Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey 5)

I have a very bad feeling from that message that maybe he doesn’t.

Me: What’s wrong?

West: Em cut his hand open and Asher’s taken him to the hospital so now Ben is sobbing and Hazel looks like she’s going to cry too. Then Rhys told me this year is even worse than last year and Zoe locked herself in the car … I don’t know what to do.

Shit. I quickly excuse myself and duck into the hall. The panic in his text is coming through loud and clear, so when I call him, I’m surprised to hear his voice is steady.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Please don’t ask that.” He breathes shakily. “I … fuck.” His voice drops to a whisper. “We’re at my boss’s house, and they can’t behave for one afternoon?”

“It sounds stressful.” My heart hurts for him being in such an impossible situation. I wish I could help, even if it was just to be there for support.

“Like, I get it,” he continues. “Our parents aren’t here, and it’s the worst, but I tried. I tried so hard to distract them so they wouldn’t notice what we’re missing, and they can’t even play nice and help me pretend like everything is fine. Today isn’t exactly easy for me either.”

“It’s not, but you’re going to get through it. One kid at a time. There’s nothing you can do about Emmett, so start from the top. Why is Zoe in the car?”

He huffs. “I don’t even know. She seemed fine, then after Emmett left, her attitude went to a nine.”

“Well, why don’t you ask her?” I suggest gently.

The phone goes slightly muffled, but I can make out movement, then a light knock.

“Zoe, what are you doing?”

“Go away, West.”

“Kinda hard to do that when you’ve got the keys and won’t unlock the damn car.”

I bite my tongue to stop from interfering, even if that’s probably not how I would have handled it.

There’s a light bang, like a door slamming closed, then the rattle of keys.

“Take them, then,” Zoe shouts. “I’ll walk home.”

“You’re fifteen. You’re not walking anywhere.”

“So I’m old enough to look after the kids, but I can’t walk a few blocks?”

“It’s freezing, and it’s Christmas.”

Her hollow laugh comes down the line. “What the hell does Christmas matter? Mom and Dad are gone, Asher and his boyfriend are with Em at the hospital, Rhys won’t get off his damn phone, and I don’t think Hazel’s said a word all day. Give me a break.”

“See?” West says, suddenly back. “What am I supposed to say to that? She’s right. The day is a disaster.”

I think back to West saying he’s trying to distract them to forget, but I think the reason Zoe’s upset is clear. “Do you want my input?”

“Please. I’m all out of ideas.”

“It sounds like Zoe’s upset because you’re all split up.”

He lets out a frustrated grunt. “It’s not like I can help that.”

“With any luck, Asher and Emmett won’t be gone long. Until they’re back, is there a way you can all … do something as a family? Maybe address some of the feelings you’re all going through?”

“They’re sad. We’re all sad. But I can’t fix that—I tried.”

“How do you know they’re sad?”

“How else would they feel?”

“Why don’t you ask them?” My words are met with a beat of silence, and then West swears softly.

“You think that will work?”

“I don’t have much experience with kids. But if it works or it doesn’t, there’s one thing I want you to remember.”

“Which is?”

“You can’t control how they feel and act.” It’s something I learned early on in my career. “You can help and guide and give them the skills to find the answers, but they’re the ones who have to take responsibility for doing the work. If they don’t want to talk, you can’t make them. You can only try.”

He lets out a long exhale, and when he talks again, his words sound lighter. “You’re not just a pretty face.”

“To be fair, I don’t think I’m even that.”

“You’re right. Pretty isn’t the right word. Handsome? Breathtaking?”

My cheeks heat, and I let out a chuckle. “I prefer boxer briefs–melting.”

“Let’s not go that far.”

That gets a real laugh. “I’m going to let you go. Are you okay? I can come over if you need me to …” I already know what his answer will be, but I can’t help that little spark of hope.

“Thanks, but you’ve given me something to work with.”

Of course. I lick my lips and nod at the carpet. “All right, well, we’ll talk later.”

“Sure. And Jasper?” His tone turns rough and warm. It gives me butterflies. “Thank you.”

A few hours later, when the Christmas festivities have died down and I’m climbing into bed, my phone lights up with a text.

You were right. The kids didn’t want new iPads and phones. They didn’t want to go to a stranger’s house, and they didn’t want to be split up. We spent the night talking about Dad and their mom—oh, and fun fact: the twins keep switching places on me. That’s why I can’t tell them apart. They admitted they used to do it to Dad too. I should be pissed? But in a weird way, it tells me they see me like they saw him. And … I can’t be mad at that. Okay, this text is long and rambly. Sorry. I’m exhausted. I hope you had a merry Christmas.