Page 1 of Your Pucking Mom

1

auburn hart

I never imagined that in my mid-thirties, I’d be dropping my barely legal son off at his first apartment. He was incredibly fortunate—his place was double the size of any apartment I could ever dream of.

In the heart of the city, the building was where most of the players lived, according to his coach. This added to the growing list of firsts I’d never get to experience with Austin. I had always envisioned that when he turned eighteen, I’d drop him off at college, the military, or, if I had my way, I’d keep him at home where I could mama-bear him forever. But no, here I was, dropping my eighteen year old off in his brand-new, three-bedroom, high-rise apartment in Chicago.

Thank God I’d convinced Austin he didn’t need one of the fancy schmancy apartments at the top of the building with in-house catering, a laundry service, and concierge at your beck and call. I’d told him that if he could survive the first five years of his life on ramen noodles and mandarin oranges, then he could figure out how to make dinner or call food delivery like the rest of us responsible adults, so he wouldn’t burn through his first paycheck before the season started.

He huffed about not being in a penthouse like most Chicago Ravens players, but if I could manage to raise a child alone at seventeen, he could certainly survive on the twentieth floor.

“Mom,”he groaned.“How will I get action?”

I’d rolled my eyes.

I picked up one of the last brown boxes from outside the hallway, dragged it inside, and paused in the oversized, spacious living area. Awestruck was the understatement of the year.

His gym shoes squeaked along the marble floor, and I turned around, watching his blond curls bounce while he brought in the last of his boxes. He had the same bright blond hair I did, with the same tightly wound curls framing his face. We had blue eyes and bushy eyebrows much darker than our hair color. Unlike me, Austin was tall and lean, where I was short and curvy.

Tears glistened in my eyes as I stared at him, just as I used to when he was a baby. The little boy I once cradled stood before me, making eighteen years feel like mere moments.

Like that, the realization hit me that this might be one of our final moments together as a pair—a simultaneous first and last.

It had always been Austin and Auburn. Whenever friends had invited me to hang out, they expected Austin to come along, dragging his worn-out and due to retire blanket. What I never foresaw was my son discovering his passion for the ice during my weekends working as a concession host at an ice-skating rink.

“Mom,” Austin whined, dropping the box and coming up behind me. I clutched the oversized cardboard to my chest to mask the tears flowing down my cheeks.

“It’s nothing.” I attempted to wipe away the wetness with the box, but it scratched my face, making it worse.

“Mom”—Austin closed the distance between us—“come here.” He grabbed the box from my hands, then placed it behind us before wrapping me up in a hug.

“You promised me no tears.”

Pulling away, I swiped my cheeks for any residual wetness. “I’m trying, Austin.” I squeezed his cheek, and he laughed as he leaned over, giving me another hug.

“It’s hard being your mama. It’s always just been the double-A team, and now I feel like I’m leaving my baby to do his own thing.”

“I’m not a baby.” He huffed before grabbing the box and walking it into the primary suite that overlooked the lake.

I trailed him until I paused, looking at the trophy shelf. My son had achieved these accomplishments—all of the trophies were a testament to his ability.

“I’m so proud of you.” Shifting the conversation, I walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Look at this.”

Austin approached from behind, and I laid my head on his arm. “When I was your age, I was nursing a stubborn little eight month old boy.” Tears pricked my eyes again as I looked out at the sun rising above the city. “Look at you, baby.”

“Look at us, Mama.” He coughed, hiding his emotions. “You did this for me.”

As I lifted my head, our eyes met, then we shared a soft smile. An expression that held the weight of our experiences. “I can’t believe it,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around his waist in a sideways hug.

“The little boy who managed to convince the high school figure skating instructors to teach him how to skate before their classes began has now made it to the NHL.” I nodded several times, trying to shake off my disbelief and suppress my emotions.

“And a mom who moved to another state and sacrificed everything to make those dreams happen.”

We were quiet for a moment, letting the peacefulness of the city soak through and wash away those painful memories. “Youngest freaking player in the League.” Pride soared through my chest. So many people told me my kid was doomed because he was born to a teen mom, but this was proof that wasn’t our story. It was evidence of all the sacrifices I’d made for everyone else in my life—for my son.

I huffed out a little chuckle.

“I have enough from my paycheck right now to get you a place. Plus, with some sponsorships from social media that are starting to come in—” Austin walked around the stark room before walking into the living room, which was also empty. “Heck, you can live here with me. I know I said I wanted my independence, but there are two extra bedrooms…”

---