Page 92 of My Wife
A defensive retort rises and falls inside, but I don’t recall her saying that. It’s then I realize she’s calmed my inner barbarian by lacing her arm around my waist. I almost don’t know what to do other than drape mine over her shoulders. We’re like two proud parents, watching the light of our lives find his calling.
Or not. If he wants to be a climber or an insurance adjuster, that’s fine too. I don’t care … but the thought dies. I am his father and I do care. A lot. About him. About this woman by my side.
Glancing down at Jessica, I take her hand and lead her onto the ice. We glide together and my palm around hers feels better than holding my stick. A long sigh escapes.
We’re more than halfway toward the home net lines before we catch up with the little rascal. Jessica takes his hand and I grab the other. Wearing street shoes, the three of us slide—linked up, it’s both graceful and clumsy yet perfect. When we get to the little door where Dolly watches, I urge her to join us.
She shakes her head.
I point to my abs and wink.
She smiles and slides forward, meeting us.
Everyone knows that the sun melts ice, but I feel it shining, in each of my hands, in their smiles and mine grows.
Until we’re back in the hallway where we pause because KJ wanted to look at the trophy cases. While I talk to Mikey for a minute, Grimaldi sidles over. Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I dare him to flirt with Jessica. The guy is the one broken link in the Knights chain. I have no idea why Coach keeps him around.
She laughs nervously.
He whispers something to her.
Her expression darkens.
He leans closer.
She turns guarded.
Mikey’s voice fades.
I march over, ready to redefine “Stick salute” and shove it where the sun don’t shine.
“Let’s go,” I growl.
Jessica mouths the reminder,Sotto voce.
I shake my head. Not with this guy.
“I was just talking to your ‘Work wife’ about how she could offer me some assistance of the personal kind.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“If she’s my work wife, then I’m her work husband, meaning she’s not available to offer you any assistance of any sort ever.”
Grimaldi’s expression turns weasel-like. “Don’t see a ring.”
She glances at her hand.
To her, he says, “Don’t worry, baby. I don’t sting.”
Jessica’s smile is tight. “I’m not worried and don’t call me baby. Your comment is weird and not at all appealing.”
My jaw practically hits the floor. I half expected her to brush him off with sparkle fingers.
Just then, a little pudgy hand fits into mine. I hesitate. Jessica beams a smile, her expression glowing as if Grimaldi doesn’t even exist.
I can’t say no to whatever grows between us or to my son.
Don’t want to.
Not anymore.
