Page 14 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
She shrugs one shoulder, eyes on the boys. “They’re good company.”
“Even when Noah cheats?”
“He’s an entertaining little tyrant,” she whispers with a faint smile.
Her phone buzzes. She deliberately ignores it.
“Still getting bombarded?” I ask gently.
“Brad. My mom. A few others,” she says, voice strained. “I haven’t… I’m not ready.”
I want to pull her into a bear hug and hold her, but I’m not sure if it’s appropriate.
Luckily, I’m saved by Miss Taylor.
“Dinner’s in ten!” Miss Taylor calls from the kitchen.
Dinner is simple and warm. Roast chicken, quinoa, roasted carrots with a honey glaze. Miss Taylor hums under her breath while she plates dessert.
“Did you know the SteelClaws are two wins away from the Playoffs?” she asks casually as she refills Ava’s glass with water.
Ava looks up, surprised. “You follow the team?”
I glance at Miss Taylor, smiling. “She keeps track of my stats better than I do.”
Miss Taylor shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a hint of pride in her smile. She came into our lives after Claire passed two years ago and has been an unshakeable presence ever since.
After Claire died, everything felt like a landslide I couldn’t stop. My mom came up from Tennessee for a few months, doing her best to hold the boys and me together.
She’d moved down after my dad passed. He died of a heart attack my senior year, right after I got drafted into the NHL.
He was so damn proud; he told anyone who would listen. I’ll always be grateful he saw that before we lost him.
With me leaving home and Dad gone, Mom said she needed a fresh start. Her sister down in Tennessee had been dealing with long-term health issues, and she needed help. So, Mom sold thehouse, packed up, and went. I didn’t blame her. The house was too quiet without him.
She did her best when she came back up after Claire passed, but I think those months broke something in her too. She eventually went back to Tennessee, and that’s when I hired Miss Taylor. Without her, I don’t know if we’d have made it through that first year.
A small hand tugs at my sleeve, pulling me out of it.
“Are you okay, Daddy?” Liam asks, his big eyes searching mine.
I force a smile, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, buddy. I’m good.”
The conversation drifts to dinosaurs, favorite snack foods, and the fruit snack color rankings. Liam wants to debate every detail, and Noah tries to trade his carrots for extra dessert.
Across the table, Ava plays along. Her smile comes a beat too late, her laugh a little fragile. But she’s trying.
And I can tell it’s not easy for her.
Still, she stays at the table, listening and answering their questions.
That alone feels like more than most people could manage after what she’s been through.
Eventually, the dinner dishes are cleared. The boys yawn between bites of pudding until Miss Taylor gives themthe look. They groan but don’t protest, shuffling off to brush their teeth.
After the twins are tucked in and Miss Taylor retreats to the guest house in the backyard for the night, I find Ava standing in the kitchen doorway, mug in hand.
“I know I can’t crash here forever,” she says quietly.
