Page 40 of The Parent Playbook
“No, but I can teach her a lesson.”
“By ruining her chance to get better settled in Maple Falls?” Angel shakes her head. “She’s already ‘the new girl,’ finding her place. And her cause is a righteous one.”
“Whose side are you on?”
This conversation is not going where I want it to, and I somehow feel like it’s more because of me than anything else.
It hits me … I haveno ideawhat the right thing to do is. Where’s the parenting manual? Since Corrie passed, I’ve been making it up as I went along. And that was easy because Lily was easy. Determined, head strong, principled, andobedient.
But she’s only a few seasons away from being a teenager, and suddenly I ampetrified.
“Scotty,” Angel approaches slowly, “Virginia was being unfair with a suspension. She’s trying to make a point. You don’t have to?—”
The “Ice, Ice Baby” ringtone slices through the quiet. I glance at the caller ID flashing Doug’s name, and my stomach tightens.
Doggone it. I’m late.
“Scotty, you’re AWOL, man! Practice is off the rails here, and I’m one step away from sending them all to the penalty box permanently!” Doug’s voice cuts through, strained with stress.
I grimace, catching Angel’s knowing look. “Sorry, Doug, got tied up. I’m on my way.”
“Do you want to talk about this later?” Angel asks as I hang up.
“I really don’t.”
“Oh.” She crosses her arms. “Okay. I see.”
I get in the car without saying goodbye to her, which I immediately regret once I’m on the main road.
“Dad—”
“Not now.”
I hit the gas, weaving through traffic. Thoughts of the drama with the kids and Angel churn through my mind like game footage—analyzing, breaking down each moment. It’s a lot likedissecting a play, figuring out where I went wrong, what I should have done.
But I just don’t know.
I drop off Lily at the lodge, where Blair is waiting, thanks to my text from the stoplight.
“Come along, Lily,” she says, putting her arm around Lily’s shoulders. “I think your dad has important things to do right now.”
“Dad?” She looks back at me.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, Lilybug. We’ll talk about it later.”
For now, I have a more immediate problem.
The rink comes into view, and I park badly, but have no time to feel ashamed. I rush in and the sharp scent of cold sweat and rubber hits me.
Inside, the scene is chaotic—sticks clattering, pucks flying, voices rising in frustration. It’s like stepping into a scrum where everyone’s lost sight of the puck. Doug catches my eye and gestures desperately.
“There he is! Get your skates on straight, boys, Coach Scotty is here.” He sighs and turns to me. “Clean up this mess, Scotty. My patience is at its end.”
I whistle sharply. “Okay, line it up! Back to basics.”
