“I’ll be back tonight,” I say and make a beeline for the exit. I walk a little bit faster than normal out into the hot sun. Getting into the car, I smell him all around me. I adjust my seat and make my way to work. The SUV drives so smooth. I have no idea what to do with the radio or what button to press, so I just leave it off and get lost in my own thoughts, which go right back to Justin where they shouldn’t be.

Chapter Seven

Justin

“Great idea to get the kids new equipment,” Amy says. “Some of them have equipment that needs to be retired.” I look at her, and I’m almost tempted to fire her, but then who the hell would help run this shit.

“Have some respect, Amy,” I say under my breath as kids run out of the room like it’s Christmas morning. I walk in, looking for Dylan, but don’t see him anywhere.

“He went to his locker room,” Dan says while he helps a kid try on skates.

“Thank you so much.” One of the fathers comes to me and shakes my hand with his eyes filled with tears. “It’s more than you know.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I say, and then I point over at Dan. “He’s the one who made this happen.”

“Your parents should be very, very proud,” he says, and I smile.

I lean in and whisper, “I’ll remind my mother of that the next time I miss her curfew when I’m home.”

“Always her baby,” he says, and I nod. “Have a great day.”

“You as well,” I say and turn to walk down the hallway while I hear some of the kids freaking out.

“These are the newest skates on the market,” one of the kids says. “He has to mold my foot tomorrow.”

“This hockey stick has the best flex,” another says, and I finally find Dylan in one of the locker rooms all by himself.

“Hey there, did you get your stuff?” I ask, sitting on the bench and looking around.

“Justin, look at the new skates I got,” he says, taking them out of his bag and holding them up to me. “The laces are so white.” He looks down, and his smile fills his face.

“I saw. Did you try them on?” I ask. He comes to sit next to me and takes his running shoes off and puts his foot in one.

“Will you help me tie them?” he asks, and I get up and stoop down in front of him. “Usually, Mom helps me.”

“Does she tie them really tight?” I ask as I tighten the lace at the bottom.

“Yeah,” he says and then looks at me. “But the other dads do it tighter. Don’t tell her.”