Our Overtime: Ice League Book 1 (The Ice League Series)

It felt like someone was repetitively stabbing me. Her being called “mom,” stab one. Her being a seemingly concerned mom who loves her kid, the exact kind of mom I knew she’d be, stab two. That kid not being mine, stab three. Me realizing I still to this day wished like hell that could’ve been my kid, stab four. Her jumping at the sound of my voice like it freaked her out, stab five.

And now, running drills with her son who’d been a part of her life for pretty much the same amount of time that I had.

It was painful, but at the same time, something about it felt right.

Her son was good. He was a speedy little guy. His skating skills were definitely advanced for his age. But the advantage he had over the other kids was kind of deadpanned with his lack of hands. The kid desperately needed some work when it came to his stickhandling and shooting.

That’s what I told myself when I’d singled him and his buddy Troy out to work with.

In the back of my mind, I really wanted to know the kid. I wanted to see if he took after her.

He was a cute kid, that much I could tell through his helmet. He had light freckles scattered on his cheeks and nose and clear blue eyes- the exact shade as Jules. His hair was the same chestnut brown she used to have as a teen.

He’d definitely inherited her love for the ice and her quiet demeanor as well.

He didn’t talk much, but rather, listened closely to every word I said, even when his buddies were goofing off and chirping at each other.

She’d raised a good boy. But I guess credit would be due to the kid’s father as well… who I had yet to see… and who I did not want to see.

I decided then that I wouldn’t harbor any ill feelings toward her kid… but I couldn’t let go of the grudge I held against her for taking all of this away from me… because she ruined me. I looked into her eyes so many years ago and she owned me. I couldn’t see starting a family with anyone else and I resented the fact that she could. One part of me wanted to scream at her, but the other part of me knew I never could.

The last fifteen minutes of practice, I had the kids scrimmage and Smitty and I helped our respective teams. I jokingly played defense, and let players by me almost every time, except when Smitty tried to showboat. I shut that down real quick.

But it was a damn good time. I got a kick out of the kids. I purposely wanted to let them all score because I loved watching their over-the-top cellys- what hockey players called celebrations after goals. They’d mature out of that too quickly and play it cool after scoring all too soon. Now was the time to play for the sake of fun and joy, and the celly’s showed it.

I also laughed out loud, more like cackled, when I saw them try to hoist their little bodies over top of the boards like the big guys. They’d promptly fall straight down onto the ice, rarely on their feet. One kid got smart and decided to lay his stomach down on the team box boards and throw his feet down first. It became a trend after that.

When the final practice buzzer went off, all the kids scrambled off the ice except two, who stayed behind to help Smitty and I pick up all the pucks and bring the water bottles back to the locker room. It didn’t surprise me that one of those kids was Canyon.

Walking out of the cool rink and into the hot fall day hit me with a funny feeling of nostalgia. It was like having a cold sweat for an hour, but not realizing it until just that second. It was a feeling you had to experience because words could never fully give it to you. I used to live for that feeling of walking into the heat knowing that I just had a solid practice. I think that’s why Jules and I got along so well as kids. We could talk about stuff like that and really understand each other.

I strolled to my car, thinking that I needed another cup of Tim Horton’s coffee, when I heard yelling coming from behind the row of cars in front of me.

I should’ve kept moving, but against my better judgement, I slowed my pace and started studying the pavement as I strained to hear.

“He is not improving! I told you, we need to send him to St. Jude’s. I’m through with this bullshit!” A voice snarled.

I couldn’t hear the other side of the argument. It was spoken in too softly of a voice. St. Jude’s was a boarding school that was known for athletics. Most of the wealthy families around here shipped their little athlete tykes there. They did have a stellar record of placing kids at D1 universities and they were a great school, but St. Jude’s was about three hours south of Northfield.

I told myself I was only concerned with listening because I needed to know if I was losing one of my players. I looked to see which parents were arguing, but they were blocked by the cars. I didn’t want to move around the cars and risk the chance of exposing myself as a creep who listened in on private conversations. But in my defense, they were arguing very publicly.

“I’m not going to sit back and watch my kid fuck up all season,” the angry voice snapped. I wracked my brain to place the voice but couldn’t. And on top of that, all of the kids who made the cut for the team were pretty damn good for their age…

“He is not going there! And I’d like you to stop bringing it up. I have custody. I have the final say.”

I knew that voice.

But the words were spoken in a tone that I’d never heard out of her mouth before. I detected a slight shake in her voice even though she had obviously tried to sound firm.

I heard a snide laugh in return and my gut twisted.

“You stupid, stupid bitch,” he countered.

Those words shocked me like an ice bucket dumped down my back, and my body stopped walking altogether.

“You have custody because I allowed it. I can bury you in court and make you look like the loony bitch you are.”

I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me and I couldn’t move. Those words hurt me, so I couldn’t imagine what they did to her. I couldn’t believe that an hour ago I had wanted to scream at her. What did that say about me?

I shook my head. I was in the right in our situation. What she did to me was wrong.

But she wasn’t what this man, who was obviously Canyon’s jackass father, was calling her.

I heard a car door slam coming from that direction, signaling the end of the argument.

I tried to shake what I’d just heard out of my head, but I couldn’t.

I wanted to go over to her and demand answers. What the hell was that? How could he talk to her like that?

And how could she possibly have loved him more than me?

I heard the car ignition then, and a moment later saw Jules’ profile in a Range Rover leaving the parking lot.