That’s it.
Two messages.
I type out and delete a new message fourteen times before I realize I can’t send it.
And not just because I’m pretty sure Junie knows how to break into my phone.
It’s more that I don’t know how to say what I need to say.
I am so in over my head, and I like you and I want to have sex with you, and I don’t know how this fits into my plan of figuring out who I am before I consider getting into a relationship with another person again, and also I have horrible guilt at the idea that I’ve betrayed my teenager by coming to see you tonight when her father is openly dating a woman she’s never met and I know she peruses gossip sites looking for updates and information about them. So I want to tell her, but I don’t want to be one more parent that makes her feel like she’s coming second in their lives. That’s my hard line. Junie first. Junie first. Junie first.
My phone dings in my hand, and it’s so sudden and unexpected, and it’s Flint.
I shriek and drop it on the tile floor.
And then I snatch it up again and look at the message.
Our striker had a fender bender. Two other players with him. All okay overall, but initial exam says he’s out for the rest of the season. Have J ready to step in Saturday just in case.
I sigh. My shoulders sag.
If ever I needed a reminder that he, too, needs to put Junie first, here it is.
My phone dings again.
And quit overthinking.
That’s it.
Quit overthinking.
“Are you still peeing?” Junie calls from my bedroom. “What are you, a racehorse? You didn’t drink that much today, did you?”
I pocket my phone and get to work cleaning myself quickly. “Got distracted thinking I need to redo the bathroom,” I call back. “Hold on. I’m changing into jammies. Wanna watch a movie?”
“It’s a school night, Mom.”
“Wanna watch an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants and pretend it’s a movie?”
“You are such a dork.”
“I am. And wouldn’t you rather have a dorky mom than a militant mom?”
For the record—that was my own mother coming out of my mouth.
And despite where she’s living right now, I think I’m okay with that. And despite her dabbling in white-collar crime, she’s still the best mom I could’ve ever had. So as long as I never decide to take a leap to the wrong side of the law, Junie and I will be fine.
I snort softly to myself.
Yes, Junie, I banged your coach because a woman has needs, but at least I’m not in jail, right?
Worst part?
My daughter would probably mostly agree with that.
Doesn’t mean I don’t feel terrible for sneaking around behind her back, but this time, I’m not doing it to make a man happy.
This time, I’m doing it to make me happy, and I know I’d stop in a heartbeat if I thought Flint was truly bad for her.
And for me, that makes all the difference.
Chapter 25
Flint
The only thing more frustrating than waiting to get Maisey alone again is being eliminated from the state finals after a bad call that ultimately cost us the game.
“You were totally not offside,” Abigail says to June as we drown our sorrows at Iron Moose with fried cheese sticks, bison burgers, and root beer floats. The team took over the entire dining room, and most of the parents are scattered at tables around the long table the kids rearranged so they could sit together. “That was the worst call in the history of worst calls.”
June doesn’t answer.
She’s still slunk over her untouched plate.
I can feel Maisey biting her tongue down at the other end of the table.
“And it was great that you were there to play so we weren’t shorthanded,” Vivian chimes in.
June shakes her head and sits up straighter. “You did really great,” she replies. “That goal was the best ever. It’s awesome that the scout got to see.”
Yeah.
That’s the other issue.
The entire team figured out we had a college scout watching today.
“Who wants another root beer float?” Regina calls.
“Can I get a brownie sundae instead?” Wade, one of our defensemen, asks.
The parents crack up.
Regina pats him on the shoulder. “Of course you can, hon. Anybody else?”
Season’s over. Got a few months before spring ball tryouts. And every last kid who’s been aiming to eat as healthy as possible, especially since we started advancing in the playoffs, wants more dessert.
“Teenagers,” Charlotte says.
She’s sitting next to Maisey, across the room, and I still hear it.
I don’t think Maisey does, though. She’s still watching June like she wants to swoop her up in a hug and take her to get a thousand puppies.
“Hey, now we don’t have to worry about staying up too late for Xavier’s birthday-blowout party next weekend,” one of the kids says.
Most of them are taking it pretty well.
This is as far as we’ve gotten in playoffs in years.
Possibly since before I was a student myself at Hell’s Bells.
This is a thing to be celebrated.
Unless, I suppose, you’re a kid who’s used to getting all the way to the championship game.
“You gonna give ’em a pep talk?” Kory asks me. He came out to cheer us on today. Even brought one of his cows in homage to Tony bringing Gingersnap the one other year we made it to the playoffs.
Considering we lost that first playoff game, too, pretty sure nobody’s gonna want to bring any more cows after that.
Cows are officially our playoff curse.
If you believe in curses.
I shake my head. “Already did. Lot better watching them all give each other pep talks.”
“Afraid you won’t say anything as intelligent as the teenagers?”
“Pretty much.”
He grins over his glass. “So long as you know your place.”
June shoves up from the table and heads toward the bathrooms.
Maisey watches her the whole way. Charlotte leans over and says something to her, and she nods.
Then Maisey glances across the room.
Our eyes connect, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this tonight. Junie needs me.
Takes every ounce of self-control to pretend I don’t see it.
Thing is, I get it.
Hurts me, too, to send kids home knowing they’re in a bad mood, that they’re disappointed, that they’re disappointed in themselves.
Maisey rises.
Charlotte pulls her back down.
Maisey scowls at her.
Scowls.
Maisey.
Charlotte doesn’t seem offended. She sucks in one of her cheeks like she’s trying not to smile, then turns to someone on her other side.
Conversations keep rolling all around the room. Most of my players are in pretty good spirits. Their parents too. We talked a lot after the game about how great it was to get this far.
They know.
They get it.
I’m about to agree with Maisey that June’s been gone too long to not be checked on when she reemerges from the bathroom, eyes downcast, cheeks pink.
Maisey’s half out of her chair faster than I am.