Page 8 of Wake Me Up
He nods politely, gathering the rest of his things and slinging his duffel over his shoulder. “Yep, ready.” He glances my way, his eyes meeting mine. “Thank you so much, Coach Talmage.”
Coach Talmage.No one has ever called me that. But today, we split the kids up into groups, and I did coach Cash’s team. So, I mean, I suppose I was his coach. But only for, like, half an hour.
“Hope to see you again, kid,” I say, stepping completely out of my comfort zone. “Stick with it, all right? You’re a damn good player.”
His entire face lights up like I just made his whole day. I know I did because I was his age once too. If an NHL player had said those words to me back then, I probably would have embarrassed myself from being so damn excited.
As they turn and walk away from me, my eyes find their way back to his mother. I don’t know her name or anything about her. But I do know this much: she’s a married woman. I know because I saw the ring on her finger. I can’t let my eyes roam to her ass because she’s taken.
Well, I can’t look for toolong anyway.
“Mom! Mom … did you hear him? Tripp Talmage said I’m a damn good player.” Cash continues talking, just like he has the entire ride home.
I let it slide that he swore because he’s so excited right now, and I don’t want to take this moment from him.
“He said he hopes to see me again. What if, like … he wants me to be a Shark with him? Not now, but down the road?”
I fight my grin, not wanting him to think I’m not taking him seriously, but it’s just so nice to see him so happy about something. “Well, I think by then, he’d be the grandpa of NHL players, babe. So, maybe he meant before then?”
His eyes widen, and his mouth hangs open. “He totally wants to work with me again, doesn’t he? He thought I was that good. Wow, Mom. Wow.”
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging. “We’ll have to try to get you into another one of those clinics then, right?”
“Uh … yes!” He nods his head quickly. “Can I have your phone to call Papa? I have to tell him all about it.”
Laughing, I pass him my phone so he can call my dad and then listen to him tell him literally every single detail of the day, feeling warmth spread across my chest as he does.
I’ll admit, talking to a professional hockey player made me nervous. And even though I know Tripp probably didn’t mean to, his eyes were burning right into mine, so I made sure to never look directly into them. I don’t think I’ve looked into a man’s eyes in five years, and starting with the NHL player who coached my son that morning didn’t seem like the way to dip my toes in that water.
And I’m sure a guy like that is used to women throwing themselves at him. He was probably toying with me by staring at me like that.
Besides, I was wearing jogger pants and an oversize T-shirt because I had been at the bakery, trying to finish up some orders for the week. I dare to say he probably wasn’t looking at me the way it felt like he was.
Either way, it wasn’t all bad, taking in all the man meat around metoday. I haven’t even considered dating and likely never will. But when the universe gives you a six-foot-seven goalie with ocean-blue eyes and a gorgeous face to admire for a few measly minutes … you’re allowed to take the opportunity.
Widow or not.
Aviana and I sing “Cool” by her favorite band, the Jonas Brothers, at the top of our lungs—just like we always do when this one comes on the radio. No matter what craziness is going on in the world, turning up the radio and singing our hearts out makes everything better.
Cane plays on his phone with his AirPods in to drown out the noise and keeps any negative comments to himself because he knows that if he’s a jerk, I’ll just sing louder.
It’s been a busy day. I didn’t have to work today at the bakery, but instead, I was stuck doing adult crap, like paying bills and confirming appointments, mainly for Aviana because a kid with epilepsy requires more appointments than your typical kid.
I’m tired, and when my car feels like I’m driving over a rumble strip when no rumble strip is to be found, I want to cry because sometimes … you just can’t mentally or emotionally handle one more thing being thrown at you. And I’m at that point right now.
Who am I kidding? I’ve been at this point for a long damn time.
Turning the music down, I notice the tire pressure gauge flashing in warning, and I cringe before slowly pulling over onto the side of the road.
Taking his AirPods off, Cane frowns. “Tire again?”
“Oh, man! And it was at the best part of the song too.” Aviana huffs, clearly as annoyed as I am.
I sigh. “Yep. Second one in two months. Love this for us.” I push the door open. “Stay here. I’m going to call Papa and see if he’s nearby.” I shake my head at myself. “I keep saying I’m going to learn to change a tire, and then I don’t.”
Of course, Cane doesn’t listen and gets out to help me. I forget sometimes that he’s not a tiny child anymore and really has had to be the man of the house since he was Ave’s age.
He leans down. “That’s a big nail, Mom.”He points.
