Page 23 of Three Pucking Words
My father shakes off his surprise and clears his throat, turning in his chair to face me. “I’m planning new formations for our first game against the Blackhawks to better utilize our offensive positions.”
I blink slowly, not sure what any of that really means. Just because I searched for one player doesn’t mean I YouTubed how the game works.
“That’s…cool.” We’re quiet for a second, save the ticking clock on the wall. “Isn’t that Seattle’s team? The Blackhawks?”
The way he gapes at me tells me I’m not correct. Probably not even close. “It’s Chicago’s team,” he replies slowly, setting his pen down and scratching the column of his throat. “You know, the place you lived.”
I wince. Right. Idoknow that. Max would talk about hockey all the time when we were together. Leaving him meant not being surrounded by twenty-four-seven sports talk.
“Right,” I relent, nodding sheepishly.
“Seattle’s hockey team is the Krakens,” he tells me.
Whoops.“I was close,” I offer weakly.
We both know I wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
The smallest smile threatens to tilt his lips before it disappears. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle a position with this team if a spot opens up? With social media growing, we’re always looking to spotlight our games and players.”
It’s an understandable question since I’m not well versed in anything hockey. I make a mental note to research all the teams, so I don’t mix up anymore. Next it’ll be the New England Celtics or the Baltimore Eagles. “I’m a quick learner. You taught me how to ride a bike after a day and a half. Remember? I only fell once.”
This time, his smile grows. It’s not big, but it’s full of nostalgia. “You didn’t even cry. Stood up, brushed yourself off, and told me you wanted to try again. Didn’t even want a Band-Aid for the scrape on your knee.”
I can hear the hint of pride in his voice. We don’t have many memories together, but there are a mix of good ones with the bad. He’d clapped and cheered me on as I peddled down the sidewalk that day.
The memory fades from his eyes, and he’s back to business.Erikson eyes.I’m starting to see what Cal means. “Do you still shoot?”
I know it isn’t guns he’s asking about. Photography was an obsession of mine for a long time, and yet another casualty of my marriage that I gave up when my muse died out. “It’s been a while,” I admit, an ache forming around the words in my chest that’s similar to the one I felt when Mila brought it up at the house. “But I still have everything. Why?”
He leans back in his chair, resting his interwoven hands on his stomach. “Because our photographer went on maternity leave a few days ago. She also handled a lot of our social media pages—doing questions of the days, interviewing players,keeping up with engagement. She wasn’t supposed to be on leave for another month or two, but her doctor was concerned. So we could use somebody to replace her.”
When was the last time I touched my camera? I’d opened the case once or twice over the years, but the beauty of life had been missing too much to capture it. The thought of picking it up…
A heaviness settles in my stomach.
“So?” he presses expectedly. “What do you say? Think you can handle that? There will be someone more apt than me who you’ll report to. God knows I can’t make heads or tails of online shit these days.”
I huff out a laugh. I’d seen a post-game interview with him once being asked if he saw what some of his players were posting on TikTok. He asked what TikTok was.
Taking a deep breath, I remember what Mila said about having a fresh start. More importantly, I remind myself that I’m desperate for one.
“When do I begin?”
One of his eyebrows raises. “You’re not going to ask how much the pay is? Or if there’s health benefits?”
I would, but does it matter? “You wouldn’t let me accept something unless it had decent benefits given my health status.”
He dips his head in confirmation, not bothering to argue the fact. “And the money?”
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I decide to be honest with him. “My options are a bit limited right now. Anything is better than nothing. And, frankly, the only other choice I have is working at Mila’s Bistro. Maybe I’ll even do that on the side, I haven’t decided yet. The point is, I don’t care what it pays because I needsomethingin my life. And this sounds like the perfect thing to distract me.”
His brows dip. “Distract you from what, exactly?”
I haven’t had a chance to see him since dealing with the divorce papers. It’s been a week and a half, and I officially got the call this morning that it was final.
“I’m officially a divorced woman,” I tell him, looking at him through my lashes. I lift my hands and wiggle all ten fingers. “Yay,” I murmur in mock joy.
His expression doesn’t change, but I do see a slight dim in his eyes. “That’s not a club I ever wanted you to join, Honor.”
