Page 39 of Slap Shot
“This is a nice space,” she says when we get to the room that might work for Lucy. “What were you using it for before?”
“Nothing important. I had a desk and a piece of weight lifting equipment in here, but I haven’t touched either in a year. It’s all in storage now. You can do whatever you want with the room. I was going to buy a mattress, but I have no clue what six-year-olds sleep on. Cribs? Race car beds? A refurbished canoe?”
“Definitely not a crib.” Madeline smiles and walks to the window. “A low loft bed would be perfect, but I’m glad you didn’t get anything. I don’t want you to spend money on us.”
I join her by the window and tap her shoulder. “My southern hospitality won’t let me do otherwise.”
“You’re paying me to work for you. I can afford a bed.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. Let’s table the furniture talk for a few minutes. Come see what I thought could be your room.”
We exchange small talk as we walk to the other side of the condo. Madeline tells me she likes the paint I picked out for the walls. I mention the two-hour debate I had in The Home Depot between Eggshell and White Dove, and she laughs when I say I finally gave up and picked Chantilly Lace.
When we make it to the room next to mine, she gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth, and she blinks.
“This would be for me?” she whispers. “All of it?”
“Yeah.” I point to the double doors. “That leads to the balcony. Over there is an en-suite bathroom. And you can’t forget the nook where you can put books or a desk so you can plan out meals.”
“This room alone is almost as big as our place back in Vegas.”
“The downside is you’ll have to share a wall with me. I hope that’s not too much of a plight for you.”
“Do you snore?”
“Nope. Doyousnore?”
“I’m snore free, so you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t mind sharing a wall with you. I’m not used to having so much separation from Lucy, but I think this will be good for us. She’s getting older, and she needs to learn some independence without me hovering over her every five seconds. I don’t want to be a helicopter parent, and being on top of each other won’t give her space to grow on her own.”
“You’re a good mom,” I say, and her bottom lip quivers. I remind myself to tell her that frequently when she’s around. “I’ll let you get settled. Come find me when you need a break.”
Madeline smiles, and it’s shy. On the edge of hesitant. But she squeezes my biceps, and electricity jolts through me. “Thank you, Hudson. I’ll bug you in a bit.”
I rubmy eyes and stretch my arms above my head. It’s almost one, and I’ve spent the last hour and a half watching footage from our first couple of games.
I see what Coach mentioned at practice the other day: I’m slow on offense. It’s like I’m a beat late, a second behind everyone else when we cross center ice, and I hate that I haven’t been as aggressive as my teammates.
“Hey. Do you mind if we talk for a minute?” Madeline asks, and I look up from my laptop.
“Sure. Anything beats watching film of my shitty skating.”
“Didn’t you win the Stanley Cup? Your skating can’t be that shitty.”
“Look at you knowing your hockey lingo.” I smile and point at the seat next to me. “What’s up?”
“It’s an awkward conversation.” She slides into the chair and folds her hands on the table. “But I figured we should get it out of the way.”
“Is this about the foot fetish again?”
“For someone who claims to not have a foot fetish, you sure are mentioning it a lot.”
“I could say the same about you,” I toss back, and she smirks.
“It’s not about the foot fetish. I know this is your place, not mine. You’ve graciously opened your home to me and my daughter, but I was hoping we could lay out some ground rules so we can cohabitate cordially.”
I tip my head to the side, intrigued. “What kind of rules? Where I dump my skates and gear? The blades are sharp, but I keep a guard on them when I’m not wearing them. Lucy won’t cut her fingers.”
“Not exactly. It’s not lost on me you’re an attractive professional athlete.” Madeline rolls her eyes. “Okay. Wipe that grin off your face. You know what you look like.”
