Page 117 of Puck Block

It was enough to buy the Olsons’ house in secrecy and purchase Taytum’s insulin pump out of pocket, plus take care of some other expenses.

“They’re going to kill you.”

I spin at the sound of my Aunt Jo’s voice. I smirk and point to the frame behind me with a black-and-white photo of the hockey god Bobby Orr–only, I’ve photoshopped my face where his would be. “Do you like it?”

She scans the picture and furrows her brow. “Is that Bobby Orr?”

I pretend to be wounded. “Uh, no. It’s obviously me.”

Her raspy laugh fills the living room as she comes over and smacks me on the back of the head. “What am I going to do with you going all the way to Pittsburgh next year?”

I shrug. “Not laugh as much.”

She fixes the frame for me, making sure it’s straight, before taking a seat on the couch. “I’m proud of you,” she says with watery eyes.

The croak in her voice makes me uncomfortable. “Stop it,” I warn.

Typically, she listens to me and will stop giving me compliments. Not that I don’t enjoy when someone inflates my ego, but it’s different with her. Her praise means as much to me as if my real mother were the one saying it.

Only this time, she doesn’t stop. “I’m proud of your maturity.”

“I am the most immature twenty-three-year-old there is.” That’s what Coach says, at least.

Aunt Jo shakes her head. “That’s not true. I don’t know many twenty-three-year-olds who would be willing to call up the man they hate the most to ask him for money for something incredibly selfless.”

I glance away because not only do I hate thinking about Henry, but I hate talking about him even more.

“He would have given you the money,” she notes.

“I’m sure he would have, and I’m sure he would have used it as an excuse to slip back into my life or, if anything, used it as a way to rid himself of the guilt over her death.”

My biological father didn’t kill my mother with his own bare hands.

He wasn’t charged with murder, and he didn’t end up in some high-security prison.

But he did leave us with nothing, and when she got sick and begged for his help, he took too long to show up.

She died, and when I found out that he could have saved her all along, I wanted nothing to do with him.

I didn’t want his money, because if it couldn’t bring back my mom, what difference did it make?

But for Taytum, I was willing to stir up a shit-ton of baggage if it meant helping her and the Olsons.

Four car doors slam, and I push up off the wall. My aunt stands, and we walk to the front door to break the news to Jayand Mary-Ann that they don’t actually have to move. Her hand falls to mine, and she squeezes it. “I’m still proud,” she whispers.

I elbow her gently. “Stop being mushy…” The door opens. “But thanks, Mom.”

Her eyes well. I’ve called her Mom from time to time, and I know it hits her hard.

“Well?” I ask, pulling Taytum to my side when she and the rest of the family walks through the front door.

“It’s done.” Jay claps his hands once. “Now we just have to figure out where we’re going to go.”

Mary-Ann launches into a whole spiel, discussing some smaller houses that they’ve found and possibly even just renting an RV and living in it for a while.

Taytum tenses.

I rub my hand down her back and whisper, “Relax. I have a surprise.”

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