Concerned, I climb off my bike and tug off my helmet, then grab my phone and swipe to answer it.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she says before I can get a word out, and the sound of her warm voice floods me with relief. A smile cracks my face because she knows me so well. Anytime she calls, the first words out of my mouth are always “Are you okay?”

“Dieu merci,” I whisper, and my mother laughs.

“I was just calling to say hi and see how things are going.”

“No problems here. I just finished unpacking in my new condo, and training has been going great. I had a killer assist in our first preseason game that the whole team is still talking about,” I tell her, my smile growing wider as I recount it. “I wish you could’ve been there to see it.”

“Me too, mon cœur. Me too.”

“I’ll have to fly you in for a game sometime, assuming you’re up to it.”

“I would love that,” my mother says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“I’ll get you the best seats in the house,” I suggest, already picturing her bundled up in an Aces jersey with my number on it, watching me play in the NHL.

“That sounds wonderful, Dec.”

“Good. I’ll get it set up and arrange for your plane tickets and all of that. Anyway, enough about me. How are you doing?”

“Oh, fine,” she says breezily, but I’m not buying it. She always tries to downplay what’s really going on, and even though she said she was just calling to catch up, I’ve had twenty-four years to learn her tells.

“What is it you always used to say about liars when I was a kid?”

“Liars often set their own traps,” my mother recites, and I chuckle.

“Then consider yourself caught. What’s really going on?”

My mother sighs, making the line crackle, and takes a second. “It’s nothing serious. It’s just that my joints have been a bit achy lately.” Her words make my chest clench, squeezing my heart.

“Well with this new contract, I can get all the best care for you. Whatever you want or need, it’s yours. I’m going to take care of you, just like I promised I would. I’ve already set up an appointment with that specialist in San Diego we were looking at. And I’ve arranged for a home health aide to come by twice a week. No arguments,” I add before she can protest. “You spent years taking care of me. Let me return the favor.”

My mother sniffles, and hearing it feels like someone is tearing my heart right out of my chest. “I know you will. But you have to⁠—”

“Live life for myself too,” I finish for her. “Yeah, I know. And trust me, I am.”