Page 109 of The Assist
After, I strip off my helmet and jog off the ice toward the family area. Mum’s waiting, tucked near the back, looking small but fierce in a navy jacket and sensible boots. She spots me instantly, her whole face lighting up. My throat goes tight. Jesus, I’ve missed her.
“Mum,” I say, and suddenly I’m twelve years old again, crashing into her arms after scoring my first goal. She hugs me hard, smelling like all things home.
“You look so grown up,” she says, stepping back to look at me. “When didthat happen?”
“Couple of weeks ago,” I joke.
She laughs and cups my cheek, her hand warm and familiar. “You were brilliant out there,” she says.
“It was just warm-ups.”
“Still brilliant.”
I smile, ducking my head. “Mum, there’s someone I want you to meet,” I say, my heart hammering. Her eyebrows lift sharply, and I know she’s curious. I turn and there’s Mia, hovering back a little, pretending to check something on her clipboard but obviously stealing glances at us.
I catch her eye and give her the tiniest nod. She walks over, composed, professional, but there’s a flush in her cheeks I can’t help but feel smug about.
“Mum, this is Mia Clarke,” I say. “She’s our team physio.”
Mia sticks out her hand, polite smile in place. “Mrs Winters,” she says warmly.
“Maggie, love. Please.” Mum beams, gripping Mia’s hand between both of hers. “And it’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
Finally meet you.
Notmeet you.Finally. Mia catches it, too, and her eyes flicker but she just smiles. “And you,” she says, steadily.
“You take good care of my boy, I hear,” Mum says, squeezing Mia’s hand before letting go.
I want to crawl into a hole and die. Mia laughs, it’s easy and pretty. Melodic even. “I try,” she says, shooting me a quick sideways glance that makes my stomach flip.
Mum leans in slightly, lowering her voice like we’re sharing some big conspiracy. “He’s always been a stubborn one. Won’t listen to good advice. But he’s got a good heart.”
“I know,” Mia says quietly. Our eyes meet and I know she’s no longer talking about hockey. My mum sees it. Of course she does. She smiles this small, knowing smile thatmakes my chest ache. Sheknows. She knew the second she saw us.
The team starts filing backinto the locker room, shouting and clattering. I have to go. But I linger a second longer, soaking it all in; the weight of Mia beside me, the warmth of my mum’s approval, the stupid, terrifying, but incredible feeling that somehow, against all odds, this isreal. “I’ll see you after the game, just stay here and I’ll come get you,” I say to Mum.
“You’ll smash it, love,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I turn to Mia. She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t have to. It’s in her eyes; bright and fierce andmine. I jog off, heart pounding like I’ve already played the whole damn game.
The game itself is a blur. I’m sharper than I’ve been in weeks, adrenaline burning through my veins in the best way. Every shift feels electric. I score once in the second period, and assist twice. The crowd’s roaring, chanting my name, and I swear I can feel Mum’s pride like a physical thing in the stands.
And Mia; somewhere behind the bench, watching. Always watching.
The thought makes me play harder and we win, four-two. By the time the buzzer sounds, I’m flying. Not just from the win. From everything. Mia. Mum. This impossible, ridiculous, and perfect life I’m somehow building.
After the game, back in the lounge, Mum’s waiting with a hot cup of tea and a look that could strip paint. “So,” she says casually as I flop into the seat across from her. “You and the physio, huh?”
I choke on my Lucozade.
Mum smirks. “I’m not stupid, Dylan,” she says, sipping her tea. “You look at her like she hung the stars.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, half-laughing, half-mortified. “It’s complicated,” I admit.
“Complicated because of work?” Mum questions, I can see the worry etched on her brow. I nod. “And you love her?”
I nod again, my throat too dry to speak.
Mum just smiles, it’s warm and wise. “Good. She’s lovely. And she clearly adores you.”
