Page 77 of Fighting Chance

I turn to gauge her mood and whether or not this is too much for Emmy, but I’m stunned, my breath catching. Emmy is in Layla’s arms, her little fists up in the air waving frantically, a large smile spread wide as she?—

My chest suddenly feels like it was hit by a truck.

Coach is calling my name, but I can’t hear him over the blood rushing in my ears.

Tears burn the back of my eyes as I skate forward, Emmy’s little lips moving a mile a minute.

She’s speaking.

My little girl isspeaking.

And she’s talking to me.

Usually when I slide this uniform on, all I want to hear arethe cheers of the crowd, the buzzing of our goals, and the roar of my teammates. Standing at the plexiglass, the arena fades into the background as the best sound to ever grace my ears reaches me.

“Daddy! That’s my daddy!”

Her large round eyes are locked on me as if I’m the only thing to exist, and it’s then that I remember she knows my jersey number, how her mom must have turned the TV to our games and told her that I was her dad.

My name is Kieran Ashford, I am a hockey player for IceHawks, I wear the jersey number 47, and as I take my helmet off, I stand unashamed as tears fall freely down my cheeks.

Emmy’s eyes widen, taking up half her face.

I’m waiting for disappointment to hit her next, for disgust or hatred, but it never comes. If anything, she squeals louder, screaming “Daddy!” with renewed vigor.

Tears shine in Layla’s eyes, the tension from last night long gone in this moment. She’s not the only one tearing up. The people surrounding her, my people, my friends and chosen family, don’t have any dry eyes.

A laugh bursts free from me, one full of joy as I clutch my chest, hoping I can keep my heart, beating a mile a minute, in its rightful place.

Layla whispers something to Emmy and points above my head, and Emmy and I follow Layla’s direction. I find my face exploded across the Jumbotron, my cheeks and nose red, my black hair slicked with sweat. Emmy is shown beside me on the screen, her smile wide and carefree, her baby teeth peeking through. She claps her hands together and continues to point at me, that word mouthed on her lips once again.

Irving skates past me, hooting. “She called you Daddy!”

And before I know it, my team descends on me with hugs, surrounding me in one of the happiest moments of my life.

“Secret’s out!” Mitchel calls. “Ashford is officially a daddy!”

“Daddy Ashford!” Irving yells, and soon the entire stadium is chanting along with him.

I find Grayson through the chaos and see him already grinning at me. I can’t help but laugh, too. “Looks like you won’t bethe only ‘daddy’ to go viral on the IceHawks team,” I tease, talking about the video that went viral of him well over a year ago.

He rolls his eyes. “Thank fuck! More than happy to share the title.”

Irving cuts through the throes, pouting. “I want to be a viral daddy.”

Shaking my head with laughter, I’m shocked that even Irving’s stupid remarks can’t dampen the mood.

Grayson rallies us together. “Now, who’s ready to skate?”

I look back one more time at Layla and Emmy, my smile so wide my cheeks burn. “I’m about to skate the best I’ve ever fucking played.”

Sweat slides down the nape of my neck as I pull my arm back only to bring it forward with a vengeance, slapping the puck to the side, right into Grayson’s awaiting stick.

The defense against us try their hardest, their legs pumping to keep up, but Grayson is a weapon on the ice and nothing can stop him as he flicks his wrist and sends the puck soaring into the net. The goalie slaps his fist against the ice, roaring in frustration after letting a third goal sail past him.

The sound of the buzzer blaring across the arena is music to my ears as my team and I skate over to Grayson and crowd him, cheering and hooting in celebration.

“Let’s fucking go!” Irving roars.