Page 41 of Puck Daddies
I step into the office and pick up the phone. I call our equipment supplier. “It’s Meg at Bea’s. Do you still have that demo home machine on clearance? The compact one.”
“Yeah,” the rep says. “Boxed and ready.”
“Can you process a card over the phone and deliver it to a customer address today? It’s a gift.”
“Sure,” he says. “Name and address.”
I give him Ms. Delaney’s info. Maybe she’ll be less grumpy if she’s properly caffeinated.
“Thanks,” I say. “Please include a gift note:Hudson is never late. Enjoy your coffee.”
I hang up and breathe. My hands are steady. I walk back out and put the card in the drawer under the till. I tell Aqua, “Lock this up or I might get too generous.”
By three, the fake review surge slows. Flagging and reporting helped. Regulars posted real reviews. The average starts to climb back. Bex shows me the graph on the dashboard.
I nod. “We keep going.”
At four, Dana calls. “Received your package. The early menus are gold. The schedules help. The sketchbook is decisive.”
“It’s Aunt Bea’s notes. She wrote her initials in the margins.”
“We’ll send a demand for withdrawal by end of day. If they don’t, we file a counterclaim for bad-faith interference and seek fees. You did the right thing by not responding.”
“Thank you.”
“Expect them to push. Don’t take their calls. Everything through me.”
“Understood.”
I text Oliver:Thank you for your help.
He sends back:Proud of you for accepting it. See you later.
My staff did their jobs and didn’t burn down the internet. Luke is probably staring at his charge alerts and grinding his teeth. That’s not my problem. The moron left a black card like it was a threat, telling me who to hire to fix the problem he’s causing.
Fuck that guy.
I’m tired and still wired. I want to say I don’t care, but I do. I want to say this doesn’t get to me. It does.
I also know what I’m made of. Today proves it. I asked for help when I needed it. I said no when I had to. I made the room feel like ours again. I spent hisemergencymoneyon my own terms.
Tomorrow we do it again. Tonight I’m going home.
14
HUDSON
Practice turnsugly in the first drill. Pucks in the corner, battle out, finish on the net. Travis hooks my hands and chirps in my ear. I shrug him off, win the puck, turn up ice. He slashes my stick. Coach blows it dead.
“Keep your sticks down,” Coach says. “Again.”
Next rep, Travis rides my hip after the whistle. I bump him off legal and hard. He doesn’t get the message. He shoulder-checks me three strides later when the puck’s gone. I spin, chest hot, hands up. He grins through his cage like he just made varsity.
“Edwards, cut it out.”
“It’s practice,” he says, all teeth. “What’re you so bent for?”
Damn kid.
