Page 59 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
The first thing I see is a crayon drawing of me in goal, pads on, stick in hand, then cut-out pictures of me in my hockey uniform and on the ice, surrounded by little hearts drawn in crayon. Scrawled across the top in messy, bold, colorful strokes:Good luck, Daddy.
There are little hearts around it - Mia’s touch, definitely - and right at the bottom, in neat, adult handwriting, are the words:
Good luck, Blake. We’re rooting for you.
I inhale sharply, fingers gripping the edges of the paper.
A mix of emotions crashes into me - warmth, nostalgia, something deeper that I can’t quite name. I stare at the words, feeling the weight of them, the meaning behind them.
“Don’t eventhinkabout crying,” she teases, folding her arms. “Because I will go get you a bucket right now.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, running my thumb over the paper. “This is…,” I shake my head. “This is really sweet. Thank you.”
She shrugs. “Don’t thank me. It was their idea.”
I look up at her. Her expression is unreadable.
I place the card on the coffee table and push to my feet, stretching my arms. Then, smirking, I hold them out. “All right, bring it in.”
She squints at me. “Bring what in?”
Gesturing at my open arms, “Come here.”
Her nose scrunches. “I’m good. A thank you is enough.”
I tsk, grabbing her wrist to pull her up. “Don’t reject a thank-you hug. It’s hurtful.”
She snorts. “Says who?”
“Me.”
Before she can protest, I pull her in.
She stiffens at first, her hands awkwardly hovering at my sides, but after a moment, she relaxes.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel something settle in me.
I close my eyes briefly, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and her shampoo - something light and sweet, but not overpowering. It’s been years since I’ve held her like this, but darn if my body doesn’t remember the way she used to fit against me.
I tighten my hold, just slightly. “Few more minutes,” I murmur. “Let me hold you for a few more minutes.”
Her breath hitches, and I feel her muscles tense again - but she doesn’t pull away.
And for a moment, just a moment, it feels like nothing has changed.
She lets out a slow breath.
And then, just as slowly, she pulls away.
We stare at each other.
One second.
Two.
Three.
She clears her throat, looking anywhere but at me. “It’s late. I’m going to bed. You should too - you have an early start tomorrow.”
