Page 19 of My One & Goalie
We disconnect and I fist pump into the air in my empty living room.
Hell, yeah—Kovac’s still got it.
The next day crawls by, tension building all day as I anticipate finally seeing Rachel again. Alone, this time.
Jackson brings Jett with him to practice, so there’s no pre-practice Rachel sighting. Not ideal, but I calm myself with the thought of spending an entire uninterrupted evening with her.
The kids do great out on the ice, running drills and taking instruction like little pros. Probably better than pros, who am I kidding? The hour flies and before I know it, practice is over and everyone’s skating off the ice to their parents. Gear’s collected, shoes tied, and people file out of the rink.
Only a few stragglers remain and Jett’s one of them. He sits on the wooden bench, narrow shoulders slumping forward. He’s wringing his hands and swinging his feet and looks to be very near tears. I sidle over and sink down onto the bench next to him.
“Hey, bud. You did good out there tonight.”
Jett tips his head up, shoots me a small smile. “Thanks, Coach.”
“What’s the matter?”
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me. Why so bummed out?”
Jett lets out a full-body sigh, his chest rising and falling with the effort. “My dad’s always late picking me up. He probably forgot me again.”
My heart wrenches in my chest at his sad tone and downcast gaze. This isn’t the same happy, bubbly kid from the last practice and I hate that for him.
“I’m sure he didn’t forget you. And if he did, it’s okay. I can always give you a ride home.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
I pat his knee. “It’s no problem. I’ll wait with you until he gets here, anyway. How was school?”
Jett relaxes a bit and tells me about his day as the time ticks by. Jackson waves the last kid off and turns his attention to Jett and me.
“Hey, dude. Is your mom picking you up?”
“No. My dad.” Jett’s lip quivers and we’re back to square one again. I debate calling Rachel, but I don’t want to put her in a bad position with her ex.
“Hmm. Maybe he got the times mixed up. Let me grab my phone out of my bag and give him a call.”
Jett nods, tears shimmering in his eyes. Jackson jogs away to make the call and in walks Charles the jackass.
“Daddy!” Jett pops off the bench, nearly tripping over his own feet to get to his father.
“Hey.” Charles is in no rush, seemingly oblivious to the fact that practice has been over for at least twenty minutes and his kid’s the last one here. “You have your stuff?”
No hug, no high-five, no ‘how was your day?’ Jett’s smile wavers and melts off his face as he spins back around to grab his bag.
“Here you go, bud.” I hand the duffel over and ruffle Jett’s hair. “Great practice today.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Jett shoots me a gappy smile and my gut twists. I wish it was me taking him home instead of his dickhead dad, but that’s not my place.
Instead, I square up to Charles. “Practice ends at six-thirty. For future reference.”
“Relax, puck boy. I’m a few minutes late.”
Hot anger bubbles inside me. This guy’s totally oblivious to his son’s feelings, to other people’s obligations, and apparently, also to time.
“You’re twenty minutes late, actually. I don’t care all that much, but your son was worried.”