towards Aspen. “Mom, did you get my gear?”

“Sure did, Bud. Everything is in the trunk.”

The relief that takes over his expressions sends a pang to my heart. It takes me back to my childhood when I didn’t know if or when I would be able to get the things I needed. I know he will never have to worry about anything, but I still understand his concern. With the schedule we’ve been dealing with, findingtime has made shopping for him difficult, and we were down to the wire.

We opt to stop by their house first so we can make dinner and then head over to the practice facility. When we walk down to the ice and the kids see us, their chatter immediately stops.

“Wow. That’s Callan Miles!” A kid with blonde hair states. Elija runs over and gives Tuck a fist bump before they take off to the locker room to change. Aspen and I sit with Ivan and Evie, and I can’t help but notice the side glances Ivan is throwing my way.

“What?” I shrug.

“Nothing.” He smirks.

The boys filter onto the ice, and the coach rounds them up, and begins practice. He asks them questions, then begins breakout drills. Tuck is a natural. Spending this past summer training him and then watching him implement what he’s learned on the ice fills me with pride. He dekes on several of the boys once they’ve moved into the team scrimmage. The puck is passed back and forth between other players before coming back to Tuck, where he drives it down the ice and makes a wrist shot into the goal. The scrimmage continues with Tuck gaining most of the possessions and sending the puck into the goal. The coach makes notes on his clipboard, then blows a few puffs on his whistle to stop practice.

The kids gather in a circle around the coach as he reads from his clipboard to call out names and the positions they will play. When he says, “Tucker Taylor, you’ll be our center.” I nearly come out of my seat. I want to jump in the air and fist pump. Fuck yes! An overwhelming sense of pride consumes me, and I can’t fight the smile beaming on my face. Aspen looks at me and gives a knowing wink, and damn, every time I look at her, my heart begins racing at an unbelievable speed.

Once practice is over and I’ve taken Aspen and Tuck back home, I head across the street. It’s dark, and the streetlights illuminate the road. Aspen stops me halfway to my house.

“Hey, Cal?” She calls out, and I turn around in the middle of the road. Fuck, with the way the moon is beaming down on her, she’s breath taking.

“Thank you for today. It was one of the best days I’ve had in a really long time.”

I want to trot back over there and wrap her in my arms like I did earlier today, but I stop myself and shake my head. “I should be thanking you. Goodnight, Firecracker.”

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