Page 51 of Single Mom's Secret Diary
Like she’s conceding a battle to regroup and come at me harder. I don’t understand it, but it’s something I’ve seen before.
24
Ezra
Being back in the rink with the raucous noise of parents and fans in the stands, the scents of cold ice, sweat, and the concession stands, brings me back to my youth. The crazy energy before a game has my blood pumping with old adrenaline.
Hockey was such a big part of my childhood. Gave me grit and a purpose. Kept me out of trouble when my mom worked her second job. It got me a college scholarship and a trip to Northeastern University, where I earned my MBA and met Wyatt.
It gave me enough insight and networking to open Nguyen Candy Company. It only took three years to make enough profit that my mom got to quit both of her jobs.
It wasn’t how I thought I’d get her out of that one-bedroom apartment we’d rented my whole life, but I did get her out.
The cold makes my knee ache as I descend the bleachers, spotting Avery and her father in the front row beside the hometeam’s box. She smiles at me when I make my way to her, and I try not to sit too stiffly, but I’m not successful.
Avery frowns a little as I rub my knee. She places her hand over it with a silent question.
“Old injury,” I tell her, and she helps to rub it.
It’s the one that ended my dreams of going pro after college, a torn ACL during my senior year nine years ago.
Ancient history, and honestly, I’m more than happy to have what I have now because I didn’t pursue that dream. The thought has me linking my fingers with Avery’s. It’s not exactly the date I am waiting to take her on, but I finally get to meet her son, Charlie, and spend some time with her outside the office.
She peers sideways at me from under her lashes before I lean forward and extend my hand to her dad. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Caruso.”
He gives my hand a nice squeeze. “Dominick, please. Avery tells me you used to play.”
“I did. All through college. How long has Charlie been playing?”
“Two years,” Avery says beside me. “Been skating since he could walk, though.”
I grin. “That sounds familiar.”
The seats are filling up, and there are four teams on relay today, which means four games. It’s tiring, but it was always a fun day for me at that age. My mom would drop me off in the morning and pick me up in the evening with a carton of takeout from her second job at the restaurant—the one I want to take Avery to tomorrow if she’ll let me.
Charlie’s team is up first, and he waves at his mom and grandpa as he skates out to position at left wing. He bangs his stick on the ground, nodding to his teammates, ready to play.
The moment the puck hits the ice, Avery is on her feet. Any time her son has the puck, she’s cheering for him. She putsher entire self into it, jumping, punching the air, and screaming when he checks, steals the puck, or makes a shot. I love how unwavering her support is no matter how well he does.
And he’s doing pretty well. Charlie has confidence on the ice and with his stick. He’s made a couple of goals and taken a few good hits. The goalie on his team is a beast—bigger than the others at his age—and he’s fast. The opposing team doesn’t seem to have a chance.
Although one of the defensemen stays on Charlie through the game, blocking eighty percent of his shots. The kid’s frustrated, and I can understand it. Avery frets beside me, so I step behind her and tug her back against me by the waist.
“He’s doing a good job. He’ll figure out how to get around number nine.”
She sighs and slumps against me.
“I like how into it you are. I never had my mom screaming her head off in the stands. Not that she wouldn’t have if she could have been there.” I snuggle her into me and simply enjoy the feeling of her in my arms before she shoots out of them to cheer on Charlie some more.
They win their game, and it’s fun to see Avery transform into the supportive mom, wild and loud and the complete opposite of her usually quiet, stony, intense self. Every part of me screams to take advantage of the change, but I don’t.
It’s not the first impression I want to make on her kid.
Breaking for a snack, I grab nachos and pretzels from the concession stand, and Dominick hands me what he calls a cruffin. It’s glazed with maple and has an apple compote filling that makes my eyes roll to the back of my head.
I almost forget that this is the man who taught Avery what she knows about food. No wonder she’s so fucking good.
Avery laughs at my face as she nibbles on her pretzel.
