8. Chapter Eight #2
Shy hustled forward. “Shep, this is Edith Catoe.” She paused, her gaze on me. “And this is Hannah, her granddaughter.”
I kept my golden-boy smile plastered on all bright and shiny, even for the kid who hadn’t bothered looking up from her screen. But the tension crackling between Shy’s searching looks and Ms. Catoe’s laser focus had my teeth on edge. “Well, it sure is great to meet y’all.”
I could turn the ‘aw shucks’ Southern boy accent off and on most days, but sometimes it bubbled up without any help from me—stress always brought out the Mapleton in me. I narrowed my gaze at Shy as awkward silence smothered the room.
She searched my face for the millionth time in the three minutes since I’d arrived.
Whatever she saw satisfied her. Her narrow shoulders dropped and she ran a hand through her hair as she circled the couch to sink into an oversized turquoise chair.
She motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite hers, the strangers on the couch in between.
Only when Ms. Catoe broke off her study of me and settled back onto the couch did I take my own seat. The girl turned her phone sideways, but didn’t look up.
I’d had enough. I’d given up celebrating our win with the boys to do this? Whatever this was? “What’s going on, Shy?”
“Ms. Catoe is visiting from Virginia Beach.”
My nerves danced like live wires, sparking and sizzling, and I had no idea why. “Okay?”
Shy plucked at the hem of her t-shirt. “You traveled to Virginia Beach in high school, right? For a camp?”
Hockey camps had been my summer escape growing up.
Mom and Dad loved shipping me off, and I lived for ice time.
When money got tight, the Pendleton scholarship fund stepped in, funneling local talent toward the Renegades system.
Most guys washed out in juniors or counted the AHL as their win. I’d pushed through to the show.
I nodded, dread flooding my system like ice water. My fingers dug trenches in the leather armrests.
Ms. Catoe cleared her throat. “Mr. Landon,” she said, her curt voice cracking through the room. “I’m Hannah’s grandmother. But you’re her father.”
The world tilted sideways. Blood roared in my ears as my focus zeroed in on the dark head still bent over that glowing screen. My daughter. The word echoed like a shot off the crossbar.
Hockey consumed my life by design. Kept me focused, sharp. Kept life simple. No relationships, no complications. Sure, I wasn’t celibate. I had my share of willing company. But I wrapped up tight, played it safe. Could count the times I’d gone without protection on one finger.
I’d lost my virginity in Virginia Beach.
A bungling teenage boy, overeager and horny as hell.
I’d had a condom in my wallet, every boy did, but its presence had been more a matter of ego than preparation.
And when the pretty girl kissed me… when we fumbled around in the backseat of her car, rolling that bad boy on was the last thing on my mind.
The memory faded and the consequences of that recklessness sat across from me.
The kid’s fingers bleached white around her phone.
The stark color the only sign she gave a damn about the conversation happening around her.
My chest squeezed tight, every cell in my body screaming to memorize her face, to find pieces of myself in her features.
Ms. Catoe’s voice interrupted my spiral. “You met my daughter while at that camp. She saved this picture.”
I wrenched my gaze from the little girl to accept the photo with shaky hands. A younger me and the pretty girl I remembered smiled from the bed of a beat up old Chevy truck. My throat closed up.
“She wrote ‘Shepherd’ on the back. That’s all she remembered, she said. My daughter took off when Hannah was two; we haven’t heard from her since. And we don’t expect to.”
Ms Catoe brushed some invisible speck from her trousers.
Her tone matter of fact in speaking of her missing daughter.
“But her lack of memory didn’t give us much to go on when it came to finding you.
After a couple years, I gave up. I had Hannah to look after and she was my priority.
Not finding some man who amounted to little more than a sperm donor. ”
Shy’s sharp inhale matched the jolt that ran through me. “I had no idea.”
The older woman nodded. “I believe you.”
Hannah slid sideways, her slim body smooshing into her grandmother’s side, and Ms. Catoe’s stern face softened.
“And until recently, it wouldn’t have mattered. But I’ve got some health issues to deal with. Nothing terminal with proper treatment, but Hannah and I had to face facts. I’m all she has in this world. No family, no backup plan.”
The words hit like a gut punch. Shy and I, we’d always had each other’s backs. Through absent parents and tough times, we were never truly alone. The isolation Hannah and her grandmother faced—my hands curled into fists.
“What’re you looking for from Shep?” Shy’s voice cut through the chaos in my brain.
“I will conquer my issues, but it won’t be easy and I will need assistance.
I won’t be able to care for Hannah. The idiot social workers at the treatment center have already started rumblings about who will take care of Hannah.
Well, there isn’t anyone. Except you, Mr. Shepherd.
It’s you or the state takes her. I won’t risk that. ”
“No.” The word burst out rough. “Hell no.” My mind raced, trying to process. To plan. To protect.
“She needs her father. She needs family.”
A growly protest rumbled from Hannah—the first sound she’d made. The noise hit my chest like a slap shot. My eyes shot to Shy, caught her slow nod, her face gone ghost-white. That growl… pure Landon.
Hannah burrowed deeper into her grandmother’s side. “I have you, Grams.”
Ms. Catoe wrapped an arm around the girl’s narrow shoulders.
“Always,” she said, her voice softening.
“But I’m not enough. And if something happens to me, you need a back-up plan.
” She looked at me, her expression stern, unbending.
“Let’s do whatever paternity testing needs to happen to make your relationship with Hannah official.
I want you on her birth certificate. I want you to be a part of Hannah’s life. ”
My head bobbed like a rookie in their first media interview. Yes. God, yes.
“I reached out to your sister to bypass all the hoopla. We understand you have to involve attorneys or whatever to make things legal, but I wanted to know what kind of man you were before I left my granddaughter in your care. I figured your sister would be the easiest place to start.”
I turned my gaze to Shy. My little sister’s eyes were soft on me, worried, appraising. I pushed a wobbly smile to my lips. “Shy’s nothing if not honest.”
Shy’s answering smile froze, her gaze jetting back to the woman. “Wait, what do you mean, leave Hannah in Shep’s care?”
Ms. Catoe rose. Hannah shot up beside her, phone forgotten, panic flooding her face. My gut twisted seeing the first real emotion from my daughter sparked by fear.
“I’m leaving. She’s packed. Come down to the car to get her stuff.”
“No, Grams.” Hannah latched onto her grandmother’s arm.
“You need to know your dad, Han. And I need to focus on getting well. This is the perfect opportunity.”
“You need me to help out around the house.”
“I need to not worry about what you’re up to and if you’ve eaten.”
My brain clicked online. “Tonight? You’re leaving her right now?”
“It’s for the best. Your sister has my information.”
Puck luck, scoring streaks, slumps—my whole world narrowed to the teenager standing across the room.
The kiss with Merri felt like it had happened in another lifetime, though my lips still tingled with the memory.
Whatever was building between us would have to wait.
In the space of an hour, I’d become a father.
No training camp, no playbook, no coach’s challenge could prepare me for this.