Page 30 of Power Play

twelve

. . .

Riley

A man in a Boston Grizzlies hoodie stops us in the middle of the Common. “Gonzo!”

Al slows his pace, offering a friendly smile to him. “Hey!”

I wish I could say this is a surprise, but after the third stranger accosted us, I stopped keeping track. We can’t go more than a few feet before someone else approaches us. Al isn’t wearing any identifying apparel, so how these people recognize him is beyond me. On TV, he simply looks like a beard and a helmet.

Every single person, he gives them his undivided attention. Not once has he said to leave us alone. He treats them like they’re special, like they deserve access to him at all times. Doesn’t he want a break? It’s his day off. He should be allowed to have downtime.

He chats with the fan, his eyes flicking down to Emmy every few moments. Always watching, always protective. She’s content in her stroller, surrounded by warm blankets. A chilly breeze kicks up, the wind rustling through the trees. In typical Emmy fashion, she jerks her feet, dislodging her blanket and a tiny bootie. Without pausing his conversation, Al reaches into the stroller and fits the shoe back onto her foot.

Why is him being a competent, caring father so charming?

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” the man says. He glances down into the stroller. “Hi, baby.”

“Yep,” Al clips out, his tone a tad strained. “We try to keep her out of the spotlight.”

The stranger looks between us, no doubt wondering who I am. I guess he presumes I’m the baby’s mother, which makes me uncomfortable.

For all intents and purposes, I am now. But Carter was her mom. And she’ll never get the chance to know her.

Emmy wails, and Al gives a forced laugh. Maybe he doesn’t like interacting with his fans, either. “Gotta take care of this. Nice meeting you, man.”

The fan waves as we walk away, and after a few paces of movement, Emmy calms down. She sucks on her fists with a serious expression, her brown eyes trained on her father.

“You’re certainly popular,” I comment blandly while we make our second loop of the park.

“Part of the job.” He steers us to a nearby bench, then pulls Emmy from the stroller, wrapping her in his arms. Giggling, she smacks her sticky hands on his cheeks, and he grins. “Do you know why they call me Gonzo?”

“I’m guessing because your last name is Gonzales.”

“Nope. Because I look like a Muppet.” A short, sarcastic laugh rumbles from his throat. “I’ve got the eyes and nose of a puppet. That, and when I was younger, I flopped around on the ice.”

I grin. “I like your eyes.” They look just like Emmy’s.

“But not my nose?” He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, his mouth twitching.

“I mean…”

His bark of laughter makes me giggle, filling me with a sudden burst of joy. But I wasn’t lying. He has a big, honking nose that’s clearly been broken more than once.

He sets an arm on the park bench behind me, his body radiating warmth. I scoot a little closer, trying to steal some of his heat.

“Cold?” he murmurs.

“Just a bit.”

His arm slips from the bench to curl around me, tugging me into his side. The familiar scent of his soap washes over me, making my gut clench and my heart skip a beat. That’s a weird reaction to have. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

Emmy squeals, reaching for me, and I pull her onto my lap to give her a snuggle. She looks so cute with her little hat and pink cheeks, even if she did throw her mittens out of the stroller, directly into a puddle.

“She’s getting so big.” He catches her little fist with his index finger, and the sun glints off the white-gold band he wears. I’m struck by a bolt of possessiveness. He’s mine, and I’m his, and we belong to each other. On paper, that is. “It’s all happening so fast.”

“Yeah, she’ll be crawling any day now.”