Before We Came (Lakes Hockey, #1)

by Sloane St. James

I’ve heard “I’m sorry for your loss” so many times that the sentiment has lost all meaning. Kind of like when you say a word over and over and it no longer sounds like the word anymore. Sorry for your loss. Sorey feryer laws. Soar-ee fer yer laaws.

Maddie comes bouncing into the kitchen in fuzzy penguin footie pajamas. “Aunt Birdie! Lonan says I’m supposed to ask you to be on his team, but not to tell you that he said to be on his team.” From the other room, Lonan yells, “Miss Maddie, your ability to follow instructions leaves much to be desired!” He’s not helping.

“Told you I’m psychic. I could sense you were in need of my services. Why are you whispering?” “Remember that Lonan guy I told you about?” “Yeah, the hockey hottie that gives you a snail trail?” “Those weren’t the words I used.” “I Googled him and took some liberties. Cause dayum. Number Fourteen can get it.”

“So . . . what are we eating tonight?” Are you looking for volunteers?

After sliding the last plate into the dishwasher, he uncorks a bottle of wine. Shit, all this will do is give me the liquid courage to jump him again. Vagina, it’s a trap. Stay vigilant.