Page 20 of Wake Me Up
“Um, no. Cash isn’t working with him today. I think he is going to meet him tomorrow though,” I say quickly, tossing her lunch inside the lunch box and zipping it shut. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, just wondering, I guess.” When she stops, I know she has more to say. “I like him. He’s nice.”
I stare at her, wondering what in the world she’s up to. Sure, he’s a nice guy, but it’s not like she’s seen him very many times. I’m surprised she’s bringing him up at all, to be honest.
“He is nice.” I nod in agreement, skeptical of this entire conversation.
She takes the last bite of cereal and steps down from the kitchen stool,bringing it to the sink. Once she’s rinsed it out, she turns toward me. “You should go on a date with him sometime. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I don’t know what happens first—my eyes bugging out or my mouth hanging open—but I’m certain both occur rather instantly. Out of all the places I thought she might be taking this conversation, that certainly wasn’t one of them. She’s mentioned wishing she had a dad before, but has never talked about me dating anyone—luckily.
“Wha—why would you say that?” I practically squeak the words out, embarrassed that my little crush has become obvious to even my seven-year-old daughter. “He helps Bubba out, babe. That’s it.”
“Yeah, but sometimes, he looks at you because he thinks you’re pretty.” She sounds so sure of herself, never flinching. “And why did your voice get squeaky like that, Mom?”
“It didn’t,” I say quickly, nervously pulling the dishwasher open because I have to do something, anything, to make this conversation stop.
“It did, and sometimes, your voice gets squeaky like that around Tripp too,” she points out. “And your cheeks get red.”
I drop a plate—and thank God it doesn’t break—before fumbling a few forks. Eventually, I stand up straight and swallow. “You need to get ready for school. We have to leave soon.”
Eyeing me over suspiciously, finally, she grins—literally grins—at me. “All right, Mom,” she singsongs before she skips off toward her room.
Exhaling sharply once she leaves the kitchen, I put a hand on my forehead because that was the first time that any of my kids had mentioned that I should date. I guess I should have known it was coming, but a part of me also thought that maybe my kids would just want to keep me all to themselves forever. Or at least until they were adults.
The conversation Aviana and I just had replays in my mind, and I grimace because I think—no, I know—I handled it really shitty. I should have let her ask more questions and dived in deeper to it. Thinking about dating anyone scares me, but bringing someone into my kids’ lives who could potentially hurt them? It’s debilitating.
I have to face Tripp tomorrow, and it’ll feel even more awkward than ever before since Aviana made a point to tell me that I sound squeaky and that I blush around him.
God … I wonder if he’s noticed it too.
“Do you ever get tired of having everyone, you know … follow you around and stuff?” Cash says, sitting beside me on the team bench. “Like, what if you’re having a bad day, but people won’t leave you alone for an autograph? How do you deal with it?”
For being ten years old, he’s an insanely deep thinker. Most boys his age would just think I had it made because I’m an NHL player and would probably even believe that the fame is the best part. The truth is, there’s a lot to this job that I love, but there’s a lot that I fucking hate too. And at the top of the list is having people treat me differently just because I’m a professional athlete.
“Well … I give them a quick autograph and act as polite as I can but let them know I’m limited on time,” I tell him honestly. “Lucky for me, everyone thinks I’m grumpy anyway. So, they don’t think anything of it either way.”
“Dang, that must be hard,” he says considerately. “To have to just pretend like everything is okay all the time.”
Because of my hectic schedule right now, this is only our third session together in three weeks. I like this kid, but I feel bad that I’m helping him and not his older brother. But Cane made it clear he’s not interested in playing hockey anymore, so I don’t want to push it on him.
I haven’t seen Freya for more than a few minutes at pickup and drop-off, and during those times, she takes off quickly like her ass is on fire, and it really seems like she’s avoiding the hell out of me.
“Nah, you get used to it, I suppose,” I utter, even though it’s sort of a lie because half the time, I’m not even used to it. “So, tell me, has your love for playing goalie grown? Or are you still bent out of shape over it?”
“I’m not bent out of shape over it,” he says quickly. “I’d play anywhere I had to, just to have time on the ice.” He looksme over for a moment before sighing. “The truth is, Iloveplaying goalie, Tripp. It’s my favorite position so far.”
I can’t even act like I’m surprised by his answer because I knew something was off about the whole situation weeks ago, when he was complaining that his coach wanted him to play the position, but he seemed disconnected from what was actually coming out of his mouth. He kept glancing nervously over at where his brother was standing, and that was a dead giveaway that it had to do with Cane.
“So, go on. What is it?” I shrug, and when he’s silent, I decide to take a guess. “You’re afraid that you playing goalie will make Cane upset? Is that it?”
His eyes stare at the floor now, and his shoulders sag a bit lower. “My brother started playing hockey before he was five. By the time he was six, he became obsessed with being a goalie. My dad—well, I’ve heard Mom talk about him taking Cane to hockey; it was kind of their thing.” He pauses. “I guess my dad really loved hockey too. He didn’t play, but I’ve heard he loved to watch it.”
I’m not the guy you want to have a heart-to-heart with because I don’t know what to even say. I’m not sensitive, and I’m not even that good of a listener because other people’s problems make me uncomfortable, and I usually suggest to rub some dirt on it because that’s what I’ve always had to do. But this kid, I can feel the pain in his voice as he talks. I want to help him, but I don’t even know how.
Losing my dad at a young age fucked me up. I’m in no position to give anyone advice. I’ve run from facing my feelings from that loss and worked myself to death instead of dealing with the pain. But for whatever reason, I want to say something, anything, to make Cash feel better right now.
“So, you don’t want to be a goalie because Cane was one before your old man passed away?” I say, acting like I’m guessing but I know that’s his reasoning. “And you feel like you’d be betraying your brother if you see this thing through?”
