When her cell phone rang Tuesday morning at six thirty, Abigail lifted her head and fumbled around the bedside table for it, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Seeing the Glenwood Falls Elementary number lighting up the display, she quickly sat up and forced her voice to sound as though she’d been awake for hours. “Hello?”
“Hi, Abigail, this is Liz calling from Glenwood Falls Elementary,” the receptionist said.
“Yes, hi, Liz.”
“I apologize for the short notice, but one of our second grade teachers called in sick this morning, so can you make it in?”
She was nodding. Second grade. She could do second grade.
“Abigail?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely. Not a problem. I love second grade.” Shut up, Abigail.
“Okay, well, just stop by the office and we will give you today’s lesson plan and everything you need.”
“Great. Yes. Will do.” She disconnected the call and jumped out of bed. Her first day teaching! This was…She paused. Absolutely terrifying. Her excitement faded to anxiousness as she grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom down the hall.
In the shower a minute later, she tried desperately to remember back two years to Dani’s second grade experience. Double addition…the introduction to chapter books…She could add. She could read.
She had this.
Three hours later she stood staring at twenty blank expressions staring right back at her.
She so did not have this.
She cleared her throat and forced a deep breath. “Hello, everyone. I am Ms. Jansen, your substitute teacher for today…” In movies, they always wrote their name on the board. Seemed like as good as any place to start, so she did.
And underlined it. Twice.
Good, she thought nodding her approval at her own name in white chalk across the black board.
Now what?
She opened the file from the office and saw the math tests on top. “Well, it looks like we have a math test today,” she said.
A collective groan went through the classroom. A hand in the back shot up.
“Yes…” She glanced down at the seating chart with all the students’ names on it taped to the corner of the desk. “Matthew,” she said, glancing back up at the boy.
“I’ve seen you on TV.”
Okay. “That’s possible. I assume it was a commercial for Dreams for Life?” She’d been the spokesperson for the charity for two years, and the television commercials were the things she’d enjoyed least. She preferred getting her hands dirty behind the scenes, raising money and organizing events.
“Yeah. My mom said you are married to Dean Underwood, the right wing for the L.A. Kings,” the boy said.
A murmur went through the rows.
Technically that was still true until the papers were signed. “Um…yes. Anyway, back to this math test. Who will volunteer to hand them out?” She scanned the classroom.
A little girl—Ashley—in the front row raised her hand. “I will.”
“Great, thank you.” She handed them to her.
Matthew raised his hand again.
“Yes, Matthew?”
“Are you getting a divorce?”
Man, what was with this kid? “Do you have any other questions? About the math test maybe?”
He shook his head no.
“Okay then. Once you all have your tests in front of you, you may begin.” A minute later, all heads were bent over their papers and Abigail sat in the chair.
Immediately, her skirt felt wet.
Her eyes widened as she quickly stood back up and glanced toward the seat. Red Jell-O was spread all over it and now covered the back of her three-hundred-dollar pencil skirt. She clenched her teeth as she reached for a tissue to wipe the globs of red goo from her butt.
Giggles could be heard in the room, but she silenced them all with one stern look.
Welcome to the world of substitute teaching, she thought. Though admittedly she’d take pranks over personal questions any time.
* * *
She’d survived.
Along with her students, Abigail watched the clock on the wall count down the final seconds to the end of day bell. When it rang, she almost joined them in the squeal of delight. This teaching shit was hard.
“Okay, dismissed. Thank you…” she said, gathering her things.
“Will Mr. Thompson be back tomorrow?” Ashley asked as she passed the desk.
God, she hoped so. She thought maybe she’d do better with older kids…or younger ones. Second grade children were brats. “Let’s hope for a speedy recovery,” she said with a tired smile.
When all the kids were gone, she breathed a sigh of relief, then straightened again as Principal Breen came into the classroom. “Hi,” she said, forcing her voice to sound upbeat despite the mental exhaustion she felt and the aching arches in her feet. No more three-inch heels for teaching.
“How was your first day?” the older woman asked, glancing around the classroom.
Abigail rushed to collect all of the science worksheets from the desks. “Great. The kids are…”
“Monsters,” she finished with a smile. “I assume that’s Jell-O on your skirt?”
Busted. “Yes, I think so…I hope so.” She stacked the worksheets into the file and handed everything to the principal.
“It’s tougher than it looks, huh?”
She had no idea what the right answer was. She didn’t want to appear arrogant and overconfident, when it was the last thing she felt. Nor did she want to give the woman the impression she couldn’t handle it. Or that she’d made a mistake taking a chance on her. “It was definitely a challenge, but in a good way.”
Principal Breen nodded. “Well, they are all still alive—and so are you—so I’d call that a win.”
Abigail smiled at the unexpected kindness. “Thank you.”
“The other reason I wanted to catch you before you left for the day was I wanted to see if you might be interested in taking over the fundraising committee. Kelli Fitzgerald is currently in charge, but with her maternity leave, we will be looking to fill that responsibility as well. Even if the teaching position doesn’t work out, that would still be a way to be involved with the school.”
Abigail hesitated. She was more concerned with having gainful employment than in being involved with the school, but if she agreed to take over the role, it could only help her chances of securing the full-time position at the end of the following month. “Sure. I’d love to.” She was getting really good at exaggerating lately.
Principal Breen smiled. “Wonderful. The next committee meeting is tomorrow night at seven.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
As the principal left the classroom, Dani entered. Finally a kid she liked.
“Hi!” Abigail said, hugging her.
“How did it go?” her daughter asked.
“Good…except for the Jell-O,” she said, turning to show her daughter her red-stained butt.
Dani’s laughter made the ruined fabric worthwhile.
“You think it’s funny, do you?”
“Hilarious. We used to prank substitutes at school all the time.” She covered her mouth as another giggle escaped.
“You could have warned me,” she said, grabbing her jacket and tying it around her waist. “Ready to go home?”
Her daughter hesitated, biting her lip and staring at her hands.
Uh-oh, something was up. “Dani, you okay?”
“I want to try out for the hockey team,” she blurted out.
Her chest tightened. “Okay…” Her daughter wanting to play hockey shouldn’t surprise her, but somehow it did, and not in a good way. She’d noticed the sports announcements on the bulletin board outside the gym, but this was the first she was hearing about Dani’s interest in trying out for any teams. “When are the tryouts?”
“Tonight. Taylor is trying out, and she said I should, too.”
Right, Taylor. And her hockey coach uncle. “Well, you don’t have any gear.” She didn’t want to sound unsupportive, but hockey was one sport she’d had quite enough of for one lifetime. The idea of going from a hockey wife to a hockey mom made her gag.
“Taylor said her skates and helmet from last year should fit me. And she said the other gear is provided for tryouts. That way parents won’t have to buy anything unless their kid makes the team.”
Taylor had thought of everything, hadn’t she? She hesitated, staring at her daughter’s eager, nervous face, and it hit her how hard this must have been for Dani. Waiting until the last minute to ask was a sure sign she’d been dreading the conversation, and Abigail’s chest ached. She never wanted her daughter to feel anxious about talking to her about anything. She forced a smile and bent lower to hug her. “Of course you can try out.”
Dani hugged her back. “Really? Thanks, Mom. You’re the best,” she said excitedly as she took her hand and led the way out of the classroom.
Would Dani still feel that way if she knew Abigail was secretly hoping her daughter didn’t make the team?
* * *
Shit, the kid was good.
One quick glance across the arena to where Abby stood watching revealed she was thinking the exact same thing. The mixed look of admiration, pride, and oh-fuck-no on her face was easy enough to read, even from that distance.
But despite everything, he begrudgingly gave her credit for bringing Dani to the tryout in the first place. When Taylor had mentioned that her new friend would be there that evening, he’d been tempted to tell his niece not to get her hopes up. He suspected Abby was no longer the die-hard hockey enthusiast she’d once been. But she was there to support her daughter; that was impressive.
Unfortunately so was her perfectly curvy ass in the skin-tight skinny jeans she wore tucked into knee-high leather boots. Damn, why couldn’t her kid have sucked? Having Abby around the arena for practice and at the games would be torture. Or at the very least a distraction he couldn’t afford.
But Dani was a natural on skates. Her puck handling needed work, as he doubted she’d had much experience with it, but she was keeping up with the drills, and she was small but fast on the ice. She moved around the boys with a delicate ease that seemed to confuse them, trip them up.
And she was determined. She was working harder out there than anyone else, and he always said hard work and determination outdid talent any day.
Just not in his case.
“She’s good,” Darryl said, coming up behind him with coffee.
He accepted one from his assistant coach and took a sip, the hot liquid burning his throat. “Yep.”
“Like really good…almost better than some of the boys.”
“Yep.”
“So, I assume she’s on the team?” Darryl asked.
He released a deep sigh. “Yep.”
* * *
“I made the team! I made the team!”
Dani’s high-pitched squeal almost sent the SUV off of the road. Abigail straightened the vehicle and shot a quick glance at her daughter. “How do you know?” They’d just left the hockey arena ten minutes before.
Her daughter held her phone in front of her face.
“Driving!” she said, looking above the phone. “Is that a message from Taylor?” she asked nervously. She wasn’t surprised. From where she stood watching and not breathing, her daughter looked like a natural. She’d reminded her of Dean out there on the ice.
An image that had caused her stomach to twist and knot in more ways than she’d thought possible. Being at the old arena where she’d watched Dean practice and play, where they’d shared their first kiss in the parking lot, and where she’d told him she was pregnant, was hard. Old memories had a way of overshadowing new ones sometimes, making it difficult to remember why she was back in Glenwood Falls, divorcing him and building a new life without the man she’d thought she would grow old with.
Beside her, her daughter texted furiously.
“Well, congratulations, sweetheart,” she said, hoping it sounded sincere. Her little girl was genuinely excited and she wouldn’t rain on her parade, even though she’d been hoping to leave all traces of a hockey life behind.
“Thanks for letting me try out, Mom. I know how you feel about hockey lately…” she said, suddenly quiet, her gaze out the passenger window.
Abigail refused to let her daughter feel one second of unhappiness over this. “Hey,” she said, touching Dani’s cheek.
Her daughter turned to look at her.
“I was only anti-hockey because I’d lost my favorite player for a while, but now it looks like I’ll have a new one,” she said with a wink.
Her daughter smiled. “I could skate circles around Dad,” she said, and the two shared a brief moment of girl-power bonding that had Abigail’s hopes soaring.
They were going to be okay.
* * *
After relacing his skates, Jackson stepped out onto the rink. The kids were gone and all of the arena employees had cleared out and it was just him and the blank sheet of cold ice between his thoughts.
Lou, the Zamboni driver, always had to clear the ice before the first skate of the day, but no one ever said anything to him about his late-night skates. It was his routine, his time to unwind, his chance to play the entire season out in his head and decide which players he was going to push, which ones would push themselves, and which of the group had that special something that would see them rise above the others.
As he picked up speed approaching the first corner of the rink, the charge of lightning through his legs he felt when he was on the ice, was slow coming that evening.
He was worried about the season.
Worried about the changes to the league and how they would affect not only the team but the individual players and their families. He knew some of these kids had bigger dreams and aspirations for hockey. Others just wanted to play the game.
And some would dream big and never quite make it.
Like him.
An old-school defensive player in a changing sport, he was doomed. On the ice he knew one job—get between his team’s goalie and any opposing player. He watched the game unfold from behind the blue line. Tall, thick, and not the most elegant skater on the team, he blocked and shielded and stopped his goalie’s visibility from being obstructed. But when he had the puck, he passed. He gave it to an offensive player whose job it was to score.
But major leagues were looking for dynamic players who could play both sides of the line.
Maybe if he’d realized that sooner. He’d been so close. Despite getting drafted at eighteen by the Avalanche, he’d decided to go the college route, agreeing with his parents that an education to fall back on was the right plan. But his low-scoring college years had landed him nowhere near the Avalanche training camp the year he graduated. Instead, he’d been sent to play for the Colorado Eagles—a holding team for the league in Loveland.
The next four years had been torture. While most players on the East Coast Hockey League team found peace with their situation, enjoyed playing for the $30,000-a-year paycheck, and picked up a side job to survive, he couldn’t let go of the dream. The NHL was within reach, and his brother Ben, playing with the Avalanche, was proof that it was possible.
So he played with as much determination and heart as ever and it paid off. Four and a half years in, he was called up.
And benched for three games.
And sent back to Loveland.
The disappointment of being even closer to the goal and not getting a chance to prove himself on NHL ice had broken him. Then his father had gotten sick and worry about his family had stolen his focus completely. Once the ECHL season ended, he packed up, quit the team, and moved back to Glenwood Falls, grateful for his business degree backup plan and his construction skills learned from his father.
As he picked up speed, the blades of his well-worn skates cutting through the surface of the ice, he thought about his niece. She understood the game. She worked behind the blue line, stealing the puck from the opposite team’s offense with ease, but then she flew across the ice with it, scoring when it wasn’t her job to do so.
At first, he’d tried to remind her of her position on the team. “Stay back in your zone. Protect your goalie at all times,” he’d said.
But she’d just smiled and said, “As long as I have the puck, my goalie is safe, right?”
And he couldn’t argue. She’d been right. And as he watched his brother Asher, a defenseman for the New Jersey Devils, play each and every major league game, the little girl’s words had been confirmed. Asher played the same way. It was his ability on both sides of the blue line that made him great. That gave him the highest scoring percentage among the list of defensemen in the league.
Jackson’s own defensive-minded strategy of keeping guard, playing the role of the stay-at-home bruiser who rarely ventured beyond his zone with the puck, was the thing that had held him back. And slowly he was learning not to coach his players into that same limiting mindset.
As he did his tenth lap around the rink, his thoughts shifted to Dani and her ability to see where the puck was headed before it left her stick. Her spatial awareness on the ice was incredible…one of those rare traits that couldn’t be taught…they had to be felt.
She was Dean Underwood’s daughter, and she would be playing on his team.
And Dean’s ex-wife would be around to remind him of the other things in life that had been slightly out of reach.
He was screwed.