“It’s Lund.”
“Jaxson Lund. Nice.” I nipped his chin. “I’m Lucy Quade.”
* * *
• • •
Mommy, what are you doing?”
The memory vanished.
I whirled around to see Mimi leaning out of the rear car window. Jax rested against the passenger side door, watching me. I hadn’t heard him get out of the car, but I wasn’t surprised he’d needed to make sure I was all right. In truth, I was more melancholy than freaked out now that I’d revisited a defining moment in my life. It’d been a life changer for Jax too, and it hurt my heart a little that he’d gone to such lengths to try and reconnect with that happy time in his life.
I smiled at him and then our daughter. “I was just checking out this cool old building that your dad owns.”
“Are you done? Because I’m hungry. My tummy is growling.”
How could she possibly need more food?
“How about if we hit the Burger Time drive-thru on the way home?” he said to Mimi.
“Yay!”
After telling Mimi to buckle up, Jax opened my car door for me. “You okay with this?”
“This” wasn’t referring to fast food. “Now that the shock has worn off? Yes, I am.” I poked him in the chest. “But don’t throw away that sign, buddy.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Twelve
JAX
My week from hell started first thing Monday morning.
We still hadn’t received the proper permits from the city, so renovations at the barcade and Borderlands remained at a standstill.
The final inspection for my apartment got pushed back due to an electrical issue.
That electrical issue would affect half of the apartment building if left unattended, so as building owner, I had to listen to solutions and sign off on upgrades that cost me two hundred grand.
I suffered through a Lund Industries board of directors meeting that dragged on for three hours, so I was twenty-five minutes late picking Mimi up from school and she let me have it.
My counselor had an emergency and postponed our appointment on a week I really could have used a neutral party to talk to.
Nolan reminded me I still hadn’t hired a decorator/designer for my new apartment, which meant the only room that would have furniture was Mimi’s bedroom, since I’d rented a furnished place at Snow Village.
I hadn’t had time to work out since Sunday night.
And Lucy had gone radio silent—no calls, no texts . . . nothing.
Although it was only Wednesday afternoon, it’d been the longest three days I could remember.
I walked into the front offices of Lakeside Ice Arena to drop off Mimi’s registration paperwork. No sign of Crabby Gabi, but as soon as Margene saw me she hustled over and bumped my shoulder.
“Hey hey. The big shot is in the building.”
I made a show of looking over my shoulder, and Margene laughed.
“Glad to see you’ve got a sense of humor.” She sobered immediately when someone came through the door behind me. Under her breath she said, “Trust me, you’re gonna need it.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’m supposed to drop off this paperwork.”
“I’ll take it.” She frowned. “Mimi isn’t with you? Doesn’t she have skills class?”
“I’m meeting her here. Her mother is bringing her.”
“Gotcha. Come on. Let’s get this over with.” She sidestepped me and headed down a hallway.
I followed her into a conference room, where a little gnome of a man was laying into Gabi. And he didn’t bother to keep his voice down.
“I don’t know how many goddamned times I have to tell you this. I am the coach. You are just the assistant. Your opinion is just that; it means nothing to me. You know you’re lucky to even have a job—”
Margene cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Dennis, but we have a parent here.”
His look said “So?” and I immediately disliked him even more.
“His daughter is starting skills class today,” Margene continued. “It’s always been our practice for the parents to meet their child’s coaches.”
Surprisingly he offered his hand first. “I’m Dennis Dyklar. You can call me Coach Dyklar.”
Wow. Okay. I shook his hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Jax.” I felt both Margene and Gabi staring at me for not sharing my full name.
And when “Call me Coach Dyklar” scrutinized me, I thought he’d recognized me. But instead he said, “Been a while since I’ve met a parent new to hockey. So I have to ask if you’re one of those helicopter parents that’s always hovering in the background, on guard to rush to your kid’s rescue?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Good. As long as you stick to my rules we won’t have a problem.”
Buddy, I’ve already got a problem with you. “What rules would those be, Coach Dyklar?”
“First off, your kid needs to be fully dressed and ready to hit the ice five minutes before the first whistle. Second, I’m the coach, not you. If I feel you’re a distraction, I’ll limit the amount of time you’re allowed rink side, maybe even deny you visiting privileges entirely.”
No way in hell would I walk off and leave my daughter with this guy.
“Third, she needs to be able to handle criticism. Coaches yell at players. A fact of hockey life. Some girls can’t handle it. Some girls cry.”
“Some boys cry too, Coach Dyklar,” Gabi pointed out.
He shot Gabi a dirty look.
She merely blinked at him.
A little tension there.
“Any questions?” Coach Dickhead asked me.
“Just one. Are you her skills coach or her team coach?”
He sighed, as if I’d asked a dumb question. “Both.”
“I assumed there’d be a dedicated instructor for skills.”
“When I took over the ten-and-under levels, I combined the two positions,” he said proudly. “Who better to test their skills than their coach?”
It wasn’t about “testing” skills—it was supposed to be about teaching skills. If players didn’t learn the basic skills and practice them, how would they win games? And a coach as a skills teacher at this level meant the kids who had a better handle on basic skills would garner more of the coach’s attention and more ice time.
“Sorry, Jack—”
“It’s Jax,” I corrected him.
He waved his hand at me in the ultimate “whatever” dismissal. “I’ve got to go over some important coaching stuff with Gabi before class starts. Margene can answer any other questions.”
All of a sudden I had a lot of questions for Margene.
As soon as we were out of the conference room, Margene faced me and put her finger over her lips, then led me down the opposite hallway into a tiny office.
She skirted the desk to sit behind it. “Close the door.”
I did and remained standing, leaning my shoulders against it.
Margene made the “out with it” motion.
“He’s the reason why there are openings in the eight-year-old class.”
“He’s also the reason why we’ve lost half a dozen really good coaches in the past year alone. He’s an egotistical asshole with nothing to back it up.”
“Little man syndrome?” I asked.
“And little dick syndrome,” she said with a snicker. “Not that I know that firsthand.”
“Has he been here from the start?”
She shook her head. “Lakeside has been in operation for four years. He showed up two years ago, claiming he’d coached hockey at a private school on the East Coast. But we’ve never been able to verify it—refusing to hire him hadn’t been an option, since his great-aunt owns this place.”
“His is a paid
, full-time position?”
“A part-time paid position.” She snorted. “That’s the reason he combined the skills and coaching positions; now he gets paid to do both.” She held up her hand when I opened my mouth to object. “I’m aware of the need for separation, but I manage the rink and set the schedule. I’m not part of the coaching staff, so I have no vote in staffing positions or their teaching decisions.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve had no recourse except to watch him ruin what had once been a promising hockey program.” She slumped back in her chair. “Now that you know our dirty little secret about Dennis the Menace, I imagine you’ll seek out other options for Mimi.”
I gave her a considering look before I spoke. “I could. I have the means. But what about the other families who are using the facility for recreational hockey? They have to suck it up or quit. And since Lakeside’s concept of rec hockey and club hockey in one facility appealed to us, I’ll suck it up too.” I smirked at her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll just accept the way he runs things.” I’d bide my time, get a feel for the place and the patrons before deciding how much I wanted to stir the pot.
Margene grinned at me. “I knew you were trouble, Stonewall. Give ’em hell and welcome to Lakeside.”
When I returned to the rink, Mimi was already there and dressed. “Hey, girl. You ready for this?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Remember what we practiced?”
“When I’m on the ice, my stick is in my hand.”
“Very good. What else?”
“Keep my head up and my blade on the ice.”
“You get an A-plus for today.”
Her grin was there and gone as she shifted her stance.
“What’s up?”
“Mommy said she saw you going into the office.”
“I had to drop off your registration paperwork.”
“Did you meet my coach?”
“I met him briefly.”
She blurted out, “Is he nice?”
What a loaded question. “Why did you ask that?”
“Because two of the other players said he’s mean and he yells all the time.” Her eyes were so anxious it slayed me. “Daddy, what if he yells at me?”
I forced an even tone. “You need to listen to him and what he’s yelling at you about. If you weren’t paying attention and put another player in danger . . . that’s a more serious reason to be yelled at than you missing a shot on goal, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ve gotten yelled at by coaches my whole life. It’s not fun. So no matter what happens, you can talk to me about it afterward, because I know how it feels. You never have to hold anything back with me, okay?”
She nodded.
“Mimi, you’re sure you want to do this? Because if you want to walk off the ice right now, you can, no explanation needed.”
“No. I wanna play.”
I smiled at her. “Then go have fun. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
The whistle blew, signaling the start of class.
I scanned the stands and saw Lucy near the top. I dipped my chin at her but didn’t scale the steps to sit beside her. I had no precedent for what she expected during Mimi’s ice time, so I opted to stay in the front row so I could hear the coach and watch my daughter.
Ten minutes into the class, I wanted to punch Coach Dyklar in the throat.
The man had no idea what he was doing.
Where were the straight skating drills?
And blowing that goddamned whistle every couple of minutes . . . I wished he’d choke on it. Maybe he would if I could get away with a quick elbow shot.
The bench beside me squeaked, and a soft, warm hand covered my fist resting on my right thigh.
“I can see how tense you are even from the top of the stands,” Lucy said. “Relax.”
“I can’t. This is so fucked up. He shouldn’t be teaching this class, because he’s teaching them nothing. It’s an utter waste of time for her.”
Lucy leaned into me. “I’m a newb, remember? Explain what you mean.”
I launched into a running dialogue of everything that was wrong with this scenario.
She didn’t interrupt or ask a bunch of questions. She just let me ramble and kept running her fingers up and down my knuckles, trying to soothe me.
When I finished ranting, she pulled a water bottle out of her bag and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” That’s when I noticed she sat so close the left side of her body was pressed against the right side of mine from calves to shoulders. “You cold?”
“A little. Somebody was thoughtful enough to bring a blanket last time.”
“Sorry. I don’t have my equipment bag with me.”
“Don’t apologize. This hot body of yours is warming me right up.”
“Good.”
After a moment, she lifted her head from my biceps and forced my attention away from the rink to her. “You are upset by this coach if you didn’t make a sexy, lewd comment in response to mine.”
I gave her a tiny head-butt. “Don’t distract me when I’m in meddling hockey parent mode.” Then I put my arm around her and tugged her closer.
After watching for a while, Lucy said, “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing, probably.”
She snorted. “Like I buy that. You’re a problem solver.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew about all the things hanging over my head that haven’t gotten resolved this week,” I grumbled.
“Welcome to the club, Lund.”
Before I could ask for more details on her bad week, the class moved to center ice. “Now why the hell would he do that?” I watched as Coach Dumbass put two kids in the face-off circle. “That kid in the red? Jesus. He can barely stand up on skates. The last thing he needs is to hear about face-off strategies.”
“And again, I ask you, Stonewall, what you plan on doing about these problems you’re seeing.”
“I’ll work with Mimi on basic skills.”
“And her teammates? What about them?”
“I’d give them pointers if they’re around when I’m teaching Mimi.”
“So more hours at the rink?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll start packing my own pillow and blanket.”
I looked at her. “You don’t have to be here for every practice, Luce. I can pick her up and bring her home.”
“Which in the near future will be you riding the elevator and knocking on our door.”
Not soon enough.
She placed her hand on my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“How I left things on Sunday. Saying no to checking out your new digs and then for not touching base with you at all this week.”
I brushed a few stray strands of hair away from her face. “Still freaked out about me owning the bar?”
“A little. I’ll feel better if you admit it’s weird you bought it.”
“Nope. Never.”
She laughed. “Jerk.”
“Since Mimi has a cell phone, you don’t have to touch base with me as much. I can talk directly to her.”
Her eyes searched mine. “She called you this week?”
“Every night.” I smirked. “She needs someone to talk hockey with, newb.”
“See?” She whapped me on the chest. “If I don’t come to practices and learn about the game, I’ll be left out.”
I knew how that felt and I never wanted that for her.
Then she slid her hand up my neck and cupped my jaw. “Let me ease some of your tension and take your mind off your troubles for a little while.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her.
She still was so freaking cute when she blu
shed.
“Not that, Mr. Dirty Mind. I’m asking you to come over for dinner tonight.”
“I’d love that, Luce.” I turned my head and kissed her wrist. “Thanks for asking.”
“I need to make a store run first.” She paused. “You’re okay with sticking around here until class ends and bringing Mimi home?”
“Yep. It’ll probably be another hour and a half before we’re there.”
“That works for me.” She scraped her nails through the stubble on my cheek. “I like this scruffy look on you, so don’t feel like you have to head home to shower and change before dinner.” Then she backed off and stood. “Behave. I mean it.”
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me, Mr. Body Slam. You’re in an arena, a dude you can’t stand is on the ice; it’s your perfect excuse to smash him into the boards.”
I grinned.
“You aren’t getting Mimi thrown out on her first day. So you are benched, Stonewall. Or stuck in the sin bin, or whatever it’s called when you are out of play.”
“Damn, Lucy Q, I’m almost proud that you remembered some hockey talk.”
“Hard to forget how thoroughly you drilled a few of those terms into me. Over and over.”
My eyes gleamed when my mind flashed back to that night. In retrospect, it’d been one of the best nights of my life, because that’s when I’d known—
“Wipe that hot and bothered expression off your face.”
“Then you shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She rolled her eyes. “See you.”
I refocused on the action on the ice. Gabi waited in the ref’s crease, but I hadn’t seen Coach Dickless call her over even once. There was no point in having an assistant coach if you didn’t utilize them.
Finally class ended.
Mimi skated over to me.
“Hey, how was it?”
She pulled off her glove and then her helmet in that quick manner that all hockey players did and that gave me a burst of pride. Then she leveled the “Are you kidding me?” look that was one hundred percent her mother. “You saw how it was, Daddy.”
When the pointlessness of the class was obvious to an eight-year-old . . . “You still have to tell me one positive thing about the class.”