Page 117 of Falling Back to You

With that kind of loss, team morale was at an all-time low, and I definitely didn’t feel like celebrating. But tonight wasn’t about me. This was about Jackson. I could pull myself together long enough to get through dinner before going back to the hotel and dissecting every part of my performance tonight. How I could have done better.

But first things first. Jackson was getting the VIP treatment with a trip to the locker room. He and Gabe were waiting with Bells when I approached. “What’s up, my man?” I held my fist up in front of the blond, buck-toothed preteen. “Happy birthday!”

Jackson gaped at me for point two seconds. “Dude!” He bumped my fist, vibrating with excitement.

I grinned at him. “You ready to come say hi to the guys? We’ve got a present for you.”

The kid lit up like the Fourth of July sky. “Best birthday ever!” And he was shining even brighter once we got into the locker room and the guys gave him the signed birthday card and Chargers ball cap.

We did our best to keep upbeat, but Jackson was smart.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said after giving high fives and fist bumps to the guys. “You lost. Big deal. You’ll do better next time.”

“You aren’t disappointed?” I asked the boy.

“Sure.” Jackson shrugged. “Losing stinks, but it’s part of the game. If you aren’t willing to preserve and spill your guts on the ice, you don’t deserve to win. At least, that’s what Dad says.”

Wow. Deep truths from a newly minted eleven-year-old with a wily cowlick. Preserve. I was ninety percent sure the word he was looking for was persevere, but I wasn’t going to correct him.

Gabe chuckled, confirming my suspicions of a mistaken word. “Not quite what I said, but it’s nice to know you were paying attention.”

“Well, someone said don’t let the fear of messing up stop you from playing the game,” Jackson added, unperturbed.

Jamie nudged Brooks and stage-whispered, “I think he just paraphrased Babe Ruth.”

“No way,” Brooks countered. “Definitely Hilary Duff’s dad in that one show.”

“Are you even old enough to know who that is?” Van asked.

Brooks shoved his shoulder. “Dude, I’ve got four sisters. Me and that blonde cartoon conscience have seen some stuff.”

“Life lessons from a cartoon? Sign me up.” Jamie high-fived his friend.

“You’ve got sisters?” Van perked up.

Brooks smacked him with a towel. “Never gonna happen.”

Myles cleared his throat and gave them the look. He got a lot of mileage out of that expression. The bickering trio refocused on Jackson.

“Wise words, my man,” Jamie said, then nudged Max. “Lay all the cards on the table. This tracking with you, Magic?”

“Bells,” Brooks coughed.

“Children,” Max muttered, red creeping up his neck.

Jackson focused on me. “Why’d you hesitate on that shot in the second period? You never hesitate.”

Man, this kid missed nothing. Was he seriously only eleven?

“I got up in my head.” I rubbed the back of my neck.

“That’s a bummer. Just think, if you took that shot, you could have won.”

“You give me too much credit.”

“Way too much,” Van joked, slinging a towel around his neck.

“You hear that, Cap?” Myles teased. “Your number one fan said do better.” He winked at Jackson. “Does this make me the favourite tonight?”