“Coach Reaper says we get to pick our nicknames at the end of this week,” Luca said as I pulled into a parking spot.
I still couldn’t help but wince at the awful name.Reaper?Who picked that as what they would be called throughout their career?
“I’m pretty partial to Superstar,” I said as I turned off the engine.
Luca rolled his eyes, looking so much older than his seven years. “Moooom, that’s dorky.”
I clutched my chest. “Knife to the heart, kid. You don’t like my nickname?”
Luca giggled, looking more his age. “It sounds like I’m bragging.”
He had a point. I twisted in my seat. “You know, I like that you’re thinking about how your nickname might make other people feel. Shows me how kind you are.”
Luca’s cheeks pinked. “I don’t like it when people make me feel bad about something. Like I’m not as good as them.”
A wave of fierce protectiveness surged, and I had to bite back the urge to demand to know who had ever made him feel bad about himself so I could hunt down a bunch of soon-to-be second-graders. Instead, I calmly said, “It’s great that you can remember that and try not to do the same.”
Luca’s little mouth fought a smile. “But I still want somethingreallycool.”
I grinned. “Of course, you do. I think we need some time to brainstorm. How about we watchMighty Duckstonight, eat our weight in cupcakes, and make a list?”
He beamed, and, God, that smile was a gift. It was the kind of grin that said my kid had no worries beyond picking the coolest hockey nickname imaginable. And that was what I’d been working so hard for. What I’d fought for when I packed my apartment up in the dead of night and drove across the country for days. What I’d worked countless double shifts and sold plasma for. What I bore scars for.
My fingers itched to trace the faint line from the split lip or the raised flesh on my side where I’d been sliced by that enforcer’s steel-toed boot. But I resisted. It was a miracle I’d hidden the worst of thedamage from Luca as it was. I wasn’t about to be the one to remind him.
“Mom, you are theAWESOMEST!” Luca cheered.
I laughed, releasing the painful memories and holding on to the good. “I love being the awesomest. Are you ready to go kick some hockey booty?”
“Duh!” Luca unlatched his seat belt. “Can I get out?”
I quickly looked around the parking lot. “Sure. But stay right by the car.”
Luca nodded, slid out of his booster seat, and shoved the door open. I hurried to extricate myself because I didn’t trust my kid’s willpower to keep himself in place. Crossing to the rear of my SUV, I lifted the back hatch.
Luca bounced up and down, telling me all about what they’d done yesterday for the tenth time. Whatever this hockey bug was, he had it bad. And I couldn’t help the nerves that settled in deep. Ones that set me on edge.
It felt wrong to hope that Luca didn’t have what it took to go the distance with this sport. But was it really bad to wish he was just good enough to play through high school and then call it a day? I wanted him to do something perfectly boring for a career. An accountant or dermatologist sounded nice.
But as I slung the massive duffel over my shoulder and closed the hatch, I couldn’t help taking in the sheer joy on Luca’s face.Thatwas what I wanted most of all. His happiness.
And if hockey gave him that, so be it. I’d be the most diehard hockey mom around. I should probably watch some YouTube videos. Or maybe there was a how-to guide somewhere.
I reached out a hand, and Luca took it, swinging our arms back and forth as he talked a mile a minute, throwing out terms that might as well have been a foreign language. When we reached the sidewalk, he dropped my hand and ran ahead to open the door.
I dipped my head in a mock bow. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Luca just giggled again. The moment we were inside, he took off running toward his fellow campers. So much for being the awesomest.I placed the bag in a row of others and moved toward the trophy case on the far wall.
My vision blurred slightly as I took in the rows of awards and team photos. I blinked a few times, clearing the burning sensation as I rubbed at the knots in my lower back. My gaze stopped on one photo in particular. The boys looked a year or two older than Luca was now. They were caught mid-celebration, holding up a large cup. Some were laughing, others cheering, but my eyes were stuck on one in the middle.
He was helping one of the coaches hold the cup, but his focus was on the coach himself. There was so much reverence and respect in his stare. The hair was blonder in this photo than the light brown it was now. But I would’ve recognized those dark-blue eyes anywhere.
That fact should’ve scared the hell out of me, but I couldn’t pull away. The man Cope gazed up at looked so much like him that I figured it had to be his father or another relative. I knew from Thea that the Colsons had lost their eldest brother and father in a car accident many years ago. And staring at the photo now, I could see the loss had been a great one.
“What’s with the sad eyes?”
I whirled at that now-familiar tone, the one that had me wanting to roll around in it like a dog in its beloved mud.What the heck was wrong with me?
