Page 89 of Punked By the Playmaker
Then came a shake of her head. “No. If she’s gone to this much trouble to keep her identity a secret, she doesn’t want to be found. And I’m not sure I could survive having my heart broken if she turns her back on me for a second time.”
“Oh, honey.” I pulled her into my arms.
It was inconceivable to me that anyone could not love this girl, but I would respect her wishes.
“It’s okay.” Maisie nodded against my chest before peeking up and giving me a glimpse of her glassy eyes. “I have you and Arizona and Austin.”
“Don’t forget Nana and Papa,” I teased.
She leaned into it, adding, “Plus a couple of hot hockey uncles.”
I reared back. “Oh no. You can put that thought out of your head right now. Even the rookies are way too old for you.”
A mischievous grin curved on her lips. “A girl can dream.”
Hockey boys were trouble. Yes, there were exceptions to the rule, but a large majority were playboys, only looking to get laid—I was a prime example of that.
Like she could sense I was about to spiral, Maisie changed the subject. “So, you and Arizona.”
“What about us?”
“You’re, like, kind of a thing now, right?” There was hope in her voice.
I lay back against the sand, throwing my arms behind my head as I confessed, “I want us to be.”
“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
“But”—I gave her a side-eye—“I’m not sure she’s on the same page as me.”
“Hmm.” Maisie mulled it over. “Why do you think that is?”
“Hell if I know,” I huffed. “Every time I think we’re getting close, she pulls back. It almost feels like she’s afraid. And I can’t figure out why.”
“Have you tried asking her?”
“No,” I replied like a sullen teenager.
My daughter giggled. “Your Austin impression is spot on.”
A laugh was pulled from my chest, but my humor quickly faded. “He’s had it rough. They both have.”
“I think maybe they’re protecting themselves,” Maisie mused.
I turned onto my side. “What do you mean?”
“I get where they’re coming from a little bit. When I first got here, all of this was too good to be true. Like, what do you mean I rang my birth dad’s doorbell and he took me in? That first week, I fully expected to wake up back in Kansas, this whole thing being nothing more than a dream. What if Austin and Arizona are scared to get too comfortable here, with us, because they don’t want to end up hurt if it all goes away?”
My chest tightened. “I’m not letting them go.”
A hum came from my daughter. “I know that, but do they?”
Damn, she was insightful for a twelve-year-old.
But she was right. Sooner rather than later, I needed to have a conversation with my wife about how I felt.
It just so happened that the Surf’s last home game of the season was against the Indianapolis Speed, the perfect opponent to allow me to kick off my apology tour.
Typically, on a game day, the home team got the arena’s ice for an hour, then the away team was allowed to have a morning skate right after. So, I’d had the opportunity to shower before the Speed’s journalists began filing into a makeshift press room.
