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“The place was packed. I know for a fact I’m not the only WAG who hated Jim. I even chat with some of the Keys and Knights WAGs sometimes, and it was a pretty universal feeling. We went mostly to pay our respects to Tucker, right?”

Barry nods at her pointed look.

“But I saw some of the other players also greet his sisters, the ones who are now presidents of the other teams. Jim was an asshole, yeah, but somehow his kids don’t seem to be.” She releases a big breath. “We’ll see if that’s the truth soon enough I suppose.”

That’s . . . a lot.

To me it sounds like a damn volatile work environment, but then again, it’s not like I know that much about Barry’s job beyond how he straps knives to his feet and bashes people against boards or ice.

And all this talk about Barry’s job reminds me of the email I got yesterday, the one I didn’t tell Barry or Hannah about because they were at their twenty-four-week doctor’s appointment.

Maybe I also kept it quiet because I wanted to discuss it with Dr. Natalie—which I did last night at our appointment.

I stay quiet and listen to them discussing the funeral, all the people who were there and how the Barclay’s looked—Hannah was apparently only focused on them during the whole deal—and wait for a lull in conversation to bring it up.

No, actually.

I use the time it takes for all of us to clean up our plates to gather the courage to tell them. I’m not really scared of their reactions, not at all—I’m scared of getting my hopes up.

I can’t let that stop me from doing everything I can to move on, though.

I can’t.

They both turn to me instantly when the deep breath I take seems to echo in the big kitchen.

“I got an interview for Luxton.”

For a long moment there’s only silence, and then they explode.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Sunny!”

“Congrats, man.”

Barry jostles me by the shoulder while Hannah scoots out of her chair and stands to give me a crushing hug.

“So proud of you,” she murmurs in my ear.

“Thanks,” I breathe out finally, and that dangerous hope threatens to brim out of me. “It’s not until June or July.” I start curbing expectations. “Their art teacher for the elementary school is retiring at the end of the school year, so they don’t want to start that whole process until it’s final, but yeah, I got a shot.”

And I’m sure they’re going to demand to know what I’ve been doing for the past year since I quit, why I quit, and why I don’t have a recommendation letter from my previous boss—principal Garret. I do have letters from a few professors, from parents, and other teachers who I remember being sad to see me leave. I hope those count for something.

That’s going to be nerve-racking, but like Dr. Natalie said yesterday, I have time to prepare for that conversation.

For now, I keep breathing and keep fighting to stay in that happy, hopeful place.

The next day arrives with the surprise of a whole-team cookout. Hannah apparently had the idea late last night after we’d all supposedly gone to bed, and sent out invites right then and there.

Which means Barry and I are at the grocery store with two full carts and threatening to need a third.

I’ve been informed hockey players eat a lot, and considering almost everyone is bringing at least a plus one, and about ten of the players have multiple kids, we’re looking at over fifty people who are expecting to be fed in just a few hours.

Focusing on buying enough food then prepping everything at home helps my mind stay off any unwanted topics, so even though my sister’s whim has meant a chaotic morning, I’m grateful—not that I’m going to tell her that.

I snicker every time a guy comes in and calls Barry Nessy, and quickly lose track over who’s who, since the WAGs all refer to their significant others by their actual names, but the men all introduce themselves by their nicknames.

The two alternate captains are Cody—Lucy for some fucking reason—and Lawsy—who Hannah called Reed and made my mind spin a bit.

After that, my brain became a soup of letters.