Page 85 of Crack the Ice

“Thank you.” I kiss his cheek once more before I grab my purse and my keys off the hook by the front door. “See you later, Mavy. You got this, okay?”

“Thanks, Cess. Have a good day.”

I wave over my shoulder, turning the alarm off before stepping out into the stupidly humid morning. A thin sheen of sweat immediately covers my skin as I hurry to my car. I might need a bigger one.

Huh, would make me a cool “mom”?

I shrug as I pull the door open. That’s a problem for another day. I’m feeling oddly inspired this morning. I think I’m going to try a new recipe.

THIRTY

MAVERICK

“Lily, what’s going on today?” I ask as I skate over to where she’s pressed her helmet into the plexiglass.

She turns her head slightly to the side. Her eyes look all wrong. They’re dull, lifeless, and not her. “You okay?” I ask, suddenly concerned.

“Are you Coach Reed or just Reed right now?”

I crouch down a bit so that I can see her better through the cage of her helmet. “Who do you need me to be?”

She shrugs, but when I raise a brow, she sighs. “Just Reed.”

“Okay, just Reed it is.” I drop down, but my ass hits the slippery surface harder than I anticipated. That, mixed with the cold bite of the ice through my track pants, has me biting the inside of my cheek. “Now, talk to me.”

“I miss my mom.” Her voice is so quiet it almost gets lost in the noise of the rink. “Today was her and Dad’s anniversary. She’d always make apple pie. It was his favorite. But the last few years, she’d go pick up the ones from some nasty fast food place, too tired to make them from scratch. We’d celebrate the day they got married, the day they started trying to build our family. Then we’d eat apple pie and watch some stupid bull riding movie that was so corny, Cade and I hated it. I don’t even remember the name of it.”

I nod along. It was hard to let go of traditions after my mom passed. I found myself doing them alone for years until I forced myself to stop. Maybe this one doesn’t need to, though. Maybe we can make this something that’s ours, while still honoring her parents.

“What if we turned book club into a party later? I know you two are going home with Sammy and will probably hang out with him and Maggie before you come back to the house with everyone else, but maybe I could set it up before everyone gets there. We can call it…” I put my finger to my lips, trying to come up with anything, but my mind keeps coming up blank.

“The Jackson kids’ initiation into the framily,” she finishes for me.

They’ve been part of the framily since before the framily was even a thing, but if that makes her feel any better, she can call it that. “Perfect.” I push up off the ice. “Happy coronation day, little one.”

“It’s initiation day, Reed.” She rolls her eyes as she skates back to the line where her teammates are like nothing ever happened.

I pull my glove off with my teeth, slide my phone out of my pocket, and fire off a text to the one person I know can make this happen.

Baby, I know this is last minute. Lily misses her mom today. She just told me today was her parents’ anniversary, and they always used to have apple pie, but the last few years they got it at some fast food joint. Think maybe you could make one and bring it to the book club? We’re going to have an initiation for them. “Jackson kids’ initiation to the framily,” she called it.

I don’t expect a text back right away. She’s usually flitting around the bakery like a butterfly, never staying in one place for long. If I don’t hear from her by the end of practice, I’ll call her.

Sliding my glove back on, I rejoin practice. We’re running a scrimmage to see where these girls are at. Some of their coaches gave us areas where some of their players needed improvement on and asked for progress reports at the end of camp.

Sammy, Monroe, and I watch from the bench as Wilson and Andrews act as the refs. It’s funny as hell to see them calling things that they’d be pissed for getting called out for.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I smile at the name on the screen, only for my heart to drop from my chest when I see her response.

Yeah, Muscles, I’ll make it happen only if you promise to never mention fast food in the same sentence as baked goods ever again.

Your sister showed up. I’ve never seen her this angry. I’m not sure what to do. I can tell she doesn’t want to be here. It’s really uncomfortable.

Do you want me to come up there?

Selfishly, yes. But that would make it worse. Do you have eight seconds I could have later?

Eight seconds. Eight fucking seconds. My eyes slam closed, and I fight to keep myself upright as if those words reached directly into my chest and squeezed the life out of my heart. I remember the day she told me what that meant, that if you hug someone for eight seconds, it releases enough oxytocin to lower stress levels and make you happier.