I Want You Back (Want You #1)(64)

When the pointlessness of the class was obvious to an eight-year-old . . . “You still have to tell me one positive thing about the class.”

“I didn’t get yelled at.”

I fought a laugh.

Mimi craned her neck to scan the stands. “Where’s Mommy?”

“She went to the store. I’m taking you home and staying for supper.”

Then she grinned that sweet, hopeful, girlish smile that owned me. “Yay! Then I can make you cookies.”

“Do you need me to help you out of your gear?”

“I’m not a baby.”

Okay then.

She reached the mats and disappeared.

I figured I was in for a wait, so I watched the next group take the ice. Girls, probably in the 14U bracket. I’d read up on the girls’ hockey program, and the only difference I saw between it and boys’ hockey was the “no checking” rule at all age levels. Gabi skated two laps with them before issuing instructions. The students collectively groaned, and she wore that evil “I’m torturing you for your own good” look that I’d seen on dozens of coaches over the years. I wasn’t surprised when she stopped in front of me.

“Is this your group?”

“I’m the assistant. The head coach is out on maternity leave until the season officially starts, so I’m basically running this group.” She kept her focus on the ice when she asked, “Why didn’t you tell Coach Dyklar who you are?”

“I did. I’m Mimi’s dad.”

“Come on, Lund. Humbleness doesn’t suit you given the career you’ve had.”

“Me bragging about accomplishments in my former pro career isn’t going to make him a better coach. He’s a know-nothing with a Napoleon complex that he lords over the youngest kids and their parents. I hate that he is the first contact a lot of these players will have with the world of hockey. There are so many good men and women who love teaching and coaching. They should be a kid’s first coach. That’s where they’ll learn love of the game, respect for the rules and teamwork.”

That outburst earned me a genuine smile from Crabby Gabi. “I couldn’t agree more. And that accurate assassination of his supposed character makes me rethink my initial opinion of you.”

“Which was what?”

“That you’re an entitled a-hole who throws around your name and money to get things done your way.”

“By all means, Gabi, don’t hold back on how you really feel,” I said dryly.

She blushed, but she didn’t apologize.

“Look, I’m entitled. I know that. But rehab forced me to deal with my issues, so I can state with pride that I am no longer a drunken a-hole throwing anything around.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Rehab isn’t mentioned anywhere in your bio. Is it recent?”

“It’s been three years. So fair warning not to invite me out for a drink.”

“I doubt your wife would be happy if I did that.”

I didn’t correct her mistaken impression that Lucy and I were married. “You’re probably right.”

“Anyway, I didn’t come over here to go all fangirl on you. In fact, I wanted to apologize for my a-hole behavior.”

“Apology accepted. I won’t secretly call you Crabby Gabi behind your back, and you won’t make assumptions about me based on my name, deal?”

“Deal.”

Then I offered my hand. “I’m Jaxson Lund. You can call me Jax.”

She slapped my hand and snorted. “Gabriella Welk. I go by Gabi.”

“Welk? As in . . . Lawrence Welk?”

“Yeah. He and my great-grandpa were cousins. I never met him.”

“You’re from North Dakota?”

“Yessir. University of North Dakota grad.”

I groaned. “No way is a former Fighting Sioux player teaching my kid.”

“Says the dude whose college mascot is a bucktoothed rat,” Gabi retorted.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Nor was I surprised that she knew I’d attended University of Minnesota. “Go torture your team, North Dakota. A couple of them are gossiping instead of skating.”

She whirled around and zipped across the ice.

As much as I wanted to watch Gabi’s coaching style, I had to meet Mimi out front.

Ten minutes later she appeared, dragging her equipment bag behind her.

The girl didn’t protest that she “wasn’t a baby” when I carried her equipment bag.

Mimi wasn’t talkative at all in the car. I’d expected a million questions, but she just stared out the window.

I didn’t push. She’d talk on her own time frame.

She did pay attention when I drove into the parking garage and not the visitor’s lot. “Uh, you’ll get in trouble if you park in somebody’s spot.”

“It’ll be okay. Trust me.” With all that had gone on in Mimi’s life, had she forgotten I’d be moving into this building?

When we reached the apartment, Mimi burst through the door, calling out for her mom. For a moment I remained frozen in the doorframe, wondering what it’d be like to have this life. A family meal every night. Helping Mimi with homework or cleaning up the kitchen because it was my turn. My gaze homed in on the wreckage that Mimi had left—her coat, shoes, backpack strewn across the floor. At my place I insisted Mimi pick up after herself. Here, she existed in the familiar chaos she created because it was home. Would she ever consider being with me . . . home?