Puck Honey

Chapter 1

Jackie

The crowd erupts in cheers as I push my way through the bleachers. My shirt is stained from where I spilled coffee on it and my feet ache from taking orders and bringing them to tables at the diner. The lunch rush is a special kind of hell.

But I can’t miss another second of my boy’s game.

“Jackie!” Coach Allen calls as he waves me over to an empty spot beside him. My heart warms at the realization that he saved a seat for me.

“Thanks,” I say, sitting down on the cold, hard bleachers. Jack has control of the puck and is guiding it across the ice like he was born with skates on his feet and a hockey stick in hand.

“I promised him I would. Jack’s been giving his all like always, but he’s been a little distracted, mostly looking over here. Trying to find you.” He smiles. “I wish my kids liked having me around as much as yours does.”

I laugh and playfully smack his arm. “Give it a couple years. Soon, he’ll be a teenager and want nothing to do with me.”

He chuckles but doesn’t say anything more, instead focusing on the game. A boy from the other team who’s hit his growth spurt early—and stands a good half a foot taller than Jack—body checks my son into the boards. The crowd erupts in groans.

In spite of myself, I gasp and spring to my feet, a protective instinct flaring inside me. But this is not a battle I can fight for him. Still, that doesn’t mean I can’t encourage him. “Come on, Jack! Get up. You’ve got this, baby!” I shout.

I don’t expect for him to hear me, but his head turns in my direction. When our eyes meet, I watch his face light up as it cycles through a gamut of emotions.

First, surprise that I’m here. That one stings a bit, but is fair. Then, relief and joy. Those make me feel warm despite the cold of the arena. And finally, determination.

He gives me a nod, short and sharp, and pushes himself to his feet. I whoop and cheer as he rejoins the game, quickly taking the puck back from the opposing side.

“It’s hard to believe he’s only ten,” Coach Allen says as I take my seat.

My heart swells with pride as I watch him play with renewed ferocity. If I had been knocked over like that at his age, I would’ve gone crying to my mama and sworn off hockey for good. But Jack has a spark in him, a passion like how I used to feel when I sang on stage. A passion like…

Never mind.

I don’t want to think about Freddie. Not right now. So, instead I focus on Jack as he hits the puck, sending it into the opposing team’s goal right as the halftime siren blares. The cheering of the crowd almost drowns out the sound of it.

My smile fades from my face as a pang of sorrow and guilt squeezes at my chest. His father, Freddie, should be here. He should see his son’s tenacity and skill and see that his son takes after him in a way that's almost uncanny.

But I made the choice not to tell Freddie about Jack. I’m sure he would have been a great father, but his career was just starting. I was afraid. Afraid that we would hold him back, afraid that he would resent us for it, afraid that he would eventually reject us.

Now he’s a hockey star, and it’s too late to tell him. I’m not sure what I’ll do if Jack starts to press about his father. I don’t like keeping secrets from him or leading him to believe that his father is a bad man, but I also am afraid of what will happen if he tries to contact Freddie and gets rejected.

But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, Jack has a game to play, and I have a son to cheer on.

I grab the extra water bottle I've been carrying in my purse and climb down the bleachers just as he glides to the edge of the rink. His forehead is beaded with sweat, and when he takes off his helmet, his curly hair is practically pasted to his head.

“Look at you, helmet head,” I say, ruffling his damp hair. “You’re doing amazing out there!”

He grins, revealing the gap where he lost his upper canine last week. He’s growing up so fast and looking more and more like his father every day. “Did you see when I got the puck back? I was like nyoom!”

His stick is right next to him, but he still mimes guiding the puck with his empty hands. I grin and hand him the water bottle. “You’re a regular Wayne Gretzky.”

He flashes me a toothy grin. “I’ll be better than Gretzky someday.”

My heart swells even bigger. “You’re on your way there.” And I’m going to do everything I can in my power to make that happen.

“And then I can take care of you, just like you take care of me! I’ll be able to buy you nice things like jewelry and a PS5!” His eyes are wide, eager, and guileless, making me feel a twinge of guilt.

I try to protect him from the world and from my struggles, but he’s not stupid. He knows that his birthday and Christmas gifts are not as nice as his other classmates’ and that there are some weeks where our staple foods are ramen and peanut butter. He understands why, but I still ache whenever he looks excited at a new toy or equipment only to see the price tag and forlornly put it away.

“Oh, baby, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”

He furrows his brows, looking worried. “But if I can’t take care of you, then who will?”

I grin and ruffle his sweat-soaked hair again. “I can take care of myself, of course.”

Instead of giggling and rolling his eyes like he usually does, Jack frowns. “But that isn’t fair. You do so much, and—”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I know. And I know you can tell that I’m stressed, but the first thing you learn when you become a parent is that the number one thing in your life will always be your kid.”

“Celia’s dad had a heart attack,” he suddenly blurts out.

I blink, shocked by this change in subject. I knew that there was something that happened to a classmate of his recently—he brought home a sympathy card for us to sign—but I’m not sure what this has to do with anything.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is he okay?”

Jack looks even more distressed. “She says that the doctors told him he had a heart attack because he was working too much and stressed all the time, and it made him sick.”

Oh. I see now. I throw my arms around him in a hug. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. And all this stress is temporary. You know I’ve been going to night classes. As soon as I graduate, I’ll get a good job and things will be better.”

“But will you let me take care of you sometimes?”

I kiss his forehead. How did I raise such a sweet kid? “Of course, baby. I’ll tell you how you can help me out.”

Taking a step back, I grab him by the shoulders. “Right now, the best way you can help me is by going out there and giving it your all. I’ve had a busy shift, so put on a show for your mom, okay?”

He polishes off his water bottle and gives me another gap-toothed grin. “I’m gonna win this one for you.”

“But no matter what happens, I’m proud of you. Even if you fall or split your pants on the ice.”

He laughs at that, and I feel something wound tight in me uncoil at it. The sound of his joy is always lovelier than any musical note. “I’m proud of you, too, Mama.”

I give his shoulder a squeeze. “Go out there and show them why you’re the best player around.”

Flashing a final grin in my direction, he skates back to where his team is huddled around the coach. They’re probably strategizing for the second half of the game. The first went great, especially with that last minute goal by Jack. I have full confidence that the second half will go just as well.

His father is one of the best hockey players in the country, after all. Even if I'm the only one who can know that.

As I take my seat on the bleachers, I hear a commotion on the other end of the rink, somewhere near the entrance. For a moment, my heart stops at the sound of screaming, and I scan the crowd, searching for Jack.

He’s looking toward the entrance too, his face lighting up in excitement. I realize that the screams are actually cheers, but I can’t see what has everyone so excited. What is going on?