Page 162 of The Overtime Kiss

Where Miles spins around and takes it the other way. Hesends it skipping past their goalie’s leg pads, and it lodges in the twine.

The lamp lights. Yes!

We hug, because why the fuck not? We’re three goals ahead and everything on the ice is going my way. And maybe soon, everything else will too.

We hop over the boards, and I tug off my gloves to grab my water bottle and down some. “Falcon to Falcon,” Coach McBride says, clapping me on the shoulder, then Miles.

“That’s the way we like it, sir,” Miles says.

“Keep it up,” Coach says, and when he heads back down the bench, Miles turns to me. “Got your text. Let’s have lunch with Mom and Charlie tomorrow, ’kay? We’ll figure it out.”

“Thanks, man,” I say, feeling like everything is possible.

“I’m stoked for you,” he says with a genuine smile.

“Me too,” I say, then we hit the ice again, and soon, we wrap up the afternoon with a W.

Yeah, everything feels possible.

When I return home, I pull into the garage, then knock first on Sabrina’s door downstairs. Maybe she’s with the kitten. But there’s no answer, then the sounds of pots and pans drift downstairs.

Ah, they’re upstairs.

When I reach the first floor, I toe off my shoes in the foyer and head to the kitchen, but I stop short. Holy shit. Sabrina’s alone and cooking…like five things. In a whirl, like she’s an executive chef in a Michelin-star joint, she grabs a saucepan from the heat while stirring a different pot. On the counter sits a huge metal bowl with a salad.

This is…Thanksgiving-level stuff.

“Hello,” she says evenly as she lowers the ladle for theboiling pot, while dumping the sauteed veggies into a serving dish.

“Hey, Sabrina,” I say, impressed she’s moving so quickly and efficiently, but concerned, too, since there’s something almost robotic to her right now. “Are you okay?”

She lifts her face and flashes a closed-mouth smile as she spreads the veggies in the serving dish. “I’m great. Just making dinner for you and the kids. And the kids are upstairs putting on their jammies. After they came home this afternoon from their friends’ homes, I made sure they did their homework. I double-checked everything. Their math is so good now. Yay. And they both showered and cleaned up their rooms. So after dinner, you can put them to bed. They even fed the kitten and measured out her food, so that helped with fractions too,” she says, and holy shit.

Something is really wrong with Sabrina. She’s slid into Super Nanny mode for some reason.

“Are you okay, baby?” I ask softly.

She shoots me an admonishing stare, then presses her finger to her lips. “We don’t want them to hear.”

But maybe we do. “What’s going on?” I ask, stepping toward her, really looking at her.

Her eyes are…rimmed with red.

She doesn’t answer my question though because the clatter of little feet grows louder. And like a summer rainstorm that comes out of nowhere, two freshly showered, wet-behind-the-ears children skid into the kitchen.

“Hi, Dad,” Luna says, then hugs me.

“Guess what, Dad?” Parker says, but Luna shushes him.

They look like they’re up to something, and I feel entirely unmoored. “What’s up, kids?” I ask, trying to get a handle on the situation.

Luna sighs, but bounces. “Fine. We were going to surprise you at dinner. We have a presentation for you.”

Oh. This should be interesting. They haven’t done a presentation since a year ago when Luna campaigned for a dog. She went full PowerPoint and everything. “Okay,” I say, going along with it. I’ll have to talk to Sabrina later. Maybe she’s only focused on the to-do list of the day.

This is a good reminder. I need to focus on these kids first too. “Give me a minute,” I say, then I head to my room to change out of my suit and into jeans and a T-shirt.

When I return downstairs, the table is immaculately set and Luna and Parker sit like angels, waiting for me. Sabrina stands though.

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