Page 25 of Power Play

ten

. . .

Riley

Life settles into a routine. Al goes to the rink every day. On nights when he has a home game, he gets back to the house a little before midnight. He takes care of any middle-of-the-night diaper changes, and for the first time since Carter died, I finally get to sleep through the night.

He has road trips. Some are only two nights, some are longer. His game schedule is taped to the fridge, which is full of prepared meals. A man comes by every Monday with a cooler, delivering the glass containers and taking away last week’s empties.

Some of the meals are for me, so I don’t have to worry about cooking every night. They’re pretty tasty. It’s a far cry from the ramen, beans and rice, and canned-tuna diet I survived on until payday each week.

One day, a sleek brand-new black Audi SUV arrived, and the delivery person handed me the keys. Me. I called Al, but all he said was I promised I’d get you a car, and hung up. A top-of-the-line car seat was already installed.

It’s isolating, being home alone with a baby all day. My schedule revolves around hers, naps and bottles and diapers, and whenever Al is home, I try to give him as much space as I can.

But I’m fucking lonely. Aside from a few walks around the block, I haven’t gone anywhere or done anything by myself in the last three weeks.

I miss my sister. She was the other half of my heart. And now it’s like a piece of me is missing. She wasn’t a perfect person, not by far. But she was mine.

And now Emmy is mine.

An authoritative knock sounds on the door, and I freeze. What if it’s Joanne, coming to take my baby away?

For one second, I consider not answering. Just because someone knocks doesn’t mean I have to answer. But I know if it truly is social services, I stand to risk more than I have to gain by ignoring them. I blow out a breath, then trudge across the room and open the door to my fate.

Vanessa stands on the stoop, holding a baby with round cheeks and white-blond hair. He looks to be about eight months, chubby and cute. A brunette carries a car seat with an infant, and another woman stands beside her, tall and redheaded, holding a diaper bag.

“Sorry for dropping by unannounced,” Vanessa says, a smile stretching her face. “I thought maybe you might like a playdate.”

I blink a few times. “A playdate?”

The redhead holds up her diaper bag. “I brought wine.”

A laugh bubbles up from inside me. “In that case, come on in.”

Vanessa sets her son down on the play mat near Emmy, and I disappear into the kitchen, retrieving four wineglasses.

“I don’t have much in the way of snacks,” I apologize. “The grocery delivery is supposed to come in a few hours.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the brunette says, scooping her hair into a ponytail. “We’re the ones barging in on you uninvited. Hi. I’m Audrey. I’m married to Seb Henry, the goalie.”

“And her dad’s the coach,” Vanessa adds with a smirk.

Audrey rolls her eyes, shoving her playfully.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Riley.”

“I’m Bex Whitney,” offers the redhead. “Van and I went to college together, and my brother plays for Austin, so I’m basically part of the team.”

“We’ll find you a hockey player one of these days,” Vanessa teases.

But Bex shakes her head. “Nope. Been there, done that. Don’t need to go down that road again.” A loud pop echoes through the room as she opens a bottle of white wine, pouring a generous serving into each glass. Every cliché about wine moms pops into my head, but after a few weeks of solo parenting, I’m starting to understand the stereotype more and more.

“How are you settling in?” Audrey asks.

“Uh…”

“It must be difficult, suddenly having to be responsible for a baby. Especially one that’s not yours.” She clucks her tongue sympathetically. “I chose this, and it’s still hard sometimes.”