Page 115 of Made for Mayhem

I busied myself with the clipboard. “Focus on the drills, not my love life.”

Beckett wasn’t letting it go. “So how are you going to juggle it all this fall? Store opens at 7, school drop-off at 8, practice at 3, and now you’ve got a girlfriend. You’re one man, Huddy.”

I exhaled, watching Jace and Delgado set up for another rush. “I promoted Steve to general manager last week. He’s going to handle the day-to-day, and I can just be oversight.”

Beckett raised a brow. “You sure? Will your dad have anything to say about that?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Amen, brother.”

On the ice, Molly stole the puck from Delgado again, cackling as she roofed it top shelf. Pickles flopped dramatically, and stayed down. “What the heck was that?”

“Skill!” Molly shouted back. “You should try it!”

Jace skated over, leaning on his stick. “Coach, tell Smash he can’t check me just ‘cause I’m prettier.”

Delgado grinned. “Pretty doesn’t stop pucks, Juice.”

“No cap,” Beckett said, and they all groaned in unison.

“I hate it when he does that,” Molly said. “Stop trying so hard.”

I blew the whistle for a water break. The kids coasted to the bench, sweaty and grinning. They all chattered about everything and nothing, but movement in my periphery caught my eye.

Junie marched down the ramp to the rink in an oversized Mayhem hoodie, leggings, and rain boots. Daisy followed, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, her paint-splattered overalls doing a terrible job of hiding the curves I memorized last night.

“Hi Dad!” Junie waved. “We brought snacks!”

My heart lurched at the word again, a wide grin spreading across my face as she ran toward me. Her arms wrapped around my legs, squeezing tight, and I hugged her back.

“What’s up, Rookie!” Molly knocked her on the shoulder, and Junie grinned up at her. “You’re late!”

“This isn’t an official practice,” Junie corrected, already climbing onto the bench. “So I can’t be late.”

Daisy gave a little wave, then busied herself setting the basket on the bench. I tried not to stare, but Beckett elbowed me hard enough to bruise.

“Subtle,” he muttered.

“Shut up.”

Junie was already in third-coach mode, pointing at the whiteboard. “Have they run the Carolina breakout yet? I watched replays with my dad last week, and the second forward needs to curl higher or the D will pinch.”

Delgado blinked. “Okay, pint-sized Gretzky.”

Junie looked right at him. “You should work on your gap control before the season starts.”

The kids howled. Even Pickles cracked a grin, his goalie mask perched atop his head.

Daisy slid onto the bench beside Beckett, leaving a careful foot of space between us. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

“Never.” I pulled her in for a kiss on the temple, hand on her back. “Junie’s got notes.”

Beckett leaned forward. “Hey, Daisy. Nice basket.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Thanks, Beckett. Nice whistle.”

He smirked. “So, how was the rest of your night? Restful? Sleep well?”