Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,18
genetic processes.”
Stanton blinked big eyes at him. “I don’t even know what that is.” He put his helmet on and adjusted the chin strap. “Maybe we can find you a tutor.”
That we did more to boost Tay’s spirits than Stanton would ever know.
“In the meantime,” Stanton said, reaching for his hockey stick, “it’s warm-up time.” He bopped Tay gently on his own helmeted head with the end of his stick. “Don’t let this get you down. You got this. And even if you don’t, at least you have hockey.”
Tay was laughing as he followed Stanton and the rest of the guys out of the locker room.
Dakota hated 3D puzzles as much as he hated watered-down cheap beer that tasted like piss. The pieces all had to be inserted properly or the whole thing would tilt sideways and then topple like a Jenga game. Give him a regular ol’ 2D puzzle any day.
But it was what Andy was currently into, and Dakota would do anything for his son, including sacrificing a little bit of his sanity for the sake of father-son bonding time. Even though, according to Andy’s preschool teacher, 3D puzzles weren’t a normal thing for four-year-olds to be into.
Who got to decide what was and wasn’t normal, anyway?
They’d moved the coffee table out of the way in the family room and sat on the floor in front of the TV, building the puzzle on a puzzle mat. He’d never tell Tay that they’d gotten bored with tonight’s game and turned to something else for entertainment. The game still played in the background on low volume as they built their puzzle. Neither paid much attention.
Speaking of Tay, the man played tonight as if a literal fire had been lit under his ass. The problem was that Florida was playing a game of neutral zone trap that made for boring television overall, no matter how strongly Tay played.
“I think this one goes here,” he said to Andy, handing over a puzzle piece. Their two-hundred-piece red-and-white campervan was coming along nicely. Dakota wasn’t too big to admit that Andy was pulling both their weights.
Andy lay on his stomach, little legs kicking, tongue between his teeth as he slotted Dakota’s piece into place near the front of the van. “Daddy.”
“Mm-hmm.” Dakota separated the white pieces from the red.
“Is Mom still coming for dinner tomorrow?”
Pausing for only a second, Dakota continued with his work as if Andy’s question didn’t pinch his chest tight. He scanned Andy’s face; although his kid’s expression hadn’t changed, Dakota knew Andy was braced for disappointment.
“As far as I know,” he said carefully, aware that Fiona’s commitment to her work far outweighed her commitment to their son. He’d be surprised if she didn’t cancel.
So would Andy, no doubt.
It wasn’t fair that at four years old he was already used to disappointment.
“I want to be in his life,” Fiona had said when Andy was about six months old. “But I don’t want to raise him.”
But did Fiona actually want to be part of Andy’s life? Dakota had evidence to the contrary, seeing as it’d been months since they’d seen her.
Dakota still didn’t get it. He’d raise ten Andys if he could. Andy was bright and curious and sweet. He loved his stuffed koala named Helix, cooking with his dad, and watching the rain from the living room window. He also tried to sneak cookies out of the pantry, cried bloody murder if Helix was misplaced, and was very particular about his socks matching his pants.
Dakota wouldn’t give it up for anything. He’d never understand how Fiona had. But, then, as the therapist he’d seen after she’d left had told him, he didn’t have to understand, just accept and move forward.
Andy fit another piece into the puzzle, legs still kicking. “I can give her my Valentine’s Day card?”
The pinching in Dakota’s chest traveled into his throat. “I think she’d like that.” Dakota’s own card that Andy had made at preschool was taped to the front of the stainless-steel fridge. “What should we make for dinner?”
“Chicken nuggets an’ fries.” Andy’s typical answer to breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Chuckling, Dakota glanced at his watch. “Ten more minutes and then it’s time for bed, okay?”
Andy ignored him and looked at the TV. “One more goal and we win-ed, Dad.”
Toronto was currently ahead by two despite all the neutral zone bullshit Florida was trying to pull. “One more goal, huh?”
“Yup.”
The rules of hockey changed every time Andy watched a game.