A Secret for a Secret (All In #3)(17)

“Hey, Kody, I’m so glad you’re here today!”

“Aunt Evie bring me to watch Daddy practice ’cause Mommy is napping. She’s tired ’cause my baby brudder is dancing all night in her tummy!” He pats his belly. “I’m a big boy now, so I don’t need naps.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods. “Mommy says my brudder is gonna be an acto-bat. Imma play hockey like my daddy.” He puffs out his little chest. “Daddy says if I want to be a hockey player I has to eat all my vege-ables, but I only like corn.”

I tap my lip. “Hmm, that’s tough, but your dad is right: you do need to eat vegetables if you want to grow up and be a big, strong hockey player like him.” I give his biceps a squeeze.

He makes a face. “I don’t like broccoli.” He lowers his voice. “When no one’s looking I feed it to Brutus.”

“Brutus is your dog, right?”

He grins again and nods, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It makes his toots smell like rotten eggs.” He giggles.

“What’s going on over here?” Stevie tickles him under the arms, and he squeals. “Hey, Queenie, how’re you?”

“I’m good. Looks like you’re on aunt duty today.”

“Sure am.” She grins as Kody scales the seats so he can be closer to the ice, and then she takes the one beside mine. “He couldn’t stop talking about you on the way over here. I think he believes you’re actual royalty.”

I snort a laugh and tuck my bag under the seat. “Maybe I’ll wear a crown the next time you bring him by the arena to visit.”

“Oh my God, that would be priceless.”

“Lainey feeling okay?” I’ve also met Rook’s wife a few times. She’s quieter than Stevie; actually, they’re basically opposites in most regards. Where Stevie is outspoken and outgoing, Lainey’s more introverted and introspective. But I like them both equally.

“She’s doing pretty good, but the baby’s been kicking up a storm at night, so Lainey hasn’t been getting the best sleep. Plus this one”—she points to Kody—“has decided that playing hockey in his bedroom at five in the morning is a good idea. Needless to say, she’s tired. I don’t have clients at the clinic until later this afternoon, so I figured I could bring Kody here for a couple hours, and Lainey could catch a nap.”

“That was sweet of you.”

Stevie shrugs. “It means I get time with my nephew, I get to heckle my brother, and I get to watch my man in his element. So pretty much all my favorite things in one place.” She winks and motions to the ice, where the guys are doing drills. “So, what kind of research are you doing this morning?”

“Mostly I’m watching the players interact: seeing who relies on who, which players read their teammates best, who’s fastest, who scores the most, and how it lines up with their stats. The usual.”

“No wonder your dad hired you as his assistant. You know the game, don’t you?”

I shrug. “I spent a lot of time in arenas when I was little, not so much as I got older.” Since there were a number of years when I couldn’t stand to watch the game, I avoided it. It’s only now that I’m working here that I realize how much I’ve missed it. “But I get what makes a good player, and how sometimes switching out one player can strengthen or weaken a line.”

“That definitely makes sense. When Bishop came to Seattle, they moved him from forward to defense.”

“Really? Why would they do that? He and Rook are the top scorers on the team.”

“He’s a big guy, so they thought it would be a better fit.”

“I guess I can see that.” I scroll through the lineup of players. “Do they ever play Rook and Bishop on the same line?”

“Uh no, not that I’ve ever seen. Why do you ask?” Stevie pulls a pack of mints out of her purse and pops one in her mouth before offering them to me.

“Just curious. I get wanting to keep them separate so both lines are strong, but it would be interesting to see what putting them together would do for the team.”

“I guess if they don’t beat each other to death with their sticks it would be an interesting experiment.”

“Is that likely to happen?” I’ve seen those two bickering before. They’re worse than toddlers fighting over toys.

Stevie shrugs. “I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty chance.”

“Could be entertaining, if nothing else.”

We sit in silence for a while and watch the players, noting who passes to who the most, whose form is the smoothest, and who takes the most risks, and the best shots. I find myself fixated on Kingston, although he is their main target. He’s also let in a lot more goals today than his stats indicate is normal for him. Another puck slips by, through the five-hole this time, and he tosses a glove on top of the net, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. Bishop skates over and puts a hand on his shoulder—checking in, I assume.

“I wonder what’s going on with King today? He’s playing like sh—poop,” she says, censoring herself, although Kody isn’t paying attention to us.

“He’s usually a lot smoother,” I agree.

“And less distracted. Do you watch them practice often?”