Page 14 of Power Play
Larsson clears his throat. “How are you feeling about this?”
My laugh comes out hollow. Forced. “I don’t even know.”
Stunned. Surprised. Confused. Bitter for having missed out. Tentatively happy… Irrevocably in love with her. I’ve known about her for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m obsessed with her.
“Why now?” Sinclair asks. “If she’s six months old, why didn’t the mother tell you before?”
“She died.” When I look around the room at my teammates, my brothers, I see nothing but sympathy on their faces. “Her sister showed up on my doorstep.”
“Fuck, man,” MacGregor says. “That’s a lot to deal with.”
“Do you have a nanny?” Larsson asks. “I can see if Brigitte can help out…”
That’s the woman who takes care of his son when both he and Vanessa are on the road. She’s cut back on travel, but she still comes with us on road trips once in a while.
Brigitte is nice. Pretty. Vanessa tried to set us up last year, but we didn’t click. After our coffee date, we went our separate ways, and I haven’t seen her since.
“I’ve… uh, found someone,” I say simply, not wanting to get into it.
“Do you need help?” MacGregor pushes. “Do you have everything?”
“Put together the crib yesterday. Spent all night trying to figure out the exerciser bouncy thing.” Huffing out a laugh, I run my hand through my hair. “For being so small, babies need a lot of shit.”
“And the diapers,” Easton adds. “There are so fucking many diapers.”
Riley walked me through my first diaper change this morning. There was a fair bit of fumbling, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty of practice once I’m home from this road trip.
Luckily, Emmy seems to be a pretty easygoing baby. She sure does love to eat—she really is my kid—and has no problems when I hold her. She fucking loves her new bouncer thing, too.
Crap. I should probably start training myself not to say fuck quite so much. The last thing I want is for someone to call social services because the kid’s first word is fuck.
How old are babies when they start talking? And walking? I need to read all the parenting blogs, stat. Most guys get almost a year’s advance notice to prep for this; I got none.
Some of my anxiety must show on my face, because Logan claps me on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he says, steady and sure. “You’ll figure this out. We’ve got your back.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I nod.
My phone buzzes in my cubby, the vibration rattling the wooden shelves. I’m expecting an angry call from my agent or maybe my lawyer, so I’m surprised to find a text from Riley.
It’s a photo of Emmy. She’s in the bouncing contraption, pure, unbridled joy on her face, and I smile, my heart thumping loudly.
“Oh, fuck,” Mitchell says, the sound echoing distantly. “We’ve lost him.”
“That her?” MacGregor asks, nodding to my phone.
I save the photo as my wallpaper, then I turn the screen around to show them. “She’s fucking perfect.”
Logan leans over MacGregor’s shoulder, trying to get a better look. “Yeah, she is,” the defenseman says.
“You want one of these?” MacGregor asks, pointing at the phone.
“Nah. I know it’s not in the cards for me and Hailey.” Logan shrugs. “We’re still focused on the service dog thing.”
He’s dating MacGregor’s sister, and they’re disgustingly adorable together. She has some chronic illnesses; I’m uncertain of all the details, but she shows up at nearly every game to support him and her brother. She’s good friends with Cari, too, having bonded over being sisters of hockey players.
Coach Turner enters the dressing room, and silence falls again.
“Well?” he demands. “Why aren’t you on my fucking ice?”
The guys start filtering out, and I hurry to put on the rest of my gear. Shoving my phone back into my cubby, I stick my helmet on my head and trudge after my teammates.
MacGregor catches my arm. “Hey. You good?”
I think of that photo, of the utter delight on my kid’s face at her new toy. I will spend the rest of my life and every dollar I earn making sure she stays as happy and carefree as she was in that moment.
“Yeah. I’m great.”
