Page 37 of Punked By the Playmaker
There was a sharp intake of breath from the woman I held in my grasp, and a flush of pink rose up her neck to settle on her cheeks.
Oh, she liked that.
When she tugged against my hold, I let her go easily and turned to Maisie, who was still standing on the threshold. I noticed she was using crutches to support herself, her prosthetic leg noticeably absent.
Like she could read my mind, my daughter explained, “They said I need to give my stump a few days to heal. And after that, to only wear my leg when necessary so the same thing doesn’t happen again.”
“You need a new prosthesis,” I declared.
Maisie gave a half shrug. “Probably, but good luck convincing the insurance to shell out for one.”
“Fuck the insurance!” Her eyes widened at my raised voice, so I quickly softened it. “Sorry. What I meant is, I’ll take care of it out of pocket. We’re done letting some corporate entity that prioritizes profits over patients decide which of your medical needs are met. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to the training staff at the rink, find out the names of the best pediatric orthopedist and prosthetist in the city, and make appointments.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”
I reached out, then hesitated, my hand hovering over her shoulder, unsure whether I was allowed to touch her. It might be my blood coursing through her veins, but we’d only just met yesterday.
Steeling my nerves, I lowered my palm until it made contact. Maisie peeked up shyly, the hint of a smile curving on her lips, and an explosion went off inside my chest. This girl already owned my heart, and I never intended to ask for it back.
“I want to, Maisie. Let me take care of you.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, and her voice came out thick. “Thank you.”
“Come on, let’s get you inside.” I ushered her into the house. “Have you eaten?”
The rubber bottoms of her crutches thudded as she moved across the hardwood floor. “Not since lunch.”
“Then I think an early dinner is in order. How do we feel about pizza?” I asked our unconventional blended family.
Austin perked up immediately. “Pepperoni and sausage for me!”
I looked at the girls. “Maisie? Arizona?”
Arizona waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine with anything.”
Maisie replied, “I like cheese.”
“All right, then.”
I snatched up my cell from where it lay discarded on the couch and quickly placed an order for three pies, securing Maisie’s and Austin’s requests plus a supreme for me—had to get my veggies in.
As soon as I hung up, Arizona commanded my attention. “There are a few bags in my trunk, if you wouldn’t mind bringing them in. Then we need to go upstairs and assign bedrooms.”
Right, because Arizona, Austin, and Maisie lived here now.
I hadn’t had roommates in a while—not since I upgraded from my first home in Hartford—and those had been my teammates, guys who were either on their rookie contracts or were constantly moving up and down between the Comets and their minor league affiliate in Providence. Women occasionally spent the night, but there were never any kids.
This would be a whole new experience for me.
You’re just racking those up these days. Fatherhood, marriage—what’s next?
Probably divorce if Arizona had it her way, but I had a year before I needed to think about that. I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.
I jogged out to Arizona’s beat-up four-door sedan parked in my driveway and popped the trunk. I expected to find a coupleof suitcases, but the space was overflowing with shopping bags instead.
Looping the handles around my wrists, I only needed one trip to bring everything inside, dropping the massive bounty in the entryway, and calling out, “Go on a little shopping spree?”
Arizona’s heels clicking signaled her approach, and when she came into view, both hands were perched on her hips. “Maisie had exactly one change of clothing in her backpack, so yeah, we stopped off at the mall. Is that a problem?”
