Page 133 of The Stud

“She baked you a starter,” Carson points, “a backup,” he moves to the next batch, “and-”

“An ebuc!” excitedly claims Trent. “Which I learned is a hockey quip on-”

“An emergency backup goalie,” my boyfriend smoothly finishes. “Clever.”

“We thought so,” his dad agrees.

“Father,” he pridefully acknowledges on camera the parent he’s used to hiding, “are these…” one of the spicebush treats is lifted towards his lips, “gran’s spicebush cookies?” The misshaped baked good heads for his mouth. “The ones she makes me at the start of every season?”

“They are.” Trent slowly nods, his own gratitude for getting to be a part of the experience plastered plainly on his face. “Your…Slayer…is it?” Both Tanner and Becks bob their heads. “Truly put in the effort to make this family moment special.”

“I…” the struggle increases exponentially prompting me to tighten my hold on the recording device, “feelquite special.”

“Anddddd,” Becks interjects once more, “these are chocolate orange cookies, orange being the state fruit of Florida, a place where she looked into being in athletic communications at some university if you were ever traded there.”

The announcement widens both of our stares.

“And then these are oatmeal apple and raisin because both Michigan – where she’d work as a radio analyst – and NY – where she’d do something with makeup? – are both known for apple ‘ish, so she made those to remind you if you were ever tradedthere, she’d still follow.”

His puppeteering confession causes Tanner to finally surrender to his stare meeting instincts. “If that’s true…”

Unable to verbally reply leads me to curling my fist and executing an almost knocking motion, which isyesin sign language.

“Then I hopeshe knowsI’ve spent the past couple of weeks doing everything I possibly can toprevent that from happeningbecause the last thing I would ever want is to rip her away from her lifehere.”

Realizing that we’ve practically been doing the same shit for the same reasons has me shaking my head in amusement.

ForCiccarellisake, should we have justtalkedto each about this instead of going to these lengths toproveit?!

Though.

We both tend to do better with actions versus words.

“Is there um…” a second unnecessary adjustment to the phone is made, “anything you wanna say to your Slayer before I end the feed?”

He kicks his chin a bit upward at the same time he instructs, “Can you lift it a little higher so that it feels as though I’m looking her in the eyes?”

I do.

The second it’s there, he unexpectedly states, “I love you.”

How I don’t immediately drop the phone is a miracle.

We’re talking game seven of The Cup, six seconds left, five-hole score level of spectacular.

Rather than risk my response accidentally caught on camera, I end the recording, lower the object, and mouth what it is he knows I can’t speak, “I love you too.”

Chapter 22

Tanner

A goal three minutes into the game and now an assist towards the end of the first to put us three to zero withbothof my parents watching – something that hasn’t happened since I was playing in youth– as well as my Slayer who told me…in a room full of fucking people…that she loved me.

Yeah.

Not sure the night can get any better than this.

Layvon skates into position beside me, black and gold bearing frame immediately bending over so that we’re eye level. “Guess you gotta scoreonthe ice since you can’toffit.”

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