Read Online Just a Taste by Deirdre Martin - Free Book Online Page A

first hockey game, and as promised, Anthony was in attendance, not only to support the kid, but also to rein his brother in if he started acting like he was watching the Blades play rather than a midget hockey team. Little Ant had been on the ice less than a minute, and already Michael was shouting directives. Not good.
    “Michael, sit down and shut up,” Theresa admonished her husband. “He just hit the ice. Let him enjoy himself.”
    “I’m just making sure—”
    “Michael.” Theresa’s voice was laced with warning.
    “Fine.” Michael reluctantly sat down, but his eyes remained glued to the ice. “Mother of God, this coach Plano doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing…”
    Theresa turned to Anthony, pointedly ignoring her husband. “It’s so great that you’re here. Little Ant was so excited.”
    “Hey, I couldn’t miss his first game, could I?”
    “Neither could I.” Theresa’s eyes nervously followed her son on the ice.
    “How’s work going?” Anthony asked, wincing as his nephew missed a cross-ice pass. He tensed, waiting for his brother to shout something. Michael managed to keep himself under control, but Anthony could see it was tough for him. Michael kept opening and closing his mouth like some sad fish out of water gasping for breath.
    “Work’s going great,” said Theresa, giving her husband a look. “It took me a while to get back into the swing of things, but I think I’m doing all right.”
    “Where’s Dominica?” Anthony asked, referring to Michael and Theresa’s older daughter.
    “Over at my mom’s.” Theresa chuckled. “I asked her if she wanted to come and watch her brother play and she just looked at me as if the very thought was torture. She’s turning into a real principessa , that one. She’d better watch her step.”
    “And the baby?”
    “She’s at my mom’s, too, probably screaming her head off as we speak.” She leaned close to Anthony and whispered, “How’s Michael doing with the househusband stuff? Honestly.”
    “He’s doing great,” Anthony replied, wondering if it sounded like he was exaggerating.
    “Good.” Theresa looked relieved. “I have to confess, I was a little worried. He’s used to the excitement of this”—she gestured at the ice—“not picking stale Cheerios off the carpet that the baby threw from her high chair, you know what I mean?”
    “I think he’s doing okay,” Anthony reiterated, glancing at his brother, who looked on the verge of bursting a blood vessel in his temple. He was about to say as much when Michael sprang back to his feet.
    “What the hell was that?” he yelled at the ref. “You bench my kid for boarding and you let that little cretino on the other team go scot-free? You did good, Little Ant,” he called down to his son. “Hang tough. Remember what we talked about before the game.”
    “Michael,” Theresa hissed, yanking him back down into his seat.
    Anthony glanced around discreetly. Other parents were looking at them, most with displeasure. There were a few scattered whispers; Anthony caught the words “New York Blades” more than once. He could just imagine what people were thinking.
    “Mike, I really think you need to calm down,” said Anthony under his breath.
    Michael scowled at him. “I’m just trying to make sure Little Ant plays the best game he can.”
    “How about you let him have some fun?” Theresa snapped. She turned up her palms in disbelief. “Can you believe this?” she asked Anthony.
    “Sadly, yes.”
    Anthony watched as his nephew returned to the ice with his line. All the kids, regardless of skill, looked gawky to him at this age, their helmeted heads making them look like lollipops on skates. Little Ant looked up into the stands, scouring the crowd for his parents. When he found them, he gave a tentative wave.
    “Pay attention to what’s happening on the ice!” his father shouted down to him. Little Ant dipped his head in shame and skated up the right