He has home advantage...

But she’s got a strong defensive play.

Hockey star Troy Green never gives up. Not on the ice. Not when he battled cancer last year. And not when it comes to his new neighbor, Michelle Robinson. Troy only wants to help the struggling single mom and her sweet kids, but soon he’s falling for her. Is Troy finally ready to trade in his bachelor life and become a family man?

KIM FINDLAY lives in Toronto, Canada, with her husband, two sons and the world’s cutest dog. When she can get time away from her accounting business, she can be found sailing, reading or writing, depending on the season, time of day and her energy level. You can find her at kimfindlay.ca, on Twitter, @missheyer74, or on Facebook.

Also By Kim Findlay

A Hockey Romance

Crossing the Goal Line

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Her Family’s Defender

Kim Findlay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08499-4

HER FAMILY’S DEFENDER

© 2018 Kim Findlay

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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“Let your mom have some caffeine first!”

Troy passed Michelle a cup of coffee. The tree had more presents underneath it now than it had when she’d finally gone to bed last night. She glanced up at him. He met her gaze with a big grin and grabbed her free hand.

“I know you don’t want charity, but I’ve got more money than I need and no one to spend it on. You guys have had a tough time, and I know you wanted to make this Christmas special for the kids.”

His eyes were warm, and his expression sincere.

“Plus, this should get me out of doing dishes, shouldn’t it?” His eyes sparkled as he broke the serious mood.

Michelle took back her hand, reluctantly. It had felt better than it should have. She’d invited Troy for Christmas, thinking she was paying him back for all he’d managed to do for them. But somehow, he’d turned things around again, and she was even more in his debt.

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to be here with my second Harlequin Heartwarming book, and that you’re here, as well!

We met Troy in my first book, Crossing the Goal Line. He wasn’t exactly hero material. But what if he lost some of his macho attitude? What if he got sick, and couldn’t have kids? How would that affect him?

Then I considered what kind of woman could match him. She’d need to be strong. And who would be stronger than an army veteran? Enter Michelle, widowed, newly discharged, with two kids. The trio push Troy out of his comfort zone, and inspire him to be a better man.

I’d love to hear from readers. You can find me at kimfindlay.ca, on Facebook under KimFindlayAuthor or on Twitter, @missheyer74.

Kim

To Victoria, Claire, Adrienne and Jessica,

who have made me believe I’m a writer.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

TROY HAD NEVER realized that the carpet in the hallway of his condo building had green in the pattern. But then, he’d never had his nose shoved into it before. As he breathed in the musty odor, he tried to assess just how much trouble he was in.

A crazy fan had somehow flipped Troy over, pinned his arm behind his back and sat on him. Not good. On the other hand, he was bigger than she was, and he should be able to get free; he just didn’t want to do any damage to his arm while he did so. Training camp was starting soon, and after missing all of last year, he needed to be healthy and ready to play.

Troy was a professional athlete, he was single and, in his opinion, pretty good-looking. He’d been a key part of the hockey team who’d won the Cup in a hockey-crazy city that hadn’t won that prize for more than fifty years. So he had fans. But he’d never had one go so overboard that she’d snuck into his condo building, followed him into the elevator and then somehow dropped him to the floor. He’d be happy not to have another.

Why hadn’t he paid more attention to the woman who’d followed him into the elevator? He’d been thinking of the day he’d spent on the water, wondering if he should get a boat for himself instead of checking her for her ranking on the crazy meter.

Which would be in the red zone.

He hadn’t really noticed her until he was ready to get out on the penthouse level. There were only two condos on this floor: Troy’s and Mrs. Epps’s. Mrs. Epps was about eighty, Troy estimated, and she was away, so she wasn’t inviting guests over. The only place this woman could be going was Troy’s.

Troy enjoyed being popular with fans. He especially enjoyed being popular with female fans. A couple of them had become very popular with him. But he preferred to be the one choosing, and even if she’d been one of his leggy blondes, he didn’t want a puck bunny tonight.

So when the door pinged open on the penthouse floor, and she started to exit, he put his arm across the open door to block her progress.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re not getting out—” he told her, adding a hint of a smile to soften the blow.

The next thing he knew, he was examining the pattern on the carpet while the elevator doors softly closed behind him.

“Do you have a problem?” Troy asked, calling on his reserves of patience. He’d seen the movie Misery. He couldn’t wait too long to get up if she was a real nutcase. But maybe he could convince her to get off him. And more important, protect his arm from any real damage.

“I don’t have a problem now,” the woman responded. “But you will when the police arrive.”

Police? He’d welcome them, or even building security. What kind of crazy was this woman?

“I’m not the trespasser here, so you go ahead and call the cops and give yourself up,” he said as assertively as he could while breathing in who knows what from the carpet. He was going to have to talk to someone about the cleaning in this building.

“I’m not trespassing,” she argued, rustling through her bag with one hand while keeping the other on his twisted arm.

“There are two people living on this floor. I’m one and an eighty-year-old woman is the other. Since she’s away and not getting too many visitors right now, you’re going to have trouble selling that story.”

“Mrs. Epps is letting us stay in her place while she’s on vacation,” the woman responded. She’d stopped groping around in her purse. Troy wasn’t sure if that was progress. He’d hoped she was searching for her phone to call the cops. Now she had both hands free to use on him. He wished he’d looked at her a little closer. He was starting to entertain the notion that she might be dangerous. She’d appeared harmless, but she obviously had some skills, since he was incapacitated on the floor, and she’d done enough research to have discovered not only where he lived, but also that Mrs. Epps was his neighbor and currently on vacation. It was adding up to stalker in his books.

“Nice try. Why don’t we call security and ask them about this?” he suggested. Crap. He was going to sneeze. Would she break his arm if he did?

“How do you think I got into the building? Security let me in,” she retorted.

He was going to have to talk to security, as well.

He spoke in a quiet, soothing voice as if she was a nervous dog prepared to attack. “Okay, then, if you really are staying here legitimately, and everything is on the level, why did you attack me?”

“I didn’t attack you!” Her voice rose. “You attacked me and I defended myself!”

“Attacked you? I didn’t touch you! I just tried to keep an unauthorized person from following me to my place!”

“You tried to keep me in the elevator using force.”

“That wasn’t force. You need to chill out.”

“Easy for a man to say,” she responded with rancor, but she released his arm and stood up. Troy carefully tested his arm and, finding it a little sore but undamaged, got carefully to his feet.

She took a few steps back and Troy got his first good look at her. She was shoulder height to him, about his age, but fit and held herself erect. Her hair was dark and long and tied back in a messy ponytail. She had no makeup on, and she was wearing a rumpled T-shirt and shorts. And she was majorly pissed at him.

She had let him go, but she was still on guard, and it bothered Troy. Wasn’t he the one who’d been upended here? She looked like she’d been hiding behind a dumpster for a few days. She didn’t appear to belong in his upscale building, let alone the penthouse. But he didn’t attack women. Had he done something she could consider threatening?

“I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He tried a smile, one with a little extra charm in it. “But I think I’d know if my neighbor was letting someone stay in her place. The condo board here is pretty strict, so people don’t just drop off their keys to strangers. You’ve got a good story, but you should just walk away now.”

Apparently, the charm in his smile wasn’t working on her. She narrowed her eyes and put her fists on her hips. “Do you even read your condo notices?” she said witheringly. “The board sent one out to inform residents that we were going to be staying in Mrs. Epps’s place. But go ahead and call security if you want. Just do it fast. I’ve had a tiring day, and I don’t want to be standing around any longer than I have to.”

She gave him a long stare, stepped back another few feet and reached into her bag again. He tensed, but when she pulled out her hand she had only grabbed her phone. She swiped it, tapped, and started opening something on the screen. She found what she wanted and held it up to him. “This is a copy of the condo letter.”

She must have decided she was either out of danger or that she could handle whatever threat he posed, because she crossed over to him and held the phone out. He reached for it, but she held on. As if he’d try to steal it.

Reading the screen, he recognized the condo logo on top and scanned enough to verify that Mrs. Epps had asked the board to let someone stay in her condo, and that the board had agreed.

The brunette stepped back once he raised his eyes. Darn, he was in the wrong. She’d nailed it when she’d guessed he never read those condo board letters. They were usually about some stupid rule, and no one expected him to follow every rule.

He should apologize, but it stuck in his throat. He was a big guy, and made his living dominating his opponents physically. This woman had dropped him to the carpet without breaking a sweat. That was troublesome. She had no idea who he was, and that made him all too aware of the year he’d missed playing, and what else he could still miss. And certainly the way she was looking at him like he was a creep wasn’t helping.

But fair was fair. She did belong here, and he’d missed the memo. He probably had more paperwork about the whole deal that he’d ignored.

“Okay. I’m sorry I tried to block you from getting off the elevator. But you didn’t need to pin me to the ground. Maybe say something next time.”

“You think I overreacted?.” She eyed him levelly. “Have you ever been assaulted?”

He squelched the glib response that tried to work its way up. A lot of guys came after him on the ice. He was assaulted pretty well every hockey game. But he was paid for that, and knew what he had signed up for. What she was talking about couldn’t compare. And if she had been attacked herself at some point...

She continued. “I was in the Forces. I learned how to protect myself, and I don’t apologize for that. I have two kids who will be staying here with me. I will protect them, as well.”

And with that she turned and walked toward Mrs. Epps’s door. She inserted the key and walked in without giving him another look.

* * *

TROY LOOKED AT himself in his bathroom mirror. He was dressed only in running shoes and shorts. Some might label this prolonged self-examination as narcissistic. Troy certainly would admit to vanity, but that wasn’t what this was about.

He was fit; more fit than he’d ever been. And as a professional athlete, he was used to being in good shape. There was nothing to concern him in his reflection. But still he stared, trying to drill beneath the skin, down through the blood and muscles to the basic cell structure. It was useless. If the cancer was coming back, he wouldn’t find it on the outside, just like he’d noticed nothing a year ago when it first attacked him.

Still, he looked at himself. He was in peak condition, but knew that as fit as he was, as well as he ate and trained and as much as he checked himself every day, he was no longer invulnerable. He never had been: he just hadn’t realized. Now he did. And while he saw the same body in the mirror now that had made him one of the best defensemen in the league, he couldn’t trust it anymore.

* * *

“ANGIE, THIS IS your room.” Michelle paused in the doorway, letting her daughter peer inside.

“Wow!” Angie said. “This place is awesome! Way better than our old house in Winnipeg!” She pushed past her mother, eager to start pulling her belongings out of the boxes and finding places for them in this larger room.

Michelle smiled. She’d agonized over the decision to move. Leaving behind the city they’d called home for years hadn’t been easy. Growing up an army brat and then joining the Forces herself, she was accustomed to moving. This, though, was the first time she’d relocated entirely on her own, leaving a support network behind without having one waiting for her. Her encounter with the man who apparently lived across the hall had made her second-guess her decision, but that had been the only negative note so far.

She’d just picked up the kids from the airport and was showing them their home for the next few months. They were going from base housing to a penthouse condo. They should be pleased.

Tommy was tight on her heels, following her to the next doorway.

“And this is your room.”

Tommy paused, considering. He’d always been a quiet kid, but during the past year he’d become more so. Michelle tried not to reveal her worry: they each had to work through their grief in their own way.

“It’s nice. Where’s your room, Mom?” he asked.

Michelle wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He kept close tabs on her, and that was only natural. She hoped the new setting might help him come out of his shell.

She led the way to the master suite. She’d never had a room like this in her life. As an army brat, her lodgings had always been geared more to function than comfort or style. But this room had a king-size bed, walk-in closet and en-suite. Which meant she wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with the kids. She couldn’t remember ever having a bathroom to herself before.

Angie soon followed them in to scope out the rest of the place.

“This is wicked. How long can we stay here?” she said, running her hands over the duvet on the bed.

“We’re house-sitting for Mrs. Epps until you get out of school in June. Don’t get too used to it, though. We were lucky Great Aunt Agnes knew her friend was looking for a house sitter. After this we’ll have to find our own place and start paying rent, and we definitely won’t be able to afford anything on this scale.”

Tommy had gone to the windows, providing vistas across the city. “No one could get in through these windows, could they?”

“Of course not, dork,” Angie responded.

“Angie, don’t call your brother names.”

Tommy frowned at his sister. “Toronto is dangerous. I heard Grandma telling Mom that.”

Michelle sighed. The kids had recovered enough from the tragedy in their past to resume their sibling bickering, which was good, but exasperating, as well. She gave Tommy a stern look. “You weren’t supposed to be listening. Toronto is no more dangerous than Winnipeg.”

According to the statistics, anyway. But it didn’t feel that safe. It was big and strange compared to living on the base. For example, the way she had responded to the man in the elevator. That had been a gut reaction. She’d been attacked once, years ago, though luckily her training and fitness had prevented the attack from being more than an attempt. Since then she’d kept herself prepared, physically and mentally.

Michelle wondered if she should warn the kids about their neighbor. She hadn’t run into him since that first encounter, so with any luck they wouldn’t have very many encounters with him. He obviously was well-off, since he lived here and dressed the way he did. But he still made her nervous. He’d said he thought she was following him, but what kind of person suspected perfect strangers of following him home? She hoped her warning would be sufficient and he’d behave if the kids did run into him.

Michelle looked at Tommy, who was still eyeing up the windows for security measures. No. She wouldn’t worry him further by bringing up their neighbor.

* * *

TROY WAS GLAD he didn’t bump into his new neighbor when he left for his workout. He’d missed her yesterday, as well, and he hoped that indicated her schedule wouldn’t sync up with his. He certainly hadn’t seen Mrs. Epps much. He should read that condo letter to check how long she’d be around.

If any of the guys on the team found out how quickly and easily this woman had dropped him to the floor, he’d never hear the end of it. He didn’t think he gave off a scary vibe—at least, not off the ice—and it was unsettling to know he’d made a woman feel threatened. All in all, he would be happy to not run into her very often. He had enough to worry about getting his career back on track.

At the gym he pushed himself like always, did just a bit beyond what he had before—lifting a few pounds more, spinning the bike a little faster. Seeing those numbers rise gave him the illusion that he had his body under his control, and sometimes he needed that. He wiped the sweat off his brow and grinned at the trainer when he gave Troy a thumbs-up.

He was on such an endorphin high he almost forgot the new neighbor until he got home. Somehow, as soon as the elevator doors opened on his floor, the air was vibrating. He paused.

The stairway door pushed open and a young girl raced out then skidded to a halt and stared at him.

He recognized immediately that she was a fan. There was a look, and she had it. A little awestruck, a little overwhelmed and a lot of shock. He smiled. He liked kids, and they tended to like him. He’d been told that was because he still hadn’t grown up himself, but that didn’t bother him. He believed it was because he still remembered how to have fun; he hadn’t lost that with whatever else the cancer had taken.

“You’re Troy Green!” she said a little breathlessly.

“I am,” he agreed.

“Do you live here?” she asked.

“I do. What are you doing here?” Running up from another floor, he expected.

“I live over there.” She pointed at Mrs. Epps’s doorway. “We just moved in. Me and my brother and my mom. I’m Angie, and my brother is Tommy and my mom’s Michelle.”

Ah, the new neighbors.

Just then, Michelle moved like a rocket from the condo doorway to stand in front of her daughter. A younger boy followed her and clung to her side. She was standing protectively, eyes focused on Troy. She spoke to the girl, gaze still on Troy.

“Angie, what have I told you about talking to strangers?”

Angie rolled her eyes. “He’s not a stranger, Mom. That’s Troy Green.”

Michelle’s mouth tightened, and she balled her hands into fists.

“How does she know your name? What have you been asking her?”

Troy’s jaw dropped. First she thought he was attacking her, and now she thought he was a danger to her daughter?

Angie pushed past her mother with her arms crossed. “I recognized him because I don’t live under a rock. He plays for the Blaze.” When her mother didn’t respond, Angie continued, gesticulating wildly. “The Toronto Blaze! The hockey team! They won the Cup two years ago—the first time in forever a Canadian team won it! I watched with Dad before—”

She blinked rapidly, then spun and raced into their condo. Michelle watched her go, one hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, her expression troubled. The boy kept his gaze on Troy, but he clearly wasn’t a hockey fan. He appeared to be evaluating Troy on some scale and, considering his mother, Troy knew he wouldn’t be scoring well. Troy was relieved when Michelle turned back and he could look at her instead.

This time there was no anger in her voice. “I’m sorry we’re a bit on edge. We don’t know anyone here, and our family from home warned us about Toronto.”

Troy kept silent. After the conclusions she’d jumped too, he wasn’t in a rush to let her off the hook.

“I’m a little too protective of my kids—do you have any?” she asked.

A voice yelled down the hallway before he could answer.

“No, Mom! He’s single, just like you. He’s thirty-one, so you’re two years older than he is.”

Troy had to hold in a laugh. The mother might suspect he was a budding serial killer, but the daughter thought he was okay.

The woman’s face flushed. She had picked up on her daughter’s matchmaker vibe. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Come on, Tommy,” she said. She pulled the boy to her doorway with some speed.

Troy was glad that this time he wasn’t the one feeling awkward.

He wasn’t the one feeling awkward the next morning, either, when there was a knock at his door.

* * *

MICHELLE HAD HAD no intention of knocking on her neighbor’s door—ever. But she had also never imagined she’d have any reason to.

Being a single mom wasn’t easy. Michelle had known moving to Toronto was going to make it more difficult, in some ways. In Winnipeg, she and the kids had a support group: grandparents, the military, friends. The problem was that everyone knew their story. They couldn’t escape the pitying glances, the overwhelming sympathy and in some cases, the distance some of their friends had tried to put between her family and theirs, as if they carried a virus that could spread if there was too much contact.

The kids’ paternal grandparents were still grappling with their son’s death and found it easiest to blame Michelle.

Michelle’s family wanted to be supportive, but since they were in the military, they were scattered across the globe. Once Mitch’s funeral was over, they’d had to return to their own commitments. They kept in touch by Skype, and they could do that as well from Toronto as Winnipeg.

So here Michelle and the kids were, in a new city, making a new start.

It was the first day of school for all three of them. Last night Michelle had planned carefully so that the morning would go smoothly. Lunches had been made, clothes had been laid out. She had timed what they’d need to do and left a buffer for accidents.

Except she hadn’t accounted for the stupid Ontario milk bags. What was wrong with the cartons and jugs they had in Manitoba? In Ontario, the cartons only came in small sizes, and her family went through a lot of milk. She’d picked up one of the pitchers they were supposed to put the bags of milk into, but she hadn’t put the bag far enough into the jug, and it had tipped out, pouring milk all over Michelle’s shirt and the counter and floor.

And it had been the last bag of milk, of course. So no cereal for the kids. She’d made sandwiches with the last of the bread last night. No toast, no time to make anything like pancakes and she didn’t have milk or eggs anyway. The seconds had ticked by. She’d wanted to hit something out of sheer frustration.

She was considering picking up something for the kids’ breakfast on the way to school when she heard the faint ping of the elevator and footsteps going down the hallway, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing.

Before she could think it through, she told the kids to mop up the milk and went to ask her new neighbor for some milk.

She knocked at his door and stepped back. Should she apologize again? Grovel?

The door opened. Her neighbor stood there, but she couldn’t form the words.

She understood now that he was a hockey player, and he must have just come in from a run. The weather was still warm and much more humid here than in the Prairies. That would explain why he was wearing only shorts and shoes, and his incredible body was glistening with sweat. She might be a widow with kids, but she could appreciate that.

She stared for a moment, and then suddenly her mind flashed into the past. Back to when she’d first met Mitch, in basic training. They were both young and fit. Mitch had been a runner, and she’d seen him so many times just like this—shirtless, sweaty, looking so good...

But after his last mission, Mitch had come back a changed man. He’d let himself go, along with a lot of other things. So it had been a while since she’d been around a half-naked man looking as good as Troy did right then.

If only it could have been Mitch, still with them in every way. Coming in hot and sweaty from a run and pulling her into his embrace while she squealed, and he pretended not to understand what she was squealing about...

Troy raised his eyebrows. “Hello?”

Michelle forced herself to glance up, and she saw amusement in his eyes. He thought she was tongue-tied from staring at his naked chest. As if. Yes, she was staring at him, but she could handle an attractive body. It was remembering the past that would bring her down.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

Michelle followed his gaze to her shirt and realized the wet milk was making her shirt mostly see-through. Drops were dripping from her hem onto her feet. She could only imagine how the rest of her appeared.

She took a breath. She was army, for goodness’ sake. Discharged now, but she was tough. She straightened and looked him in the eyes.

“We’re out of milk. Could I borrow some?” She should probably at least say please, if not actually grovel, but she just couldn’t while he had that smug expression on his face.

He paused for a moment. “Sure,” he said and invited her in.

If Michelle had bothered to imagine what a single, successful hockey player would do with his place, she would have pictured this condo. The leather furniture was tan instead of black, and the place wasn’t as messy as she might have guessed, but she would wager he had someone come in to clean for him, and that it had been done recently. The big TV, gaming console and sound system, the modern furniture, it was all right out of Single Guy with Money designs.

She followed him into the kitchen, which was sleek and modern—and mostly unused, she suspected. While he opened the fridge, she pulled her shirt from her sticky torso. She’d have to take another quick shower. Reflexively, she pulled her necklace out from under her shirt as he turned to her with one of those ridiculous bags of milk in his large hands.

“Wedding ring?” Troy asked as he eyed her twisting the golden band that hung from her necklace.

Michelle followed his gaze and realized what she’d been doing. She tended to play with the ring when stressed. Before Mitch died, when she’d worn it on her finger, she’d twisted it around and around when she was upset. After he died, she’d moved it onto a necklace around her neck, but the instinct was still there.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why she was stressed at that moment. Three people were starting school today, and she was going to have to start her own preparations all over while trying to get them out the door on time. That would count as stress.

But Troy had paused, waiting for an answer. “Yes,” she said, taking a step closer to the milk and escape.

“Divorce?” he continued, passing the bag of milk toward her eager hands.

She shook her head. When he didn’t let the milk go, she sighed, frustrated. “I’m a widow.”

Surprised, he released his grip. She grabbed the needed bag and pivoted to leave.

“Cancer?” he asked. It was an interesting guess, but not unreasonable. Still, Michelle was not getting into their story with a man who was basically a stranger. They were trying to escape the past in Toronto, not drag it along with them.

She glanced over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “Sorry, long story, and I have to shower again and get the kids to school. Thank you for the milk.”

She left, aware she was in his debt. She’d have to deal with that. She didn’t accept charity. She stood on her own, and didn’t plan to let her neighbor think otherwise.

* * *

TROY WATCHED MICHELLE LEAVE. The milk-drenched T-shirt had given him a pretty vivid picture of her shape. He’d tried to remember she was someone’s mom, but he wasn’t blind. And she’d obviously taken a good look at him, so turn about was fair play.

But once she’d said she was a widow, those thoughts had fled.

A presumably young man could die from many causes. But he’d done the research on this during those dark days, and outside of accidents, suicide and murder, cancer was the top cause of death for young men.

He did his best to avoid dwelling on thoughts about cancer. He had a clean bill of health now. He’d beaten it. But every story the papers ran about him now mentioned the reason he’d missed last season. Every reporter wanted to know how he felt about it, if he was over it, if he could return to where and what he’d been.

Of course he said he’d beaten it. Of course he said he was the same player he’d always been; cancer hadn’t changed him. He wanted to believe it, so that was what he told everyone.

He couldn’t play his game if anyone thought he was soft or weak in any way. So he acted tough, and joked about beating everyone on the ice the way he’d beaten this disease. He never spoke about those black nights. When the doctors had first said the C word.

He hadn’t thought he was really sick. Just a minor urinary tract infection. The doctors would give him some antibiotics, and then he’d be fine. But it wasn’t an infection. It was prostate cancer. There was something in his body that wanted to kill him.

It took a while to get his mind around that. So he’d acquiesced to the advice of his doctors to wait and evaluate how things progressed. He’d tried chemo and radiation, before everyone had finally agreed that surgery was the answer. In hindsight, he’d have been smarter to just have the surgery at the very beginning. The various courses of treatment had meant that he’d missed a whole season before he had a clear bill of health.

During that year—a long, difficult year he did his best to forget—there had been too many nights when he’d woken up in a panic, unable to sleep while Death lay stretched out in the bed beside him.

He was mostly over that now, but there were still nights when he’d wake up, sure he could feel the cancer in his body again, killing him from the inside. The doctors believed they’d caught it all, that it hadn’t metastasized and spread elsewhere. It was worth losing his prostate for that. But there were no guarantees. Michelle’s comment about her husband only reminded him of that.

After she left he pulled out his phone and called down to the concierge and asked for the name of his new neighbor. He gave it, and Troy typed “Michelle Robertson” into the search bar of his browser. He added “army” and “widow” to narrow the results down.

He wanted to know why her husband had died. He realized she might not be happy about it, but he was willing to push some boundaries when it came to the big C. He needed to know if it was cancer, and if it was the same kind that he’d had.

Prostate cancer was rare in young men, but Troy knew only too well that didn’t mean younger men couldn’t get it. He wanted the cause to be anything else, so that Troy’s own odds were better.

It took a bit of searching, but he found out the answer. And it was anything but what he’d expected.

CHAPTER TWO

“IT’LL BE GREAT,” Michelle said, ruffling Tommy’s hair. The look on his face told her that he didn’t believe her, but knew she had to say it anyway. She wanted to hug him, but he was too old now for such displays of affection in front of others. So she watched him file into the school with a pang.

Michelle and the kids hadn’t arrived at school with the additional time she’d hoped for, but they hadn’t been late. The kids were nervous. Angie got more talkative when she was unsure of herself, while Tommy grew even quieter. Michelle was nervous, too, mostly for her kids. Angie was outgoing, and likely to make friends. Tommy had always been shy, with a smaller circle of friends than his sister, but that was even more the case since his father’s death. He wouldn’t make the first steps to reach out to someone, and her heart ached to force the other boys to be kind to him.

She waved the kids off and then, once they’d disappeared into the school, she headed for the nearest subway entrance.

She hadn’t had a chance to familiarize herself with her route to class the way she’d have liked to do. Subways were new to her, since they only had buses back in the ’Peg. Fortunately, the Toronto Transit System was mostly one loop south and north, and one main line east and west. She had to listen carefully to the garbled transit announcements and watch the map closely, but she made her way to school without mishap.

She then followed the instructions she’d carefully printed out to get to her classes.

She’d enrolled in a one-year bookkeeping program. She didn’t have an avid interest in numbers, but math had been one of her better subjects, and her years in the Forces hadn’t provided her with many marketable skills outside the army. Bookkeeping seemed manageable for someone with only a high school diploma, and it also had good job prospects.

Once she found her classroom, she sat in the back and tried to be invisible as the teacher began the lesson. Since she was so new at this, and hadn’t been in class for a long time, she was planning to attend a lot of the lectures in person, even though it was possible to do most of the program online. Though that would be a nice option if she needed to take time with the kids.

The first class was overwhelming. She was scribbling notes madly, even when she didn’t understand what she was writing down. The matching principal almost made sense, but who decided on the boundaries for materiality? The students around her were all taking notes on their computers, while she was there with a binder and pen. She couldn’t keep up. She was definitely going to have to watch this lecture again at home.

She ate her lunch alone on a bench outside. She watched the other students walk by. They were mostly in groups, and they were all younger. The students were wearing new clothes that looked old, while she was wearing old things that she hoped looked new. She felt ancient and stupid. What had she gotten herself into?

She made her way back to the kids’ school for the end of the day in plenty of time and waited for them to come out. Some other parents began to gather. Michelle knew she should introduce herself but she couldn’t, not now. She was tired and discouraged. She wasn’t ready to answer the questions about what she did, where the children’s father was, what had happened and then the inevitable response, “oh how sad.”

The bell rang, and kids started spilling from the building.

Angie was the first to appear. She had another girl with her and she dragged her new friend over to her mother.

The other girl, Brittany, was a hockey player, and Michelle understood immediately how the two had bonded. Angie was hockey crazy. Her dad had started to watch games with her before his first tour. Michelle had enrolled her in skating lessons, but Angie had wanted to play hockey and it had been her passion ever since.

It was no surprise that Angie had recognized Troy Green. Angie still loved the Winnipeg Whiteout, but as soon as the move to Toronto had been broached she’d been checking out the Toronto teams and players. The other Toronto club had been around longer, but the Blaze had won the Cup a couple of years ago, and Angie had picked them as her Toronto team.

Angie was overflowing with information she wanted to share with Michelle about Brittany’s hockey team. Angie had gotten all the details about when she herself could try out. She and her new friend had compared skills and were sure they would end up on the team together.

Michelle had been avoiding the H word. She knew Angie loved hockey, and was good at it, but her ambition of being the first woman skater in the top league had very little chance of coming to pass.

In fact, this year, playing at all might have little chance of coming to pass. Here in Toronto, without a car and with cash tight, Michelle couldn’t afford the fees, the gear and the transit to the games and practices. She had learned from experience that the practice hours were early and awkward, and away games were unlikely to be on the subway lines.

So she made noncommittal responses to Angie, greeted Brittany’s mother and kept one eye open for Tommy. She smiled as he finally emerged, walking slowly, head down and alone. Her smile faltered.

Michelle told Angie to say goodbye to her friend, gathered Tommy and headed home.

Michelle managed to avoid the upcoming storm with Angie about the hockey team by trying to draw Tommy out as they walked to the condo.

“So, how was school, Tommy?”

He didn’t look up. “Fine.”

“Do you like your teacher?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Tommy’s got the strictest teacher in school. My teacher is nicer, but she gives lots of homework,” Angie said.

“Were the other kids nice?” Michelle asked Tommy, voice tight with worry.

“They’re okay.”

Michelle told them a bit about her school, editing out all the worrisome parts, but their interest was perfunctory.

When they got to the condo building, she let the kids head up in the elevator first, while she stopped to ask at the desk about nearby grocery stores. There was a store not far away that would deliver, apparently.

She’d go get milk and bread from a convenience store tonight, and order some groceries online for tomorrow. She’d probably have to find a more economical solution going forward, but there was just too much to settle right now. They’d treat themselves to pizza tonight. She needed to get on top of things, not let things get out of hand like they had this morning.

When she got up to the top floor, Tommy was standing in the doorway of the condo, waiting, while Angie was chattering to their new neighbor, Troy Green. She was telling him all about the new hockey team she assumed she was joining, and asking him if it was a good step on her path to playing professionally.

Troy was being patient, but he was dressed to go out and Michelle was afraid Angie was holding him up. She sighed. Angie would be angry with her for breaking up her tête-à-tête. Then she’d have to finally tell her that she wasn’t playing hockey this year. She closed her eyes for a moment, and with a mental sigh, opened them and squared her shoulders.

* * *

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” Angie yelled at her mother, face red.

Michelle struggled to hold on to her temper.

“I know it’s not fair. But we just don’t have the money.”

“Dad would have let me.” Angie threw the words at her.

Michelle flinched. If Angie’s father was still alive, they wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be having this conversation. “That’s irrelevant right now,” she answered.

“Is Tommy doing his Tae Kwon Do?”

“Yes. But—”

“That’s so unfair. It’s because he’s a boy, isn’t it? I hate you!” Angie spun around to run to her room.

“Angela Louise Robertson!”

Angie stopped. The full name was a sign of her mom losing it.

“I am doing nothing differently because Tommy is a boy. Tommy is wearing the same dobok as last year, so I don’t have to buy that. The dojang is two blocks away so we can walk and the lessons are reasonable. On the other hand, you grew out of all your hockey gear last year and it costs a he—a heck of a lot more than a dobak. The arenas are all miles away, and we don’t have a car. And hockey is very expensive.

“If you can come up with something cheaper to do, I’ll sign you up tonight. We could try swimming, or soccer...and when I can afford it, we’ll get you back into hockey, but I just can’t right now!”

Unfortunately, the cold hard facts didn’t help with Angie. She turned her nose up at Michelle’s offers and wouldn’t even let Michelle finish an invitation to join Tommy at Tae Kwon Do.

“I’ll get a job.”

“A twelve-year-old can’t make enough to cover hockey costs. There’s not much you can do right now anyway. You’ll need to take the babysitting course to make money that way, and we don’t know anyone in Toronto to babysit.”

Angie’s lip quivered. “I’ll ask everyone who sends me money for Christmas to send it now instead.”

Michelle explained that wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t just the fees; it was equipment and transportation. Their family members weren’t rich.

Michelle couldn’t ask for any more favors from her family and friends. She wanted more than anything else to give her daughter what she wanted, what she dreamed of, but she simply did not have enough money. If she gave up school and got a job, maybe they could cover hockey this year. But next year, when they were no longer house-sitting and had to pay rent? Michelle had to finish these courses so she could make enough money to support them. Angie, though, could only see her dream slipping from her fingers.

Michelle finally went out for pizza, reminding the crying girl that she was in charge of her brother while her mother was gone. While she was out, she picked up milk and bread for breakfast and lunch tomorrow. The pizza she carried was no longer the big celebration she’d hoped for. It seemed as if everyone had had a crappy day.

Everyone but her neighbor. Troy Green was already inside when she walked into the elevator with her food at the lobby floor. He’d obviously driven into the garage and gotten on the elevator at one of the parking levels. He looked relaxed, carefree and rich, a shopping bag from a name-brand store in his hand.

“I ordered some milk, so I’ll be able to return the bag you loaned us tomorrow,” she said tersely. She only had a small carton with her now, but she felt obligated to indicate she didn’t intend to freeload.

“Don’t worry about it. I have more than enough.”

He glanced at the flat red and green box she had balanced over her grocery bag. “Pizza, eh? Kids must be happy about that.” Considering how poorly she’d treated him, he was being nice. Michelle realized she should respond in kind, but it had been a difficult day, and it was far from over yet.

She smiled perfunctorily. “That was the plan.”

“Your daughter is pretty excited about playing hockey—want me to check out this league she’s talking about?”

“Angie isn’t playing this year,” she said flatly, watching the floor numbers going by.

“Does she know that?”

“She does now. Excuse any sounds of wailing you might hear from our condo.”

“Is it because of me?”

Michelle rolled her eyes. Of course, it had to be about Mr. Hockey Superstar.

“We don’t have the money to buy her equipment. We don’t have a vehicle to get to games and practices. Unlike some, we can’t afford it.”

Michelle was relieved when the elevator doors opened. She refused to defend herself to this spoiled man who could buy anything he wanted, while she couldn’t give her daughter the one thing she dreamed about. It must be nice to have everything go right for you, she thought sourly.

When she knocked on the door, Tommy opened it, and she took a deep breath, preparing to deal with her world: the one where things always seemed to go wrong.

* * *

TROY WONDERED WHY his new neighbor disliked him so much. He was trying to be nice, considering what she’d gone through. He’d been making polite conversation and, wham, out came the guilt.

He wondered if Michelle didn’t want her daughter playing hockey. But one look at the woman’s eyes and he could see that it was ripping her up to not be able to give this to her child.

He didn’t like that look. He’d seen too much of that the past year. People who were desperate to help but helpless. He didn’t want the reminder of the bad time. Besides, it wasn’t fair.

He remembered when he’d played as a kid. His dad had sacrificed a lot so he could play. He’d worn second- or third-hand hockey equipment most of the time. It had been just his dad and him, and money had been tight. Troy had shown talent from his first league games, though, and his dad had dreamed of success through his son’s hockey career, so it had taken priority over anything else.

It had consumed his father. He’d take Troy to any ice they could find and drill him, working him hard to make him better. It was too bad he’d died before Troy had lifted the Cup. His dad might finally have been happy with what Troy had accomplished. Sure, he’d been happy when Troy was drafted, but he’d complained that he hadn’t gone top ten, and that the Blaze was a crap team. Well, that crap team had won the Cup, and Troy had his ring.

Maybe it was just as well his dad hadn’t been around when Troy got his cancer diagnosis. He didn’t think the old man would have been much help with that.

He sat back on his recliner and turned on his gaming system.

He’d had a good meeting with his agent earlier, discussing a new endorsement deal that had come in for him. He should feel like he had his life back. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the unhappy girl next door.

He frowned. Michelle had spoiled a good evening. She’d brought up bad memories. He tried to bury them again, forget about her and her kid.

But after learning about her husband...that was pretty horrible. It was one thing to read about suicide in the news, but another to see people struggling with the result. To see them, and not do anything. He had been able to get help on his way up, but the family across the hall were on their own, from what he could tell.

When he’d been growing up, hockey hadn’t just been something he enjoyed. He and his dad had moved around, and Troy had been in hand-me-down clothes, but his talent at hockey had provided him with friends, and status at school. He had no idea how to help Tommy, but it would be so easy to help Angie by giving her that same cache...except, Michelle.

He was tempted to just go over and offer to pay for the kid’s hockey. But he was sure she’d slam the door in his face.

Maybe if he could get the kid into a program that would pay for hockey He worked for a hockey team—they must have some kind of fund for underprivileged kids.

And once Angie and Michelle were happy, he could focus on regaining his own life.

* * *

THE TEAM WAS a few days into training camp and Troy was feeling good. He was in the best shape of his life; his skills were as sharp as they’d ever been in training camp.

Coach Parker was running drills. Troy’s job as the defender was to stop the winger coming in. But as the winger approached him, Troy froze.

He’d done this hundreds—if not thousands—of times. But that had been before he got sick, when he could trust his body to be strong, invincible. Now, he didn’t trust it.

So instead he tried to use some fancy stick work to steal the puck. But JP slipped past him, and buried the puck in the net.

“What the— What was that, Green?” Coach Parker yelled at him. The other players had turned at the noise. He could feel their stares.

“Trying something new,” Troy said with a grin.

Coach shook his head and barked for the players to start the next drill.

Troy had always played a physical game, never afraid to throw a hit, block a shot or get into a fight.

But he was cautious now. What if he jarred something and that caused the cancer to come back? It wasn’t logical, but the fear was there all the same. And he wasn’t sure how long he could cover it up.

Troy rushed through the cool-down, and was in his street clothes before a lot of the players were even out of the showers. He couldn’t deal with anyone else getting on his case right now.

Unfortunately, he ran into starting goalie Mike Reimer’s wife, waiting for Mike to come out. She was a redhead with thick glasses. She and Troy hadn’t ever gotten along that well. The first time he met her she’d reamed him out for a play on the ice. Another time she’d checked him onto his butt when he made a comment about her hockey skills.

She’d ended up helping the team during the playoff run. Following the hip check she’d given him, he’d scored a breakaway goal in the first playoff game. It had ended up becoming a good luck ritual, with players lining up for the privilege of having Bridget knock them down, but she and Troy never became friendly.

Today she studied him intently as he strode out of the locker room. Not a good sign.

“Good to see you back, Green,” she said. She wasn’t completely convincing. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes squinty.

“Good to be back,” Troy answered.

“Feeling okay?”

Troy eyed her suspiciously. “Are you asking to be polite or is there a reason for asking?” he asked. Bridget had never been one for small talk.

Bridget grinned. “I was trying to be tactful, but I’m not very good at it. I was watching you play, and I wondered if you’d rushed back too quickly.”

Troy suppressed a smile. People had been wondering about that since camp began, but they had all approached the matter delicately. Bridget had always been blunt.

“Did Mike tell you to ask me?”

Bridget squinted at him again. “Mike doesn’t ‘tell’ me to do things. I asked him how you were doing.” She paused.

Troy didn’t want to play games. “And what did he say?”

“He didn’t. So something was wrong.”

Damn. Troy had hoped no one had noticed.

“It’s just the start of camp. Guys aren’t in game shape yet,” he said defensively.

“I understand why the others are being a little careful checking you, but I don’t understand why you’re being so...hesitant. Everyone expected you to come out, I don’t know, mad. You lost a year, but instead of taking it out on the ice, you’re skating around as if you’ve got eggs in your pockets.”

Troy took a step toward her. He was a big guy, and when he wanted to, he could be pretty intimidating. Bridget planted her hands on her hips and set her jaw.

“I’m going to say something,” she began, “and you can take it or leave it. But it’s not something anyone here will tell you. I had a swimmer last year who had cancer. He got through it, but he decided against returning to swimming. There was no shame in it. He just reprioritized his life. If playing hockey isn’t what you want, you can retire.”

Troy gaped at her. Retire? Was she crazy? He wasn’t going to retire. He was going to play. If she had wanted to anger him, mission accomplished. If they wanted him to go out and plaster someone into the boards, just get Bridget to do her motivating speech before a shift, and he’d be set.

“Are you doing psychotherapy now, Bridget? Am I supposed to break down and spill all my problems?” Troy mocked.

“Please, no. I’d need months of therapy myself if I ever got into the mind of Troy Green.” She shuddered.

Troy frowned. She was looking at him with that “poor you” expression that revolted him. He wanted to divert her, quickly. And a perfect distraction popped into his head.

“I do have one problem you might be able to help me with.”

“Girl trouble?” Bridget asked, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Troy wanted to refute that vehemently. He didn’t have girl trouble, and if he ever did, he certainly would never discuss it with Bridget. Just the thought of it made his hair stand on end.

Then he considered. “Well, it’s kind of girl trouble.”

Bridget made a face.

“It’s about a kid.”

“You have a kid? Say it’s not so,” she said with surprise.

That jolted him. Had she found out he couldn’t have kids...? No, she couldn’t. That wasn’t something he’d shared with anyone. Focus, Green.

“No. It’s my neighbor’s kid. She’s a girl, and plays hockey. Well, she did before they moved here, but her mother can’t afford it now and I wondered if you knew any way to get money for her to play. I asked the team’s management, but they don’t have anything they can set up at this point in the season.”

Bridget looked puzzled. “What about her father? And if they live near you, how can they not have enough money?”

“Father’s dead—war vet. But they’re keeping that news to themselves. And I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m sure they don’t have money. They’re house-sitting for my neighbor. I don’t think they’re paying rent.”

“Why don’t you just pay for the kid’s hockey? I heard about that endorsement you signed. Surely you can afford it.”

“Of course I’d pay if I could. But the mother wouldn’t go for it.” Troy could imagine Michelle’s reaction if he made that offer.

“How old is this girl? And what’s up with you and the mother?”

“Kid’s twelve, and nothing’s up with me and Michelle.”

“Is the girl any good? And are you sure the mother wants her to play?”

Troy remembered Michelle’s eyes. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure money is the problem. And Angie, the daughter, tells me herself that she’s good. According to her, she’s going to be the first female skater in our league.”

Bridget smiled at that, and Troy caught a glimpse of why Mike liked her so much.

“Why don’t you bring her and—Michelle, was it?—to the game on Sunday? Let me talk to them, find out what they need, and I’ll try to think of something.”

“Yeah, that might work. There’s a boy, too.”

“Do we have to get him into a league, as well?” she asked sarcastically.

Troy shook his head. “Doesn’t seem to like hockey.” Troy thought of the way Tommy watched him. “He’s a little odd.”

Luckily, Troy had succeeded in distracting Bridget enough that he was able to get away from her without any more talk about how he was playing.

And doing something for Angie made him oddly happy. For some reason he hadn’t been able to shrug off the girl’s situation. Maybe because when he bumped into her in the hallway, she looked like a kicked puppy. Maybe because he remembered growing up, poor, moving around...if he hadn’t had hockey, it could have gone badly. He thought Angie might need hockey to give her a strong center to her life.

He remembered how he’d felt when he was afraid he’d never play hockey again. He’d been afraid cancer would take that away. And it still could...there were no guarantees. He didn’t need the reminder of that in Angie’s eyes.

He realized he was going to have to be more aggressive on the ice, too, if he didn’t want the coaches to start asking questions like Bridget’s.

Damn cancer! It had taken all it was getting from him.

* * *

MICHELLE STARED AT the results from her first bookkeeping test, fingers clenched around the ring on her necklace. She heard the other students talking around her. “Oh, I got that first question confused!” and “I had the amortization right but I really messed up the Allowance for Doubtful Accounts.”

Unfortunately, she had gotten everything wrong. She felt nauseated. How could she have messed up so badly?

“Hey, Michelle, how’d you do?” Rin asked.

After two weeks of classes, Michelle had gotten to know some of the other students. She, Rin and two other students now hung around together at classes and lunch.

She thought of the four of them as the island of misfit toys. She was older, and had kids, so she wasn’t the typical student, and the others weren’t, either. Boni was a refugee from the Côte d’Ivoire. She was in her late twenties and still coping with learning English. She was great with numbers, though. She rarely made a mistake on her assignments. Unfortunately, the language barrier prevented her from explaining to people like Michelle how she arrived at her answers.

Khali was supposed to be taking this course to help her husband once she was married. Her mother had made it clear that she would not be working after the wedding, but understanding the books was key to keeping her future husband in line. Khali didn’t worry about her results, since her future was set. Instead, class was a chance to get away from a very protective and strict family.

Michelle wasn’t sure why Rin was taking the course. He understood some concepts brilliantly and flaked out completely on others. He was more interested in finding a girlfriend than learning the material. Michelle and Boni were too old for him, and Khali wouldn’t consider him seriously, but he stayed with them. He called them his “pretty ladies” once. He didn’t try it again.

Rin often talked about parties they should come to, but Michelle couldn’t since she was home with the kids. Boni was too busy with her part-time work as well as courses, and Khali had neither the time nor inclination. Still, it was nice to be invited, and she felt less alone when she was attending classes and tutorials with them.

Michelle shrugged at Rin’s question about her test results.

“I may have to drop this course,” he said. “I just don’t get it.” Rin shook his head.

Michelle didn’t have that option. She had one year before she had to support herself and her kids in a new city, and she needed this certificate. But she didn’t want anyone to know how desperate she was.

“Well, I’m going to have to go back over this material,” she said. “It’s just the first test, though, right?”

Rin grinned at her. “Wanna come to the bar tonight? We can drown our sorrows. Boni? Khali?”

Michelle forced a smile. “Sorry, got the kids. Have one for me.”

Khali rolled her eyes at Rin, and Boni shook her head gravely. Boni slipped away, and Michelle waved goodbye to Rin and Khali as he continued to try to convince her to come out with him.

Michelle caught the subway and headed for the school. Tommy’s class had taken a field trip to a conservation area today, so Angie had been allowed, after repeated persuasive arguments to Michelle, to go home on her own. She’d texted earlier that she’d made it safely.

Angie had gotten over her initial anger about missing hockey, but she was still sullen whenever she remembered it. She said she was keeping up with her homework, but Michelle was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Angie loved hockey so much...would being without it mean she’d start acting out, get failing grades, fall in with a bad crowd?

Michelle waited at the school till the bus arrived with Tommy and his classmates. Every day Michelle hoped to see Tommy with a friend, but once again, he got off on his own, head down. Michelle blinked back the tears. She wondered if this move to Toronto had been a huge mistake. What had she been thinking?

It was a quiet walk home. When they arrived at the condo, she asked Tommy if he wanted to push the button on the elevator, but he just shrugged. Michelle’s shoulders bowed, and she wondered how much more she could take.

She heard Angie’s voice as the doors opened. She glanced down the hallway and sighed.

Angie had taken to haunting their neighbor. He was her contact with hockey, and a star, and she cornered him every chance she got. Michelle was going to have to talk to her about it. The guy was being nice, but he probably had to be nice to fans as a member of the team. Eventually he’d get tired of it, and she couldn’t afford for him to go to the condo board and complain about her and the kids.

“So who’s your favorite player?” she heard Troy ask.

If Michelle had asked that question, she’d have gotten an eye roll. But for Troy...

“Bruce Anders,” came the quick response. Michelle’s mouth twitched. If Troy had been hoping to hear his own name, he didn’t know kids, especially her daughter. Her daughter wouldn’t recognize tact if it hit her with a hockey stick.

“But he’s not even on the Blaze. I thought we were your team,” Troy objected. Troy was standing in his doorway, undoubtedly hoping he’d be able to slip inside soon and have some privacy, while Angela hovered halfway between the two condo doors.

“The Blaze is my Toronto team. I’m from Winnipeg. The Whiteout is my real team.”

Troy glanced up at Michelle and grinned. At least he wasn’t taking it too personally.

“Angie, is your homework done?” Michelle asked. She hated being the heavy all the time, but she had to get her daughter away from the poor man she’d cornered. She wouldn’t embarrass her daughter by explaining that she was bothering Troy in front of him.

Michelle got the expected eye roll. “I know the rules. I have to do my homework after dinner, before I can watch any TV.”

To her surprise, Troy sided with Michelle. “You do what your mom says. Hockey players have to listen to their coaches, you know.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t help as much as he might have intended. The sulky expression returned to Angie’s face. “I don’t have a coach.”

“Your mom is your coach. You go get that homework done.”

He waved at Michelle, and then was able to escape into his own place.

Michelle opened the door to their condo, and the kids followed her inside. It was Friday, the night they ordered in, giving Michelle a break at the end of the week.

Michelle dropped her backpack on the floor. Tommy switched on his video games, as he did so often after school.

Michelle could never decide if it was worse to let him handle grief on his own terms, using the games as he needed, or if she should intervene. The kid had so little in his life, it seemed. His Tae Kwon Do was his only interest outside video games. Next year, she swore, when she wasn’t tied up with classes, she was going to find something for him to do. Maybe he’d like to play guitar. Or swim. Something.

“So what do we want to order tonight?” she called out, forcing a cheerful note into her voice. Thank goodness she didn’t need to cook.

Angie shrugged, and draped herself over the recliner. Michelle had to call again to Tommy to get his attention, and he said pizza. Pizza was his standard choice.

Michelle was getting tired of pizza, but she didn’t have the energy to come up with an alternative and talk them into it, so she called the familiar number, and placed the usual order.

“Angie, come help me empty the dishwasher,” she called.

Angie dragged herself over, doing an excellent facsimile of a martyr dragging herself to the stake.

“You were talking to Troy again,” Michelle said.

Angie shrugged. Michelle kept her voice level with effort.

“I hope you’re not annoying him—”

Angie straightened, eyes flashing. “I’m not stupid, Mother. I’m not annoying him. And you can refuse to let me play hockey, but I’m not giving it up, and I’m not going to stop talking to Troy just so you can pretend I’ve forgotten about playing!”

Michelle stared at Angie.

“Hon, I know that you’d sooner give up your cell phone than hockey, but bothering Troy isn’t going to help you play. If I had the money...”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Angie stomped off to her room, and Michelle let her go. It was easier to put away a few dishes than fight with her daughter. She sank her head on her hands on the counter, and breathed deeply. How could she get her daughter to understand this wasn’t a malicious act on Michelle’s part, but necessity?

Tommy paused his game and came and hugged her. It almost brought her to tears. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“I’ll help you.” He started to put away the cutlery.

Michelle sighed. Tommy didn’t yell at her and roll his eyes, but he still hadn’t made friends. She’d really appreciate some kind of sign that this decision to come to Toronto hadn’t been a complete mistake.

* * *

MICHELLE WOKE UP the next morning from dreams of endless tests where she knew none of the answers and had red X’s slashed over everything she wrote. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t sitting in an exam room, but lying in her new, comfortable bed.

When she sat up and threw back the covers, the rustle of paper indicated where she’d left her test from yesterday. No surprises as to where that dream came from. She picked the test paper up from where it had drifted to the floor and stuck it in the notebook she’d been working in when she fell asleep. She hoped she might have finally worked out the right answer to question one. Or maybe that had been a dream, as well.

She stretched. It was Saturday, so for one morning she didn’t have to herd everyone out the door. She could hear Tommy in the living room, but there was no sound from Angie. Michelle pulled on her ratty robe and yawned her way to the kitchen. Two cereal bowls in the sink showed her that the kids had both gotten up and eaten. But the bowls also mocked her. Saturday morning and she hadn’t gotten up to make a good breakfast for her children. She wasn’t doing anything right. Her shoulders slumped.

She poured water into the coffeemaker with bleary eyes. They should do something fun this weekend. She’d rather spend the time studying, but the kids needed her attention, too. She flipped the laptop toward her, and typed in “cheap things to do in Toronto” while the coffee machine gurgled.

There was a knock at the door. Michelle wished she’d had a chance to ingest some coffee before dealing with whatever new problem was waiting for her on the other side of that door. Had the kids done something? Had Troy complained about Angie?

She opened the door to find Troy standing there. He was awake, alert, showered and dressed. He had no responsibilities, no problems and enough money to satisfy every whim. He was carefree while she was almost going under. She hated him in that moment.

“Can I help you?” she asked, trying to keep as little of the door open as possible. She hadn’t looked in a mirror yet; she had no idea what her hair was doing, or how bad the robe would look to him, but she would have placed a bet on “pathetic.”

Troy grinned. “Not a morning person, eh? I have something for you, if it’s okay.” There was a dip in his confidence, perhaps as he got a better look at her.

Michelle blinked. She really required coffee before dealing with this. “What is it?”

“Tickets to the game tomorrow. It’s only the preseason...”

Angie came bursting out of her room. She must have ears like a bat.

“Oh, Troy!” she squealed. “Really? Tickets?”

Michelle realized she couldn’t refuse them now. She could only fight so long. It probably wouldn’t help Angie resign herself to not playing this year, but she deserved a treat. They all did.

Troy eyed her questioningly. She gave him begrudging credit. He apparently had intended to get her approval first. Michelle shrugged. It was done now. And if he was giving them tickets, that gave them a weekend activity on the cheap. Unless they got some concession food...

Angie had grabbed the tickets and started drilling Troy with questions. The coffeemaker beeped. Michelle veered to the sound and asked Troy over her shoulder, “Coffee?”

She was surprised when Troy said yes, but she had no more brain cells firing until some caffeine got up there.

* * *

TROY WASN’T SURE why he said yes to the coffee. Michelle didn’t look like she’d meant the invitation, but Angie had lit up.

The girl was bouncing on her toes at the news she was going to a game. He warned her it was just the preseason, but she didn’t care. She had a million questions for him. He answered as best he could, since she didn’t always wait for an answer. He knew she’d been having a rough go of it without any hockey to play, and he didn’t want to make things harder for her. He hoped that Bridget could come up with some idea to get her to play.

He checked out the condo while Michelle poured out the coffee. This place was roughly the same size as his, but had a whole different vibe. Mrs. Epps definitely had old lady furniture. The couch was chintz, and the legs on the table were fussy, elaborately carved and curling. Troy preferred the clean lines on his stuff. Some of the old lady effect was offset by the kids’ debris scattered around.

Same basic layout as his condo, totally different feel. Maybe not as calm and soothing as his place, but it had something his clean lines were missing.

Michelle had to dig around in the cupboard for sugar for his coffee. She obviously took hers without. She set it out in front of him. As he stirred the spoon, he watched her wrap her hands around the mug as if she had just come in from the cold and was warming up. Her eyes drifted closed as she held it to her lips, and he could feel her pleasure as she savored that first caffeine hit. Her eyes opened, and he was annoyed to find himself self-conscious when she found him staring at her.

He noticed Tommy playing a video game with men in uniform running around killing each other. He wondered if that was really appropriate for a kid his age, but he didn’t think Michelle would appreciate his interfering. Angie wanted Tommy to switch to a hockey video game so they could all play, but Michelle looked like she was waiting for Troy to leave, and Troy didn’t want the kids to start fighting, even though he was tempted to agree. Michelle would blame him, and he was trying to improve relations with this family, not make things worse time with them.

So he offered to drive them to the game tomorrow.

Michelle frowned. “Don’t you have to be there early to get ready?”

“Yes! Could we go early with him and check out the arena?” Angie asked.

Troy held up his hands. “Whoa! I’m not going to be playing tomorrow.”

Both Michelle and Angie had disappointed faces, but probably for different reasons.

“The regulars aren’t playing tomorrow because we’re checking out the rookies and wannabes. I’ll get you seats for a regular season game later,” he promised, hoping he wouldn’t forget. Not that Angie would let him.

The girl perked up at the prospect of another game. “Are you going to be sitting with us, then?” she squeaked.

He hadn’t thought much past getting them close to Bridget, but now that Angie had brought up the idea, he did want to sit with them. Troy nodded. Angie cheered, but Michelle had a dazed expression, as if someone had hit her on the head. Hard.

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