Cross-Checked (Boston Rebels #3)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

McCabe

“ W ith the Rebels sweeping Carolina in Round 2, news of their general manager, Alessandra Jones, being voted into the top three finalists for GM of the Year, and their first game of Round 3 at home tonight...you’ve got to imagine that the team is feeling the pressure,” sportscaster Ted Deveney’s voice carries through my living room. I glance over at the TV from where I lie on my living room floor, flat on my back with my arms extended above my head as I hold Abby above me, flying her through the air like she’s a superhero.

Her giggles almost drown out Ted’s voice, but I still take note of his mention of AJ being a finalist. That shouldn’t add pressure on our team, but it does. Because AJ is the first woman to hold her position, she’s also the first to receive this nomination. And the fact that she’s a finalist means that it’s down to only her and two other men when they do the final round of voting during the Stanley Cup finals.

Despite my personal feelings about her, professionally there is not a single doubt that she deserves this award—and has deserved it for years. Everyone in the Rebels organization, from the players to the owner, wants to see her win it almost as much as they want to raise another Stanley Cup banner at Liberty Arena at the start of next season.

We all feel the need to win this next series, to prove that AJ deserves this award—that we’re the team we are today because of her.

I played for the Rebels for a season and a half before she became our GM, and that team didn’t have a shot in hell at the Cup. Now, we’re on the road to possibly winning it for the second time since she arrived.

In those first couple of years, she hired a new coach, reorganized management, and began building our team with the exact players we needed to become a cohesive team instead of a group of hot-headed athletes that were only in it for themselves. And we’ve been reaping the rewards since.

“Or,” his co-host, Stefanie Flowers says, “they’re feeling super confident as they open this series at home. After sweeping Carolina like they did, I wouldn’t be surprised if we see them come into this series with the explosive energy we saw in the last one. Especially since they’ve had a week off to rest, while Philadelphia was battling it out in the second round right up through Game 7.”

“Maybe,” Ted says. “I guess we’ll find out tonight. Tune in at 7 p.m. when Boston takes on Philadelphia at home.”

I glance at the clock in the corner of the TV screen, noting that Lucy should have been here a few minutes ago. Shit. Where is she?

While flying Abby through the air above my head, I’m contemplating whether it was a mistake to give Lucy the week off to go to Nantucket. She was pissed she would have to miss tonight’s party for his grandmother, but this way, she got to be there for the week with his family. It felt like a good compromise at the time.

Abby is teething and all that drool is getting precariously close to falling onto my face, so I bring her in for a landing that has her squealing with laughter. Setting her up with some toys on the floor, I’m hoping she’ll sit still long enough for me to grab a burp cloth to wipe her face and find my phone so I can make sure Lucy didn’t text me that she’d be late or anything.

Now that Abby’s crawling, I can’t take my eyes off her for a second—but seeing her move around on her own is also pretty amazing. I’m not ready for her to start walking yet, even though I know that’s the next big milestone.

She’s almost ten months old, and I’m already feeling like the old adage is true: the days are long, but the years are short. There have been days that I thought would never end, and yet, looking back, I don’t know where the time has gone. It feels like just yesterday she was a newborn with diapers the size of my palm, and now she’s already pulling herself up to standing. It’s hard to prevent my mind from jumping to her first day of kindergarten, her first date, her wedding day.

My grandma used to tell me that I need to live more in the present and less in the future. That’s never felt truer, and I’ve never wished she was still here more than I do now. She would have loved meeting Abby. She would have known exactly what to do in every situation, whereas half the time I feel like I’m stumbling my way through parenting with no one around to help me.

After wiping Abby’s face and quickly scrolling through my messages, I see Lucy hasn’t texted me since before she left for Nantucket earlier this week. There is, however, a message from Walshy in our team chat.

Walsh

Marissa thinks we should take AJ out tonight to celebrate her nomination for GM of the Year. Who’s in?

Because I don’t have a wife or a serious girlfriend, alternate captain Patrick Walsh’s wife, Marissa, acts as the “Head WAG.” She loves organizing all the wives and girlfriends, and planning things like team social events and playoff jackets. But she’s never suggested a social event that crosses the line between players and management. We save that for things like team-sponsored charity events and the annual Christmas party the Hartmanns host. But taking our boss out for a beer? Never.

The enthusiastic replies of my teammates indicate that I’m the only one who has a problem with this. Which makes sense. Everyone knows AJ and I don’t get along, but I’ve never told anyone what she did to me in St. Louis. People can love her as a GM if they want. I did...until she betrayed me at the worst possible time in my life.

I wish she wasn’t so damn present , though. I wish she wasn’t everywhere I turned at work. I wish I didn’t now know she lives across the hall from me. I wish I could forget the moment back in St. Louis when I let my attraction to her make me act without thinking. I wish that she’d grown less attractive over the years, instead of more.

Fuck. Get it together, man.

I’m not the naive twenty-five-year-old I was then. I’m old enough to know better than to be attracted to someone so damn infuriating. Not to mention she’s screwed me over once before and seems willing to do it again.

McCabe

Sorry, I can’t. Have to get home to the baby right after the game.

Drew

Don’t you have a nanny?

McCabe

Yeah, a fucking unreliable one who isn’t even here yet and I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago.

God, I miss my old nanny, Stacy. She was perfect at her job, but I knew when I hired her in the fall that she was moving in May. I’m lucky I had her as long as I did, but Lucy is in no way a suitable replacement.

I sit on the floor next to Abby, and she crawls up into my lap, standing on my legs and stretching up toward my face. Tilting my head down toward her, I pucker up for what I know will be a sloppy kiss. And the girl doesn’t disappoint. I have what feels like a gallon of drool on my lips and chin. A year ago, that would have made me want to throw up, but now it just leaves me with the goofy grin I can never get rid of when Abby does something cute.

A few minutes later, the grin is gone. Lucy’s now half an hour late. I pick up my phone, watching Abby standing on her knees and swinging her favorite stuffed puppy around by his floppy ear as I dial Lucy.

She sounds both surprised and confused when she answers with a startled, “Hello?”

I pause, noticing the music in the background. “Where are you?” I ask the question, even though I’m afraid I already know the answer.

“I’m at Tim’s grandma’s party.” Her voice still carries notes of confusion, like I should already know this and she’s not sure why I’m calling.

“You were supposed to be here half an hour ago, Lucy. I have a game tonight.”

“No, I texted you three days ago and told you I wasn’t going to make it back to Boston until tomorrow. I said to let me know if you wanted me to see if one of my friends could watch Abby, and I didn’t hear back, so I figured you were all set.”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” I ask.

Lucy knows I needed her here. When I offered her the week off, I made it perfectly clear that she needed to be back here today in time for me to leave for my game. She happily agreed, and I’d been able to get a woman, Tammy, who used to watch Drew and Audrey’s son, to come babysit Abby the two mornings I had practice. But since I knew Lucy would be back today, I don’t have anything lined up for tonight.

“I don’t understand.” Lucy sounds genuinely confused. “If it wasn’t okay for me to stay, why didn’t you say so.”

“ I did. ” The words come out in a roar that scares Abby, and her lower lip starts to wobble as her eyes fill up with tears. The last thing I want to do is upset my daughter, so I scoop her up in my free arm, holding her to my chest and giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, before lowering my voice. “I did tell you that. Both times you asked. And then I gave you a paid week off to make up for you having to miss tonight’s party, and you agreed to that under the condition that you’d be back in time for tonight’s game.”

“Well, I changed my mind, and I gave you three days’ notice.”

“No, you didn’t. And it wouldn’t have mattered if you gave me three weeks’ notice, Lucy! I don’t have anyone else to watch Abby, and I’m supposed to be at the rink, getting ready for my game. This is a job. You don’t get to just show up when you feel like it. You show up when you’re scheduled to work, because that’s what I’m paying you to do.”

I can’t even imagine what was going through her head when she made this decision. This isn’t just about me and my job. Abby is a baby, totally helpless and dependent on the adults in her life to take care of her. That’s when it hits me. While, legally, Lucy may be an adult, she certainly doesn’t know how to act like one. And I’m at fault here because, even though I had reservations, I hired her.

In the background, I can hear someone say something to her, and Lucy hums in acknowledgement.

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” she says. “You’re acting like I didn’t tell you.”

I ignore the comment about my tone because, while I think she deserves it, I’ve been told before that I’m way too “grumpy and growly.”

“Because you didn’t tell me.”

“Hold on, I’m going to send you a screenshot of the text.” There’s silence for a second, and then she grunts out, “Shit!” Another pause, then she’s back and tells me, “The message didn’t send. It has that little failure notification next to it, which I didn’t see until now.”

It doesn’t matter what happened; the issue is that she’s not here now. “What the hell am I supposed to do with Abby tonight while I’m playing?”

“I don’t know, Mr. McCabe, but I can’t do anything about it from Nantucket.”

I can feel my whole body tensing up, and I don’t want to hurt Abby where she’s snuggled against me so I force myself to relax. “Here’s a piece of advice from your former employer. Next time you feel like not coming into work, make sure you get approval from your boss before not showing up.”

“My former employer?” she squeaks out. Did she think I’d keep her after this stunt?

“Don’t have anyone call me for a reference. And don’t expect a paycheck for this week.”

“But you said I could have a paid week off!” Her voice is awfully whiny when she doesn’t get her way.

“I said you could have a paid week off, as long as you were back here for tonight’s game. Which you’re not. Enjoy Nantucket.”

Hanging up, I look down at Abby where her big blue eyes are focused up on me. Maybe one day we’ll look back on this night and laugh.

“Guess you’re coming to work with Daddy.”