Training camp has been going well and the first few weeks of working alongside my grandfather have gone better than I’d anticipated. Gemma started her sophomore year at St. Christopher Academy, and so far she hasn’t had any diabetic episodes, so I’m calling that a win. However, what isn’t a win is the way she’s shut down on me this week. I’m not sure what to make of her shift in her mood quite yet. Gunner’s teacher said that he is thriving academically, but he’s been a bit shy and reserved when it comes to making new friends. I can’t help but feel guilty for keeping him home with me for as long as I did. After all we’d been through, I couldn’t stomach the thought of sending him to daycare.
I buckle my seatbelt and glance back at Gunner in the rearview mirror. His light brown hair is trimmed short on the sides, leaving the wavy hair on top a bit longer. Gemma’s hair is red like my own, however, hers is a bit of a darker auburn than mine. The three of us just got haircuts for our upcoming picture days. Gunner and Gemma both have school pictures next week, and I’ve got my first NHL media day headshots scheduled for tomorrow morning.
This afternoon is the team’s friends and family skate, so I suppose there’s a chance the three of us will be pictured by the team’s social media crew as well.
Gemma crosses her arms over her chest in the passenger seat beside me and pleads her case one final time for me to let her stay home.
“You can’t miss this event, Gems. Come on, it’ll be fun to get out on the ice again,” I say enthusiastically. “Besides, Gunner hasn’t had the opportunity to skate yet. I need your help to teach him how.”
Gemma used to figure skate before her diagnosis and she was beyond talented, like on track for the next Olympics talented. Since she gave up competition last year, she hasn’t stepped foot on the ice. It wasn’t a medical requirement that she give up the sport altogether, however, with how unsteady her sugars were, we spent months in and out of the hospital, and being the competitor she is, she decided to give up the sport when she felt she had fallen behind.
“I don’t even have skates that fit me anymore,” she counters.
“When I ordered Gunner’s skates, I got you a new pair in your size too,” I inform her.
That earns me an annoyed growl from my little sister.
“Fine! I’ll help Gunner, but don’t expect me to talk to anyone else, or pose for any stupid photos,” she grumbles.
“Deal. No talking to strangers and no photos,” I agree, winking at Gunner in the rearview when he sticks his tongue out at Gemma and makes a silly face to the back of her head.
I swallow the laughter that wants to slip out at his antics.
“I’m just going to stop by the house so we can get changed into warmer clothes, then we need to head over to the arena so we’re not late.”
This was the case the first few days of school as we adjusted to our new routine. Being late is a horrible habit I’ve been trying to break for as long as I can remember. My father told me growing up that it’s the one bad trait I inherited from my mother. According to him, she was chronically fashionably late to events. He used to tell me I had to beready thirty minutes before we really needed to leave to try to get us out the door on time, and even in doing so, I’d still manage to make us late.
When I pull up to our gated neighborhood, I wave at Frank, the security guard on duty, as he opens the gates for us. Living in a family home in the suburbs with a manicured lawn wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned for myself in my twenties, but I’m glad our family is fortunate enough to provide stability for Gunner and Gemma’s sake.
As we walk through the front door, I’m forced to face another bad habit of mine—I become chaotically disorganized when I’m overwhelmed, which is exactly how I’m feeling after all of the changes the past two months. When we moved from the cabin to this house, enrolled in new schools, and started a new career path all in a matter of a few weeks, my mind shut down on me. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed that it feels like my brain is an internet browser with hundreds of tabs open, so overwhelmed I start to short circuit, not knowing where to begin.
Looking around the main floor at all of the clutter, I make a mental note to look into hiring a housekeeper. Growing up, my father had a live-in housekeeper who also acted as a nanny to me until I went to school. Her name was Ruth and I loved her dearly. She is married to my former driver, Gibson. Shortly before my father passed away, Ruth and Gibson retired to help care for their first grandchild, but we still talk often. I’d love to find someone as loving and caring as Ruth to help around the house and perhaps with Gemma and Gunner if I need to work late.
Once we’re changed, we head to the arena and I park in the underground parking reserved for players and management.
I grab the bag of our skates and a helmet for Gunner from the trunk of my SUV and lock it before grabbing Gunner’s hand. “You excited, Bug?” I ask him.
“Yeah, let’s do this!” he squeals. I don’t miss the small smile Gemma tries to hide when she hears the excitement in his voice. I’m looking forward to sharing this experience with them. Perhaps I’m even excited to see a certain someone I’ve only been able to catch glimpses of in passing this week. It’s been boring not giving him a little hell.
Bennett
I see her copper hair flowing around her before I register anything else.
Like the small boy beside her taking timid steps onto the ice. Or the other girl with darker auburn hair, who looks to be in her teens, skating up to the two of them with a skate trainer for the boy.
Scarlett is here.
Jackson chooses this exact moment to skate up to me and spray ice that makes it all the way up to my lower stomach.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I growl at him under my breath as I dust the powder off my jacket and pants.
“Funny, I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” he throws back at me.
Letting out a sigh of annoyance, I try to subtly look over his shoulder to see if I can spot Scarlett again. I must do a shit job because Jax turns to see where I’m looking and when he spots her, he sucks in a deep breath.
“Is that Little Red Riding Hood?” he questions.
Motherfucker. This is exactly what I didn’t need today. “Who?” I ask, trying to feign ignorance.
