10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
The Mapleton Movie Night series continued this week with a showing of The Lion King.
Fatherhood at its finest. It’s officially fall and that means crisp evenings, cozy sweaters, and hot cider from everyone’s favorite bakery, Sugar Squared.
The Renegades had the night off, so you can be sure I took a survey of the attendees.
I found Clyde, but it wasn’t the coach beside our beloved Pendleton Princess. ~Penni’s Puckleberry Tea
Shep
Four years ago I signed a sweet contract for eight more years with the Renegades. I celebrated by buying a luxury loft apartment overlooking the Henry River. I hired a decorator the captain’s wife knew and she decked the place out in style.
Adult style.
Not the kind with mood lighting and mirrors on the ceiling. The kind with clean lines and sharp edges that screamed “touch nothing, admire everything.” But definitely not kid friendly.
Hannah poked at the long leaf of a banana tree draped over the back of my custom leather sectional and into the foyer.
The memory of the decorator’s voice needled my brain.
“The plants soften those harsh angles, darling.” She’d stuffed enough greenery in here to rival the Richland Botanical Garden, but at least she’d hooked me up with a service to keep them alive.
“It’s a banana tree,” I told the girl who’d crash-landed into my life. My daughter.
I swallowed, the chaos of emotion threatening to spill over again. My daughter.
She leaned forward, as though unwilling to step another foot into the place, but curious to see something about the plant. The corner of my mouth ticked up despite the tornado in my gut. “No bananas. I check all the time. Maybe one day.”
She rocked back onto her heels with a tiny nod.
The need to move, to act, to control something crawled under my skin. The same restlessness that had me bouncing on my feet before games, except this wasn’t about scoring goals or winning matches. This was about a kid. My kid. Someone who needed more than a perfect wrist shot or a charming smile.
I swerved around her and dropped a grass green suitcase in the center of the room.
The travel bag perched on top screamed childhood with its crown-wearing frog—everything my carefully constructed world wasn’t built for.
Everything I’d spent years avoiding with casual hookups and brief relationships.
My throat closed up. A daughter meant no more keeping people at arm’s length.
No more walking away when things got real.
The same panic that hit when post-game celebrations turned into breakfast invitations now slammed into me full force.
Except Hannah wasn’t some girl I could ghost. She was blood. Mine.
The word “daughter” stuck in my throat like I was choking on all the responsibility it carried. All the ways I could fuck this up. All the ways I probably already had.
A quick scan of my living room confirmed what I already knew—nothing about this place said “welcome home” to a kid. But standing here wouldn’t make this any easier.
“I guess for now we can make the guest room work for you. You’ll have your own bathroom.”
“I had my own bathroom at home.”
I scrubbed my hand over the scruff covering my cheeks and chin. Maybe I should have shaved before leaving the arena. “Cool, cool.”
She shuffled forward then, deeper into the room, her phone clutched in one hand and her eyes wide as she took in my bachelor pad.
My gaze followed hers, trying to see past the designer showcase to what a kid might notice.
The two-story ceiling, the metal railing of the stairs leading up to the second level.
The floor-to-ceiling windows taking up the whole far wall looking out onto the Henry River
Pride straightened my spine. Besides the assorted banana trees and the palms framing the big ass windows, my place was the bomb diggity. I’d paid big bucks to make sure.
“Awesome loft, right?”
She looked at me, her eyes narrowed. “Did you just say bomb diggity?”
Had I? “Maybe?”
She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Weird,” as she marched over to the foot of the stairs, fiddled with the banana tree lodged at the side. “Why do you have so many plants?”
Good question. “For the oxygen. Let’s see about your room, huh?”
The words “your room” tightened my chest. Because a daughter needed a bedroom. Thank god for two guest rooms. Fear clawed up my spine, but I pushed back, launching up the stairs like a man on a mission.
Hannah crept up the stairs behind me, each step measured and wary, like she expected me to bolt.
My gut twisted. Her wariness hit too close to home—a kid being passed off to someone else.
At least Ms. Catoe had her illness as an excuse.
My parents had hockey camps and business trips, anything to shake off the responsibility of parenthood.
The old anger rose, sharp and familiar, but the too-hard lines on Ms. Catoe’s face softening in a blink the instant Hannah reached for her…
those images flashed through my mind. Ms. Catoe handed over her whole world in Shy’s apartment.
No fancy summer camps or boarding schools in her story—just desperate love and impossible choices.
The weight of thirteen years pressed against my shoulders. Anger should burn through my veins, right? Blame should coat my tongue. But blame who—a possibly dying woman or myself for being an idiot kid?
Life dealt shit hands sometimes. If Ms. Catoe asked me to pick her daughter out of a crowd, my mind would blank. Sure, the photo sparked vague recognition, but context painted the whole picture.
No disrespect intended. Just facts.
Their situation stripped away any right to resentment. Hannah and her grandmother stood alone against the world until bad news forced their hand. Now Hannah stood alone with me, neither of us knowing the rules.
I motioned for Hannah to follow me from the landing, leading the way to the larger of the two guest rooms. I pushed the door open and waved her inside.
She made it two steps before pulling out her phone, fingers flying.
I rocked back on my heels and eyed the room with a satisfied grin. “Great, right?”
Somehow, she managed to show me her eye roll without pausing her texting.
I screwed my jaw to the side. “What?”
With a sharp exhale, she dropped her hands and stepped further into the room. “It’s disgusting.”
I jerked back. Whoa, there. Strong words. “Disgusting?”
Cleanly made bed, shining surfaces of the black metal and dark wood furniture—some high-end Swiss outfit, the interior designer said.
In all the best homes. Connor McDavid had his whole place redone with the stuff.
Not that I was copying that diva, but his place was mentioned in some bougie magazine last year, so it had to be good, right?
Hannah buried her face in her phone again.
First night as a dad and already bombing harder than my twelve-game drought. “Tell me exactly what’s disgusting.”
“Everything.”
I strode to the bedside table, pointed at the wallpaper behind the bed. “How can wallpaper be disgusting?”
“It’s gray.”
I nodded. She wasn’t wrong. “But it has this cool pattern.”
“It looks like mashed potatoes.”
A laugh bubbled up, unexpected and genuine. I flattened my lips. “It’s abstract.”
“Abstract mashed potatoes.”
My shoulders relaxed for the first time since Ms. Catoe’s news. “Alrighty then. How about this? We redo the room to your liking when I get back from my road trip?”
A bright green fluffy ball dangled from the back of her phone. She flipped it over and over with her finger, her expression giving nothing away.
“We can hire the designer again.” Even though she cost a shit ton and loved plants a little more than seemed natural.
“Why would I want the person who put mashed potatoes on the wall?”
I barked out a laugh and then the laughter just kept coming. I collapsed to sit on the bed, shoving my hand through my hair. “Fair point.”
The last of the tension slipped from my shoulders and I rolled my neck. Hannah eyed me like I’d grown a puck as a third eye. But there, in the way she narrowed her eyes, in the chestnut color of her hair—might as well be looking at my sister. “You look like Shy.”
Hannah backed up until she could lean on the wood and metal dresser. “Shy?”
“Shiloh, my sister. Your aunt. We just came from her place. Everyone calls her Shy. Except her partner. That douche canoe has some made up Spanish word he calls her.”
Her eyes rounded. “He doesn’t call her a made-up word! He calls her a shy little rabbit. It’s totally romantic.”
“Totally romantic, huh?” The corner of my mouth lifted. “If you say so.”
“She’s so lucky.”
I cocked my head and propped my hands behind me on the bed, studying my daughter. “How you figure?”
“Tiago is like a prince from a movie.”
“More like Scar, the king’s brother.”
“Huh?”
I sat up. “Scar? The Lion King?”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“You can’t be telling me you don’t know The Lion King? Seriously? It should be required learning for every kid. Mandatory. You know The Little Mermaid?”
“Aren’t you a little old for these?”
“Definitely too old for The Little Mermaid, but The Lion King is ageless. We’re watching it when I get back from this road trip. Decided.”
“You decided.”
“Isn’t that what dads do? Decide?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Grams totally let me decide plenty.”
My chest tightened at the mention of her grandmother. “This is going to take compromise, I see. How about this? You get to redo this room fit for a frog prince and in exchange you watch The Lion King with me?”
“When you get back?”
I leaned forward, the hesitance in her voice hitting me hard. “You know what I do for a living?”
“Play hockey.” She huffed. “Are you any good?”
I straightened, puffed out my chest. “The best.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“You ever see a game?”
“My best friend’s brother got into hockey this year. He joined a rec league at the same time Grams got sick, so I never got to see him.” Her voice faded to a whisper.
The weight of responsibility pressed against my chest. Here sat this kid, dropped into my life by an unwell woman who’d had no choice but to trust a stranger. Trust me. And in two days, I had to leave her, too.
“Maybe we could go down and watch him sometime? Virginia Beach is only a couple hours south of here.” Her hazel eyes narrowed, so like Shy’s. “And we could check in on your Grams while we were there, of course.”
“Grams doesn’t want to be bothered when she’s getting her treatment.”
I suspected there was more to it than that, but I nodded. “We’d check with her to make sure she’s okay with us showing up first.”
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere?”
“You said when you get back from this road trip we could redo this room.”
“Oh, yeah. Hockey. Road trip. We travel to the other teams to beat them down in their own arenas. It’s epic.”
“What about me?”
I pushed to my feet, forcing confidence into my stance despite the panic clawing at my throat. “You’ll stay with your Aunt Shy and the princely Tiago. Which raises an important question. How many princes you know have neck tattoos?”
Back in my room later that night, Merri’s blue-haired Pop watched from my nightstand as I packed for the road trip. First test as a father and I was already leaving. The irony twisted like a knife in my gut.