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“Be careful,” she warns. “They’re hot.”
The melted chocolate oozes when I pull the cookie apart. It scalds my tongue a bit with the first bite, but as the sugar hits my taste buds, it’s worth a little pain.
“I’m making lasagna. It’ll be ready in an hour or so.”
“Great,” I reply, finishing the first cookie and grabbing two more as I back out of the room. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Wait,” Mom says, opening the refrigerator and pouring me a glass of cold milk. She hands it over without asking if I’m thirsty.
My mom has always liked to dote on Dad and me. And we’ve always let her. Does that make me a mama’s boy? Maybe.
Her gaze lingers on me as I take a drink and shove another cookie in my mouth. She’s standing in the middle of the warm kitchen with a funny, faraway look on her face that I don’t recognize.
“Everything okay?” I ask, pausing in the doorway.
Her smile becomes radiant, hiding whatever she was thinking behind it. “Everything is great,” she insists. “It’s just so nice to have you home.”
I decide that I must be imagining things. Mom’s always been overly sentimental. It’s a genetic trait that I definitely didn’t inherit.
I round the corner and grab my duffel bag on the way to my bedroom. Everything is just as I left it, though Mom must’ve made my bed at some point. She gave up on trying to get me to make it years ago. I was home for a few days for Christmas, but had to leave right after for practice and games.
Hockey doesn’t stop, not even for the holidays. The schedule is always tight with travel and preparations for the next game. For that reason, my teammates became my family at some point. I guess that’s why Chase’s betrayal hit so hard. He was like a brother to me. Now … it’s all changed between us. I not only lost Oakley, but I lost Chase too.
I spend the next hour showering and relaxing in front of the television with my dad. It feels good to be home, where things are easy, to escape the madness of sports, school, and partying for a change. I can let down my guard completely here. I didn’t realize how much I needed a break from it all until I was sitting here, shooting the shit with my dad.
We watch hockey—what else? Even though he was never on the ice, my dad embraced the sport as soon as I started playing it, and now, he’s a true fan. He never tried to push me into wrestling, his first love. He just accepted that this was my sport, and I’ve had his full support ever since.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom calls out from the dining room a little later.
Dad flips off the flat screen, and we both make our way to the other room.
“Smells great,” he comments, taking a seat at the head of the table.
Mom smiles and drags a hand across my dad’s back as she walks behind him. “Sam, can you grab the tea?”
“Sure,” I say, following her into the kitchen and coming back with a pitcher. I fill glasses for all three of us before settling into my chair.
I sit to my dad’s right, and there’s a third place across from me for my mom. She brings French bread to the table that’s dripping in butter and garlic. My stomach growls. I grab three pieces to start, taking a large bite off the end of one before placing the rest on my plate. She follows with a steaming baking dish filled with lasagna.
We pray over our food and dig in. I don’t hold back, eating my fill of the home-cooked meal.
“It’s been too long since we’ve been around the table like this together,” my dad says midway through dinner.
I swallow a mouthful of food as he reminds me of my absence. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”
That’s the one drawback to being an only child—all the focus is on me. My parents tried to give me a sibling or two, but it just wasn’t in the cards. Apparently, it had been hard for them to get pregnant with me. It turned out to be impossible to have another kid, though they tried for years.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I know hockey and school keep you busy. And things are only going to get busier when you get to the next level.”
My parents know it’s my dream to make it to the pros. And according to my coaches, it’s an attainable goal. One that I’m determined to make happen.
“I only meant that we miss you and it’s nice to be together again. Even if only for a day or two.”
I glance at my dad, surprised at the emotion I hear in his voice. It’s unusual for him to get sentimental like Mom. I don’t think he ever has before.
The warning bells start sounding in my head. I lower my fork. My suspicion rises as I sense there’s something they aren’t telling me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my eyes flitting between my parents. “Why did you want me home this weekend?”
