Chapter 2
“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation, Daws? Fucking go!” Coach yells.
I thought with Bennett Davenport getting some ass reasonably often, he’d cool off a bit, but I swear it’s made him an even bigger jerk of a coach. Not that I’m complaining. I wasn’t sad to see Coach Woodward get fired. He was a complete ass; he hated my teammate Luca based on a stupid rumor that Luca was sleeping with Woodward’s wife; all the while, he was cheating on his wife with Luca’s neighbor. That whole situation was a complete clusterfuck, and I was glad to see him have the door hit him on his way out.
At the same time, Coach Davenport was finally admitting he had a thing for one of our physical therapists, Elsie. It was a very interesting couple of months at the start of the season.
I’m thirty-three years old and have two more years on my contract with the Denver Wolves NHL team. I was traded here a few years ago after spending my entire career in Florida. Hell of a change to go from heat and humidity to oxygen deprivation and zero moisture in the air. Took me about a year to acclimate to the Colorado climate, but I don’t hate it. I love being near the mountains, as I’m an avid snowboarder, and I’ll never say no to snowmobiling in the Rockies. Plus, there’s nothing better than Oktoberfest in Breckenridge. The spectacular mountain views make the hangover worth it.
“Come on, Daws, fucking go,” teases the center of my line, Jacob Mitchell. Along with Levi Adamson, we are the first-line forwards for the Wolves. I’ve spent my entire career at right wing. I thought about being a goalie when I first started playing, but now I know it’s not for me. Goalies are just generally weird. They have odd quirks and even more superstitions about the game.
“Shut the fuck up, Jax,” I chuckle. A big thing in hockey is getting a nickname, and they are used more often than your actual name. Most are plays on the last name. My last name is Dawson, and I’m called Daws. How the hell Mitchell got Jax as a nickname, I’ll never know. And Levi … well, he either never got a nickname, or refuses to tell us what it is. Generally, nicknames are given out early on in a career. Jax, Levi, and I are all on the tail end of ours. I doubt I’ll get any great offers. Plus, I’m just getting tired. There’s always a younger and faster shithead coming out of high school who is gunning for my spot.
“Dawson!”
I look over and see the coach motioning for me to skate over to him. “What’s up, Coach?”
“Admin is looking for you. You got some important call that came to the main office.”
I immediately think the worst. Did something happen to my parents? My sister? I quickly head to the locker room to get cleaned up, then run to the offices at our practice facility.
“Oh, Gabe, you didn’t have to run,” the secretary admonishes.
“Who called? What was it?” I demand.
“Someone from St. Francis called.”
I wrack my brain, trying to think of what she means. “Uh, what?”
“The hospital?”
“Okay?”
“They left a number and asked for you to call back. You’ll need to speak with Sandy.”
The secretary hands me a number on a small post-it, and I notice it’s a local area code. “Oh, it’s local.”
She looks at me quizzically. “Were you assuming something happened back home?”
I nod. “For someone to try and track me down here, I assumed the worst.”
She gives me a kind smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Call them back. It’s most likely nothing.”
I say goodbye to her and head out to my car. Whatever this is, I’ll deal with it on my way home. I’m tired, and a long soak in my hot tub calls my name.
Many of the guys on the team live close to downtown Denver, but I chose to buy a place on the outskirts of town. I wanted four walls that I didn’t have to share with anyone. I grew up in a small condominium, sharing a room with my sister, and I hated every moment of it. But my parents didn’t have a lot of money, and we survived as best we could.
I’ll never forget the looks on their faces when I bought them a home after my first year in the league. I was able to treat them for a change. They still live in the town I grew up in, a tiny blip on the map in southeastern Ohio. I tried to get them to move to Denver, but they refused.
I plug in Sandy’s number at the hospital and pull out of the players’ lot behind the practice facility. I’m surprised when someone answers the phone immediately.
“Hi, I’m trying to reach a Sandy? My name is Gabe Dawson.”
“Mr. Dawson, yes. I’ve been trying to reach you about Nicole Givens.”
“Uh, ma’am, I don’t think I know a Nicole Givens.” That name doesn’t sound familiar at all. “What is this about?”
“Ms. Givens has been treated here, and she left your name on some paperwork.”
Jesus. Probably some puck bunny trying to score some time with me, or some money. It’s rarely genuine.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know her. She probably put my name down as a joke or something. I play hockey, and my name is pretty well-known, unfortunately.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Dawson. We’ll still need you to come in and help us with dotting a few i’s and crossing a few t’s, if that’s okay.”
I’m beginning to feel a burning sensation at the base of my neck. This can’t be good. “Why would I need to come in?”
“Well, there’s been a complication, and we need to rectify it.”
“What kind of complication? Can you forward me to this chick’s room? Let me speak to her, and I’ll see if I can figure out if I actually know her.”
“We can’t do that, Mr. Dawson.”
“Why not?”
Sandy sighs into the phone. “Sir, Ms. Givens had a rare complication. I’m unable to discuss it over the phone. Are you able to come in?”
Dammit. I can hear my hot tub crying my name right now. “I guess.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m checking into the valet parking at a hospital in a less-than-ideal part of Denver. I’m apprehensive about leaving my truck here. Oh well. That’s why I have auto insurance.
Finding my way to Sandy’s office, I’m surprised when it’s down a long and stark hallway. As I find the office number Sandy texted to me after our conversation, I notice the sign above the door says “bereavement.” I’m momentarily stupefied because I can’t remember what that word means.
“Mr. Dawson?” A middle-aged woman stares expectantly at me from a small desk inside the office. “Please come in.”
As soon as I step into her office, I realize what bereavement means. It means death. “Oh, shit. She died, didn’t she? This Nicole chick died.”
“Yes. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Dawson.”
I move to sit in the chair opposite her desk. “I really don’t know why I’m here then if she’s dead. Did she list me as the person to pay her medical bills or something?”
“No, she had medical insurance. That’s not the problem. You see, Mr. Dawson, Ms. Givens suffered a rare complication while undergoing a cesarean section that proved to be fatal. Doctors tried relentlessly to bring her back, but she couldn’t be saved.”
“Cesarian? That’s giving birth, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did the baby survive?”
“Yes. A little girl. She’s being monitored, but she suffered no ill effects from the birth.”
“Oh, that’s good.” I let out a small exhale, relieved for at least one piece of good news. “I still don’t get why I’m here —”
Oh my fucking God.
Time slows to a crawl. The clock above Sandy’s head slowly ticks; each time the second hand moves, my brain pulses.
Nicole Givens.
“Nicole is blonde, right? Was blonde. Blue eyes, I think? Star tattoo on her shoulder.” Suddenly, my memory is crystal clear. She wasn’t a puck bunny, but someone I met at a bar outside of town, and with whom I had spent one night.
“Yes.”
“Is the kid mine?”
“That’s what we’re hoping to find out. We’d like you to take a DNA test.”
“How did you find me? I mean, how?”
“She listed you in the paperwork when she came in for her induction.”
I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins, my heart beating so hard I bet it’s visible on the outside. Am I a dad? How is this fucking possible? “She had — I used a condom. And she said she was on the pill.”
“No birth control is one hundred percent, Mr. Dawson.”
“Why the fuck am I just finding out about this now? She fucking lives here! She could have told me months ago! I would have been here, could have been here when …” I trail off. I don’t know what I would have done. And now I’ll never understand why she chose not to tell me about my daughter.
My daughter.
“Can I see her? The baby?”
“Yes. I’d first like you to sign off on these bereavement papers so I can relinquish Ms. Givens’ personal belongings to you, and then we’ll get the paternity test completed.”
“Shouldn’t her stuff go to someone who knew her? Parents or something?”
“Ms. Givens said her parents passed on many years ago. She didn’t speak of any friends, but nurses said she was very excited about becoming a mom.”
Jesus Christ. I can’t believe this.
Two hours and a DNA test later, I’m whisked into the neonatal intensive care unit, where I’m immediately told to scrub my hands and arms up to my elbows, then asked to suit up in a paper gown, hair net, and booties.
“I thought you said the baby was fine?” I ask nervously as I slide the booties over my shoes.
“This is more of a precaution. She’s passed every test so far, which is excellent news,” Sandy tells me kindly.
She motions for me to walk into a sequestered room, where I can see individual spaces with incubators. Suddenly, I feel like my feet are encased in concrete. I’m sluggishly trailing behind Sandy as she steadily walks toward the furthest incubator.
I’m about to meet a baby that might be mine.
Holy shit.
“It’s okay, Mr. Dawson. Take all the time you need,” Sandy says quietly, smiling warmly as she stands next to the incubator. I swallow hard and force myself to take the final few steps to stand beside her.
Looking down, I’m momentarily unable to breathe.
I know immediately she’s mine. How do I know? Gut feeling. Instinct. Whatever.
I can’t take my eyes off of her. She’s wrapped tightly in a blanket, a hat on her tiny head, but I can see a bit of dark hair peeking out from under the hat. As if she knows I’m here, her eyes suddenly open, and she looks at me. I feel that look in the depths of my soul. I’m connected to this breathtaking baby girl, and it’s as if my life is actually starting, right at this moment. Everything changes.
“Would you like to hold her?”
“Yes,” I breathe. Pant is a better explanation for my breathing, if I’m being honest. My heart is racing as I wring my hands together nervously.
Sandy motions for me to sit in the rocking chair behind me, then opens the incubator to carefully pick up the baby. I hear a little cry as she’s moved, and I immediately pop up from the chair, ready to protect her. How dare Sandy hurt my daughter!
Jesus. Dad mode came on pretty fast.
“Is she okay?” I finally say, hovering behind Sandy.
“She’s fine. Newborns make all kinds of noises, Mr. Dawson. You’ll need to get used to that, I think.”
“I’m sorry. This is so surreal, and I don’t know how to act right now,” I confess.
“You’re doing just fine. You’re acting like a dad,” she says with a smile. “Sit back down, and I’ll put her in your arms.”
Once seated, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen is placed in my arms, and it’s as if time stops. Her eyes connect with mine again, and I notice she has my nose. Her eyes are a dark blue, nothing like mine, and I can’t remember the color of her mom’s eyes. I think they were blue, but I’m not sure.
“Can you, uh, can you tell me what color her mom’s eyes are? I mean, were. I think Nicole had blue eyes, but I’m second-guessing my memories now,” I murmur.
“Babies aren’t born with their final eye color. It’ll slowly change over the next few months. A baby’s eyes lack pigment, so many appear to have blue, or gray, eyes. But if you’d really like to know, I can try to track down the information.”
I look up at Sandy and nod. “I would, actually. If I am her father, I want to be able to tell her more about her mother.”
Sandy’s smile falters as she nods. “I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Are you allowed to tell me what happened to her mother?” I ask weakly.
Sandy sighs, and grabs a chair to pull up beside me. “I’m not at liberty to discuss explicit details, as you aren’t technically immediate family to Ms. Givens, but I can tell you it was a spontaneous issue that developed immediately after birth. Ms. Givens developed a hemorrhage, and the doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding.”
“So she saw the baby at least?” I ask hopefully.
“She did.”
“Ha — had she picked a name out?” I stammer.
“I believe she did. Let me look at the file,” Sandy says as she pulls out an iPad. A few moments later, she nods affirmatively. “Mackenzie. I don’t know a middle name, unfortunately.”
“Mackenzie,” I whisper, and the baby’s eyes immediately open as if she knows that is her name. “Hi, sweet girl.”
“The paternity test should be ready by the end of the day,” Sandy whispers. “I know you’ll want to know as quickly as possible.”
“I didn’t know it could happen that fast,” I admit.
“At-home tests take longer. When it’s done at a hospital, we can put a rush on the results.”
I’m already attached to this little girl, and I don’t know how I’ll react if she isn’t mine.
Four hours later, I’m officially a dad.
“I assume you’ll need some time to get your home ready for a baby, but we have a few things here we can give you. You’ll need a car seat, crib or bassinet, formula, and bottles.”
“That’s it?” I ask incredulously.
Sandy chuckles. “It’s not it , but it’s all you really need to start. We’ll give you some clothes, diapers, and burp cloths. We can also list things you’ll want to accumulate over the next few weeks.”
“Live-in help would be at the top of the list,” I murmur. Fucking hell. It’s the middle of hockey season. I have no idea how I’m going to handle this when we have a road trip in a little over a week. I haven’t even notified the coaching staff yet. “When do I get to take her home?”
“We’re running some repeat tests tomorrow to ensure she’s as perfect as we think she is. Then, as long as you have a car seat installed, you’re welcome to take her home tomorrow afternoon. I need to finish some paperwork, but you can stay here until visiting hours are over at eight.”
As soon as Sandy leaves, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Shit. It’s Grant, my teammate.
“Yo, douche-canoe! Thought we were having dinner tonight,” he shouts.
“Jesus, man. Keep your voice down,” I hiss.
“Why? Shit, Daws, are you getting an afternoon delight? Hey, puck bunny! He’s got the herp, so make sure he wraps it up!” Grant yells.
Grant’s voice carries, and I watch in misery as Mackenzie’s face screws up as if she’s in pain. The guttural cry that releases from her tiny body is surprising.
“What the hell was that?” Grant whispers. “If that’s a puck bunny, I’m calling the cops.”
“No puck bunny. I just found out I have a daughter,” I mutter.
“No fucking way!” he shouts.
“Grant, I swear to God, if you shout one more fucking time, I’m coming through this phone and muzzling your ridiculous ass!” I growl.
“Damn. Sorry, bro. A baby? Seriously? With whom?” he asks.
“A chick I met at a bar about 10 months ago, I think.”
“You think? You don’t remember her?”
I sigh. “I vaguely remember her. It was one night, and we didn’t exchange numbers. I provided the rubber, so I know this wasn’t a get-rich-quick scheme.”
“Just ask her, dude. She’ll tell you where you met.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She died right after giving birth, man.”
“Oh fuck,” Grant whispers.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have nothing, and I’m supposed to take her home tomorrow. They said I need a crib, a car seat, and formula? And how the fuck am I supposed to do this when we go on the road?”
“You’re set on doing this, right? Doing the dad thing?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Yes, absolutely. I took one look at her, and I knew she was mine. I couldn’t give her up.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mackenzie. The staff said that’s what her mom wanted to name her, so I’m sticking with that.”
“Mackenzie Dawson. Sounds pretty dope.”
Damn. It really does.
“Listen. Call Coach. He needs to hear this first. Then, get the group chat going. We’ll get you hooked up. You staying at the hospital all night?”
“They said I can only stay until visiting hours are over.”
Grant guffaws. “Please. You and I both know you just have to look at whatever nurse tries to kick you out and give her those puppy dog eyes of yours. They’ll let you stay.”
I quietly chuckle. “You’re probably right.”
“Does your front door still have the same code to get in?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’ve got an idea. You want a crib in your room, or in one of your spare rooms?”
“My room, I guess. I don’t know. Is there protocol for this?” I ask exasperatedly.
“Not sure. Ask your mom, then text me the answer. I’ll handle the rest. Gotta go!”
“Wait, what the hell do you mean? Grant? Grant!” I pull the phone away from my ear to see he’s already ended the call, and I’m not sure if I should be happy, or scared, about whatever he may do to my house while I’m not there.