Page 20 of Loaded Laces

My favorite.

Years ago, she was the one who made it for me the first time.

Today I know it means she’s trying. She’s settling. She’s giving us the time I asked for.

And I fucking love that too.

“You play soccer for a team?” I ask as Quinn scoops up the ball and we move to the back door she left propped open.

“Nah,” Quinn says. “Soccer’s fun, but I think I’d rather learn how to play hockey like you.”

I freeze.

And I’m not the only one.

Belle’s at the mouth of the hall, and she spins and glances back at me, eyes wide. I can already read what’s in her mind—soccer is cheap, just a ball, some shin guards, and cleats. But hockey has a big buy-in—the equipment alone, but also adding the league fees, on-ice training,off-ice training, travel…it’s a giant hurdle.

But if this kid—this gracious, polite, good-hearted, hard-working kid who’s smart and respectful and loves his mom—wants to try hockey, this kid is going to fuckingtry hockey.

“First step of playing hockey is learning how to skate,” I tell him.

His face falls. “I’ve never been.”

“Well, the good news is the team is having a family skate next weekend, wanna give it a try?”

His eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s on Saturday and the whole team will be there.”

He’s practically vibrating with excitement as he turns to Belle. “Is that okay, Mom? Could I try out skating?”

A blip of quiet, resignation sliding through her features.

But then her face goes soft again and she nods. “Yeah, baby.”

He spins back to me. “Then that would be awesome, West. Thank you so much.”

See? Polite.

“Are you going to learn to skate too, Mom?”

My lips curve and I answer for her. “Your mom’s a great skater—or she was back in high school.”

His eyes go wide. “Really?”

I nod.

“Whoa, Mom.”

“Upping my cool factor,” she says lightly, moving close and ruffling Quinn’s hair. “But don’t get your hopes up. I’m sure I’m out of practice.” She’s grinning as she jerks her head toward the bathroom. “Let’s wash up first and worry about strapping blades to our feet later, ’kay?”

“Okay!”

He takes off for the bathroom, shutting the door, and I barely have the chance to take a step before she’s snagging my arm and dragging me into the kitchen. “Baby?—”

She spins to face me. “You don’t have to do this.”

I exhale, cup her cheeks, practically willing her to understand this once and for all. “Why don’t you understand that Iknowthat, baby? That all I’ve offered, all I’mcontinuingto offer is because I like you, I like Quinn, and Iwantto do it.”

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