Page 60 of Perfect Playbook

She shoves her hands into those back pockets of her jeans, and it takes me back into the hallway.

“I know you’re busy,” she says graciously, “so thanks for coming to say hi to us. And thanks so, so much for the morning off for Logan. It means a lot to us. Especially Nino.”

Something akin to a satisfied smile tugs at the corner of Coach’s mouth. I’m not sure, but I think he’s happy for me.

Pride swells for the second time.

“I’m glad it worked out.” He shakes his finger at her playfully. “But no more family emergencies until postseason.”

She laughs lightly. “Trust me. I get it. My dad’s a rancher, so our activities were strictly controlled. He had five summer babies.” She winks.

It takes Coach a moment to realize her parents only tried to make children that would be born when cows weren’t.

He shakes his head, and a laugh blows out of his nose when he gets it. “Your dad sounds like a dedicated man. I respect that.” He lifts his hand to wave us off and turns to skate away. “Time to gear up, Hunter.”

“Well,” I wiggle Antonio, “gotta go, little man.”

I place him down, and with him no longer between us, that magnetic force strong enough to rip my soul straight out of my skin is back. I’m not sure if I were to touch her nowI’d be able to contain it. A lingering peck, her style or mine, isn’t in the cards, because frankly, I want to throw her against the plexi and absolutely devour her.

“That went well?” she asks.

“Very natural.”

She draws in a deep breath, and her full breasts rise up and down invitingly. “Showtime, eh?”

She means it’s time to kiss like we planned.

Fuck do I want to. I want to for real. Which is why it’s better we leave it.

“I think we’re good. Coach came over to say hi, which is, you know, even better than showtime. If you catch my drift.”

We have to speak in code around Antonio.

She nods quickly. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing. Job done. Right?” She seems hassled, all of a sudden in some sort of hurry. “Well, we’ll leave you to it.” She takes Antonio’s hand.

It would probably be better if she left so I can gather my thoughts or rather lose them on the ice. But instead I say, “Stay. I’d love for you to watch. You and Nino.”

Antonio instantly tugs at Shay’s pocket. “Yeah, Mom! Let’s stay!”

She eyes me and speaks more carefully than she needs to. “Okay. Guess we’re staying.”

“Grab yourselves a snack in the cafeteria. I’ll be on the ice in thirty.”

Half an hour later, I’m warmed up and doing drills with my teammates. Nino sits on the side with Shay, and they both eat a sandwich. How on earth can I see a mom and her kid eating a sandwich and think it’s the most touching sight in the world? There’s something magical in the ordinary. Something pure. Anchoring. Primitive.

The only other place I feel so calm is on the ice. It’s time to focus.

I step onto the rink. Crisp air fills my lungs, and the familiar sound of blades slicing against the smooth surface echoes in my ears. The rink is alive with energy; teammates zip across the ice, each one focused and determined.

I join the circle of players gathered around our coach. His voice booms over the noise of our skates. He outlines the next set of today’s drills, emphasizing precision and speed, the keys to success. I glance around at my teammates. There is a sea of nods. Understanding. Faith in Coach as a leader.

It brings back thoughts of the dickhead managing Nino’s soccer team. I don’t even know for sure he’s a dick. Nino is only five and maybe misunderstood, but in my opinion, kids are often smarter than we give them credit for.

I glide effortlessly on the ice. The puck dances at the end of my stick as I weave through cones, sharp turns testing my agility. Around me, my teammates mirror my movements, the rhythm of our strides syncing in perfect harmony, which is a miracle because the exertion it takes to fuel this fast-paced agility test is grueling and you’d think someone would drop.

But no one does, and a lot of that has to do with Coach. A strange sense of shame floats around me. That man has believed in me, and I haven’t taken it seriously. Maybe I took it for granted. Or maybe there’s something deepergoing on like when my mom suggested I needed Vegas and women because I was afraid to sleep.

I am afraid to sleep. I don’t know exactly when it started, only recall the punctuated moments when it got worse. When the town got funds together to buy my first set of gear was when I had my first sleepless nights. That kit in the corner of my room stared at me through the night, a ghost with high expectations. Not long after Dad was sick and we found out he had a heart condition, I struggled again. Even though he promised us all it would be fine, I still had late-night Google sessions worrying about cardiomyopathy. When I got scouted in high school, when I almost didn’t pass chemistry, when our dog died… and when my dad did. Well, they all stole one more wink of sleep at a time.

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