Page 191 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“Sydney,” a warm voice greets me.
I freeze and turn slowly.
His mother comes out of his bedroom, wheeling that damn vacuum.
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Ruiz.”
She waves me off. “Call me Jackie, please. Thank you for staying with Oliver overnight. And his friends. Although I don’t think I could’ve imagined he’d be friends with the captain of the SJU hockey team.”
I force a laugh. “No?”
Don’t look at the bracelet. Don’t look?—
She’s wearing it again. Maybe she never takes it off? Maybe it’s a key piece to her daily ensemble? Maybe she only wears it around Oliver, because he gave it to her?—
“Did this catch your eye?” She taps the gold. “Oliver gave it to me for my fiftieth birthday.”
“Oh.” My voice sounds hoarse to my own ears. “It’s beautiful.”
She unclasps it. Slips it off her wrist.
Holds it out to me.
My hands are shaking when I take it. I run my fingers over the designs, like I used to when I was scared and alone as a kid. It was the one precious thing that had history and sentiment attached to it. Everything else in our space was just… filler.
My throat closes, and I hand it back quickly. Otherwise I might be tempted to keep it, to clutch it to my chest and sprint out of the house without looking back.
This is what I came for all those months ago, and now it’s in my hands.
“Beautiful,” I manage.
She takes it back, eyeing me with concern. “You’ve gone pale. Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. I just, uh, didn’t sleep well.”
“You were on the armchair all night?”
I shrug.
“And Penn slept on the floor.” She tuts. “Come on, Sydney, let’s get you something caffeinated. Tea? Coffee?”
She loops her arm in mine, leading me downstairs and into the kitchen. Everyone seems to be gathered there, his abuela, two teens—the brother and who I can only imagine is a sister—and another woman around his mom’s age. Oliver, Penn, Carter.
The second woman more resembles Oliver’s abuela than his mother.
“There she is,” Penn says.
Everyone looks to us.
If I was pale before, I fear I’m trying to blend into a tomato vine now.
Oliver’s mom, who still has ahold of my arm, makes introductions. Felix and his sister, Daniela. His abuela, Juana Ruiz. Her daughter and Oliver’s aunt, Ana.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a boy’s family before.
Even Carter… Our fling didn’t include parent introductions. Not that mine were around much. I kept him and everyone else at arm’s distance. Mom didn’t come visit. Dad was never around—my choice—to introduce.
Although, I suppose now all three of them have met him.