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“I know you do.” Her voice wobbles slightly before she clears her throat. “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I’m glad you called.”

“Have a good game tonight.”

“I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

She hangs up, and I sit there with my phone in my hand for a while after the screen goes dark.

Beside me, Quinn shifts in her sleep and reaches across the mattress until her hand lands against my thigh. She doesn’t wake up, just leaves it there, warm and familiar.

Normally, I’d probably make some joke about her being unable to keep her hands off me even unconscious.

Today I carefully lift her hand and slide out of bed.

By the time she wakes up, I’m in the kitchen making coffee and doing a pretty decent impression of myself.

At least I think I am.

Quinn watches me over breakfast a little more closely than usual, though, and eventually sets her coffee down.

“You nervous about tonight?”

“Nah.”

“It’s a big game.”

“They’re all big games now.”

She studies me for another second, and I concentrate on eating.

“You okay?”

Apparently, I didn’t fool her. But maybe if I try a little harder. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep great.”

That isn’t entirely a lie. I spent part of the night tossing and turning, thinking about Wayne and the sound of the ice breaking.

She looks like she might ask something else, but thankfully, she doesn’t, and I manage to get through the rest of breakfast without giving her another reason to.

We’re getting close to the playoffs now, which means every point matters and I have plenty of hockey shit to think about instead. Normally, that would be enough to get my head straight.

Today it takes more effort.

I almost forget to pick up Jordan on the way to the rink and only remember when his message pops up on my dashboard three blocks past his apartment.

Jordan:

You coming or should I start walking?

Fuck.

I make a U-turn.

He’s waiting on the sidewalk when I pull up, and the second he gets into the car, he looks at me.