Page 113 of Perfect Playbook

“God givingme, a person with trust issues, one of the hardest, most difficult trust tasks around.”

“And what’s that?”

“A long-distance relationship.” I swallow down the stone that’s back. “Logan is getting traded at the end of the season.”

“Ooooh,” he says like the penny has dropped. “Shiiiiit. I’m sorry.” He waits a beat. “But he’s kind of old so is he really going to be away for long?”

I smack my brother’s arm, but he’s at least made me smile again. “He’s not old. He’syourage.”

“I mean, for hockey he kind of is, though. Right?”

I turn the car back on. “We need to go.”

We drive in silence, and my brother’s aura disappearsfor a while. Has the memory of that woman come back to visit? One day I’ll ask, but right now, I try to be present, focus on the road, and consider booking myself in for therapy when we get home.

Santi wants to see the campus, so I park in the visitor’s lot and check my emails on my cell while he’s gone. Every single one of Logan’s contacts has gotten back to me. Weddings, parties… anything to celebrate with a my cake. My social media posts with the Santorini cake blew up. This really is just the beginning. It occurs to me in some way, being financially set to pay for Nino’s school would be within my reach within a short span of time.

Only a while ago in Vegas I would have been ecstatic with this situation. I’m quickly closing in on not needing this marriage for money, but all I want to do is run into Logan’s arms and hear how proud he is of me. All I want is for him to witness me growing, to thank him for being a part of it.

Thinking of him that way brings the ache back. I try not to be confused by it and consider that maybe Santi is right. This ache is real love.

Just then, the doors open. Santi helps Nino into his car seat in the back, then straps himself into the front.

Before setting off, I turn and reach back to grab my baby’s hand. “How was your day?”

He beams. “Mom, my mind is blown.”

Gosh, this boy makes my chest beam.

“Why’s that?”

“One word.” He spreads his hand as if across the sky. “Tessellations.”

Oh, God help me now. I don’t even remember what that is so I’m either old or I didn’t pay nearly enough attention in middle school.

Nino reaches next to him, snatches his backpack, and rummages around. “Oh, and there’s something I have for you. Logan put a note in my lunch.”

My heart winces. God, he’s so thoughtful.

Nino digs around in his bag. “I read the one he gave me, and he left one in there for you today, too.”

“Really?” I’m confused.

Nino hands me a folded-up piece of paper. “It says,” he reads the outside, “Give this to your mom.”

I take the paper, and sure enough, there is Logan’s surprisingly neat handwriting that blasts me back to college when he scribbled notes and left them tucked into my own backpack, under my pillow, in my toiletry bag. Everywhere.

I open the note, and there, in no more than four simple words, is the sign I’ve been waiting for. He doesn’t write that he loves me. That, I’ve heard before. These four words are far more profound.

Ask me to stay.

I stare at the note for what feels like an eternity. It’s like some epiphany makes the rest of the world fade away for a moment. And when I come to, I know what to do.

“Hey, are you boys up for going to a hockey game tonight?”

My brother offers one of his million-dollar smiles. “Always down.”

He turns. “What about you,gordito? You like hockey?”

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