Page 22 of Checking It Twice
“Well, for starters, he’s kind,” I say, the words coming more easily than I expected. “I once watched him spend twenty minutes helping an elderly janitor fix his car in the parking garage. He didn’t ask for anything or make a big deal about it—he just saw someone who needed help and stepped up.” I pause, reflecting on all the small moments I’d cataloged without realizing it. “And he works harder than anyone gives him credit for. He’s always the last one to leave practice, always checking on the younger guys, making sure they’re settling in okay.”
Mitch goes very still beside me, his thumb halting its lazy circles on my knuckles.
“Plus,” I add, getting lost in the memory, “when I was dealing with that nightmare charity auction disaster last month, he stayed late to help me sort through vendor contracts. He didn’t complain once, even though it was mind-numbingly boring.”
“You noticed all that?” His voice is rough, surprised.
The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t hide the truth from my expression. Of course, I noticed. I’ve been watching him for months, cataloging every small kindness and every moment when he thought no one was looking. The realization that I’ve been studying him like he’s some fascinating puzzle I can’t solve hits me like a physical blow.
“I...” I swallow hard, heat creeping up my neck. “I pay attention too.”
“What about you?” Maddie asks Mitch, her eyes dancing with mischief. “What sealed the deal?”
Mitch is quiet for a long moment, staring at our joined hands as if he’s seeing them for the first time. When he looks up, raw emotion flickers in his expression, tightening my chest.
“She fights for people,” he says finally. “I watched her go to war with management to secure proper mental health resources for the players who need them. She spent her own time researching programs, writing proposals, and making calls. She didn’t have to do any of that—it wasn’t her job—but she did it anyway because it was the right thing to do.” He pauses, his gaze finding mine. “And she remembers things. Important things. Like when Hayes was worried about his kid starting school, she found him that article about helping anxious children transition, just because she knew he was stressed about it.”
My heart does something dangerous against my ribs. I had no idea he’d noticed any of that.
“She also has very strong opinions about hockey players,” he adds, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“What kind of opinions?” Tom asks, clearly entertained.
“Well,” I say, stalling as I realize where this is heading, “I may have mentioned that I have certain... rules about dating athletes.”
“What kind of rules?” Maddie presses, grinning now.
The wine has made me loose-tongued, and the warmth of this family’s attention has lowered my guard. “Like not dating guys who sleep with every puck bunny from here to Vancouver,” I blurt out.
The table erupts in laughter. Evan nearly chokes on his water, and Maddie claps her hands together with delight.
“Puck bunny,” Karen repeats, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh, that’s perfect.”
“I can’t believe you just called them puck bunnies in front of my parents,” Mitch says, but he’s laughing too, his whole face lit up with genuine amusement.
“I didn’t mean to—the wine—and well, your family is very welcoming,” I stammer.
“No, no,” Tom says, still chuckling. “That’s exactly the kind of straight talk this family appreciates.”
“So Mitchell passed the puck bunny test?” Sophie calls out from the kids’ table, apparently having absorbed more of the adult conversation than anyone realized.
“Sophie!” Karen gasps, but she’s still laughing.
“He did,” I say, looking at Mitch with an expression that feels dangerously close to affection. “He’s actually one of the good ones.”
After dinner, I help Karen and Maddie clear the table while the men migrate to the living room to argue about hockey highlights. It’s comfortable and domestic—the kind of easy female bonding I’ve never had with my own family.
I’ve been here less than eight hours, and yet I feel like I already fit in.
Go figure.
“So,” Maddie says, loading dishes into the dishwasher with the efficiency of someone who’s clearly done this a thousand times. “Mitchell seems different.”
“Different how?”
“Happier. More like himself.” She pauses, studying me with those observant Drake eyes. “He hasn’t been the same since Hannah. We were starting to worry he’d never get past it.”
The mention of his ex-fiancée hits harder than it should. “It was that bad?”
