Page 56 of He Has Pluck

“That’s near the prison. Fishkill?” Juliette says. Bingo.

“Dad worked at the prison,” I say.

“Did you know Jason’s dad played professional hockey?” Mom rushes her words, desperately keeping a smile on her face.

“I’m not surprised,” Juliette says. I hear the smile in her voice.

“For the AHL. He never made it to the NHL,” Joshua says, his smile gone because dad is his least favorite topic of conversation.

“He’d be so proud of you, Jason,” Mom says, “because here you are, living out your dream.” She beams at me and gives me another hug. Josh nods.

“Amen to that. You’ve done it, brother.” He bumps a fist into my shoulder.

I can’t stop the torrent of emotion, elation, regret, pride and dissatisfaction, fear that it’s all going to disappear at the end of the playoffs, and I’ll end up back in Portsmouth, or worse, Newburgh. I’m damn lucky they closed the prison in Fishkill, or I’d probably end up there. One way or another.

“Jason’s been a big contributor to the team’s success,” Juliette says. “He’s on his way to being a star in this league.”

As if she has a clue. I dart her a glance, but the damn camera covers her face.

Josh snorts. “Can we talk off camera?” he asks.

“I’ve learned to ignore it.” It’s a hell of a lot harder to ignore the lady behind the camera. A sharp pain cuts through my gut as I play my part in the charade.

“That’s rude,” Mom says. She moves from in front of the camera and tells Juliette, “Ignore that rude comment by my son. Sometimes, I think he has hockey on the brain and doesn’t understand anything else.”

She lowers her camera. “No, Jason’s wonderful, and he’s doing what he’s supposed to do, acting as if I’m not here.” She doesn’t look at me, but I burn a stare into her profile.

“I’ll have to take your word for that.” Mom laughs a self-deprecating laugh as Juliette asks Josh what he’s doing instead of playing hockey.

He tells her about his new teaching job in that same self-deprecating way mom has, not mentioning that he graduated summa cum laude from Cornell, where he had a full academic scholarship, though Mom gets that in. Me? I went to Union College on a hockey scholarship for three years. I didn’t bother graduating when I got drafted, even though it was a late round, and I knew I’d start in the AHL instead of the NHL. It was my foot in the door, and I made the most of it.

My discomfort grows as they talk to her about the family, minus dad, and Juliette goes back to filming until I can hardly stand being near her. Can’t stand keeping my hands off her as I shove them into my pockets. Can’t stand the fact that she’s as cool as the ice chip that I know she is and apparently forgot.

“You have a good night. I have more filming to do,” she finally says. She leaves, and I watch her head toward O’Rourke, who is holding his new baby and his toddler and looking like he has the world in his arms.

“What a lovely young woman.” Mom gives me one of those mom looks that says she’s a hot one, but not in those exact words.

“She seems older,” Joshua says.

“Everyone on the team is older than me, at least chronologically.”

“That right, junior? You feeling some growth?” Joshua smirks because his favorite thing is giving me shit. Mom elbows him.

“You’re both just babies compared to me. But I’m proud of how accomplished you both are at such a young age. Already professionals at only twenty-one.”

I roll my eyes and grin at the same time. If anyone can make me feel like a kid, it’s Mom.

“Let me take you out to dinner,” I say.

“It’s a shame Juliette has to work. Can’t you talk her into coming to dinner with us? I’d like to get to know her,” Mom says.

Josh eyes me with interest, waiting for my answer.

“No. It’s not like that between us,” I say, feeling like a traitor to my heart. My gut twists, and I don’t know if the twist is because it’s true that there’s nothing between us or because I’m kidding myself thinking it’s true. Shit, I’ve never been so confused about a woman, so out of my depth. Maybe I am too young for this, too inexperienced for the likes of Juliette Sullivan, professional man-eater.

Mom’s eyebrows go up, and she purses her lips like she’s trying out for the role of disapproving mother.

“What?” I ask her, knowing better.