Page 22 of A Scoring Chance

“Spiralling.”

“Now we both know that’s not the answer I’m looking for. What happened?” Momma reaches her hand up to cup my face, her eyes begging me to tell her what’s wrong so she can fix it.

“Coach said that Dad would be proud of me, and I couldn’t process it. Everything came rushing back to me right at that moment. The shame. The guilt. The rage. And I couldn’t deal with it. I just needed a minute to get all of those emotions under control, but then Alise came in, and everything got worse.”

It wasn't Alise exactly, but the news that my inability to keep my shit together had hurt Ramona‌. I was only thinking aboutwhat I needed, not about all the people who were depending on me. Who were expecting me to be there for them.

“My sweet boy. Your father would be unbelievably proud of you. You know that, right?”

Deep down, there’s a part of me that knows he’d be proud. That wherever he is, he can see everything I’ve done to make sure each member of this family never wants for anything. The way he would’ve done if he were here. But he isn’t here. He’s gone, and no matter how many times someone tells me it was a freak accident and there was nothing I could’ve done to stop it, I know they're lying. I knew my dad wasn’t feeling well and that something was off about him, but I was selfish and really wanted to go on that camping trip for my birthday.

“Yeah.”

Shame washes over me for lying to my mother, but what else can I do? This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, but it's the first time in years. I avoid any conversations about my father as much as possible, whenever I can. It’s the only way I can guarantee that things like this don’t happen.

Momma stares at me for a few moments, her eyes searching mine for something. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but she won’t find anything. I rebuilt the wall around my emotions after she left the bathroom. Feelings are useless to me right now. I need to focus on getting ready to be back on the ice and figuring out a way to bring my family back together.

“I haven’t watched the season finale ofMormon Wives. I wanna know what’s going to happen between Taylor and Dakota.” Her hand drops from my cheek and reaches for the remote. “Someone hasn’t been home in a while, and I didn’t want to hear his mouth for watching it without him.”

“Momma, you know me so well.” I chuckle, throwing my arm around her and pulling her into my side. “I’ve been dying to know what happened.”

When Momma retired from teaching this year, Beau and I took turns spending extra time at home with her. She went from having a house full of boys and a set schedule every day to basically nothing. With all this free time on her hands, she started watching reality television.Mormon Wivesare her favorite, much to my complete and utter enjoyment.

One day at home, I sat down beside her and started watching, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Now, every time I make it home, we binge-watch episodes because I wouldn’t be caught dead watching it in my apartment or anywhere else someone could see me. If Beau ever finds out about my recent guilty pleasure, I’ll never hear the end of it.

“Me, too,” she responds with a smile before pushing play on the DVR.

As the opening theme song plays, I lay my head against her, pulling a deep breath in. My lungs fill with the familiar smells of vanilla, White Diamond perfume, and something that’s just her.

My entire body relaxes for the first time since leaving The Chill Zone. Nothing else matters right now but Momma andMormon Wives. Everything else is future Cooper’s problem.

Chapter Eight

Ramona

“You better take your shoes off before coming into my house,” Ma bellows from her spot in the living room the moment I step through the door. “And hurry up and close the door…”

“You don’t pay to keep the outside cool,” Darius, Alise, and I say in unison. Ma is forever talking about heating or cooling the outside. Apparently, leaving the door open for over two seconds, even if you haven’t gotten inside yet, is cause for alarm.

“Not like we’ve had the air on for the last few weeks,” Darius mumbles.

“I heard that!” Ma shouts again, and we all crack up laughing.

You’d think that if she can’t hear us when we were standing right next to her, she wouldn’t be able to hear us when we were halfway across the house, but you’d be wrong. I like to call it selective biddy hearing. She hears what she wants to when she wants to hear it, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. It’s beyond annoying, but what am I going to do but grin and bear it?

I toe off my shoes near the door and make my way through the foyer and into the family room. The room hasn’t changed much over the years. The same grey rug sits a few feet fromthe fireplace, directly in front of the most comfortable dark blue couch I’ve ever sat on. Trust me, I’m not kidding. I love that couch so much that I had it repaired when it started squeaking a few years ago because of some busted springs.

There is a matching chair to the left of the couch and two light brown end tables flanking each side with a matching rectangular coffee table positioned in the center of the rug with a small vase of daisies sitting in the center.

Ma is sitting in her spot on the left-hand side of the couch, near the dining room. And yes,herspot. God help the person who is sitting in her place on the couch when she wants to sit down. We’ve all learned to just stay away from that side of the couch, choosing to sit on the floor instead of facing her wrath.

“Hey, baby girl. How was your day at work?” Ma asks, her head tilted to the side, waiting for her kiss.

“It was all right.” I smile down at her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I spent most of the day in the pasture with the cows and then rushed to Darius’s hockey practice.”

“You went to hockey practice like that?” Her perfectly manicured eyebrows are pulled down in confusion. “Why didn’t you come home and take a shower first?”

That’s my mother for you. She’s old-school. From the never-leaves-the-house-without-a-full-face-of-makeup or not-a-hair out-of-place generation. The fact I never wear more than tinted moisturizer and lip gloss has driven her nuts for years, but she means well. To her, looking any less than perfect gives the Annamaries of the world something to pick at. Something to be used to tear you down for their enjoyment. She truly believes that if we don’t give them anything to criticize, they will keep their mouths shut. Unfortunately, we all know that’s not the case.

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