Page 43 of The Score

“Whatcha doing, kid?”

He looks surprised to find me standing there. “Oh.” He flushes. “I get an extra thirty minutes to skate.” A defensive note creeps in. “Coach knows.”

Since I know better than to take a thirteen-year-old’s word at face value, I duck out to track down Ellis, who’s in the equipment room securing sticks on the long rack against the wall.

“What’s this about Robbie staying behind to skate?”

Ellis glances toward the doorway. “Oh. Yes, it’s fine. I’m heading out there in a sec to supervise him. Tell him not to step on the ice until I get there.”

I can’t hide my frown. “Why does he get extra ice time?”

“His mother doesn’t get off work until four-thirty on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the family lives in Munsen, so the school bus isn’t an option.” Ellis makes an annoyed sound. “Some bullshit about town boundaries and the Hastings buses being unable to ‘service’ other townships. Robbie’s mother managed to get him enrolled here because he’s an asset to our hockey program, but apparently the school district doesn’t think it’s important to provide safe transportation home to the kids who live out of the district.”

“So Robbie hangs around the arena until his mom shows up?”

Ellis nods. “I arranged it with Julia at the start of the season. I stick around after practice, watch him and his sister until she gets here.”

Did I mention how much I love this man?

“I’ll stick around too,” I offer. “I was teaching Robbie the art of wrist shots before the drill ended. Wouldn’t mind finishing up the lesson.”

His expression is a combination of surprise and respect. “I bet he’d love that. Thanks, kid.”

When I reenter the rink, Robbie is skating lazy circles along the boards. His dirty-blond hair ruffles behind him, and I decide he might need a lesson about hair too—as in, trim the shit out of it before it reaches mullet status, or wave goodbye to any chance of getting laid.

I’m walking down the concrete aisle when a high-pitched voice startles me to a stop.

“Who are you?”

I turn to see a tiny elfin creature sitting at the halfway point in the bleachers. Well, it’s a girl, but holy hell, she might as well be a character from a Pixar movie. Huge blue eyes take up her entire face, her hair is so fair it’s nearly white, and her mouth is a tiny pink rosebud.

“Who areyou?” I call back, one eyebrow arched.

“I asked you first.”

Fighting a smile, I climb the steps until I reach her row. A glance at the rink reveals that Robbie is having fun skating aimlessly. Ellis is at the boards keeping an eye on him, so I plop down in the seat next to the cartoon elf and say, “I’m Dean. The new assistant coach of the Hurricanes.”

Those big eyes study my face, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m lying. “I’m Dakota,” she finally says. She points a skinny finger at the ice. “That’s my brother.”

“Ah. You’re Robbie’s little sister.”

“Who says I’m the little one?” she challenges. “Maybe I’m his big sister.”

“Kid, I’d be surprised if you’re not still in diapers.”

“I do not wear diapers!” Her cheeks redden. “I’mten,” she says haughtily.

I gasp. “Holy sh—sugar. You’re practically an old lady, then.”

That makes her giggle. “I am not. How old areyou?”

“Twenty-two.”

Her jaw falls open. “That’sold.”

“I know, right? I should probably start planning my funeral. Who do you think I should leave my fortune to in my will—the chick from theHunger Gamesor the one fromDivergent?”

“They’re not real people,” she says frankly.

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