Page 78 of Punked By the Playmaker
Dad wasted no time in pulling her in for one of his famous bear hugs. When he released my wife, his smile stretched from ear to ear. “None of this Mr. and Mrs. Nixon business. We’re family now. Charles and Evelyn are just fine. Though, we told the kids to call us Nana and Papa.”
That last part softened my mom, and her lower lip began to wobble. “Never thought we’d get grandbabies.”
Maisie wrapped her arms around Mom’s midsection. “I’ve never had grandparents before.”
Austin looked down at his feet, confessing, “Me, neither.”
Arizona sucked in a sharp breath, reaching for him, but he stepped back so that she caught nothing but air.
Their dynamic was certainly complicated, but despite Austin’s surly attitude, Arizona never stopped trying. Maybe someday, when he was older, he’d come to appreciate all she did for him growing up.
Mom extended her free arm, pulling Austin into her embrace. “Well, you have them now.”
My wife brought a trembling hand to her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I, uh, have to get back to work.”
She rushed out the door so fast that if I’d have blinked, I would have missed her departure.
Dad frowned. “Is everything all right, son?”
“Yeah.” I gripped the back of my neck. “Everything’s great.”
Except it wasn’t great because it felt like Arizona was running—from her feelings, from me, from this amazing family we could have together if she stayed.
And that didn’t sit right with me at all.
“Nana and Papa texted from the road to say they miss you guys already.”
Maisie didn’t look up from her book. “Uh-huh.”
“They also mentioned that they’d love to have you come up and stay with them in LA for a week this summer.”
That news elicited no response; my daughter’s eyes moved rapidly as they scanned the text on the page before her.
“Hello.” I waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Maisie.”
That finally broke whatever trance she was under, and she blinked up at me. “What?’
My brows drew down. “What are you reading that’s so interesting you can’t pause to have a conversation with your father?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks pinkened. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
I folded both arms over my chest. “Try me.”
She began to fidget in her seat. “It’s just a hockey romance. Nothing exciting.”
“Hockey romance,” I repeated slowly.
I wasn’t a huge recreational reader, but I had read exactly one romance book. And it just so happened to be a chart-topping hockey romance that became the catalyst for my trade to San Diego.
From what I could remember, it featured descriptive sex scenes that were not at all appropriate for consumption by my twelve-year old daughter.
“It’s really cute, actually,” Maisie gushed. “The male main character is a hurt pro who goes home to take care of his mom while he recovers and ends up coaching the local youth hockey team. And then he starts to fall for the star player’s mom, who also happens to be his best friend’s sister.”
“Right.” I held my hand out. “Mind if I take a peek?”
She clutched the book to her chest. “I’d rather you not.”
I curled my fingers. “Hand it over.” My tone brooked no argument, and reluctantly, Maisie relinquished her hold.
