Chapter 4
WYATT CHASE
It’s the first official day of classes at Radford University. Lyla and I have spent the last two weeks getting acclimated to our new schedule, especially with me being at the arena so much lately.
Some of us seem to be handling it better than others.
“Baby, we need to leave in a few minutes or we’re going to be late,” I call up the stairs. I’m not expecting an answer. The adjustment period has been… rough.
I check my watch. It’s just after six-thirty a.m., and I’ll need to drop Lyla and make it to the arena by seven for morning practice.
Each of the apartments has its own parking space, and I glance at my black SUV, parked exactly where it should be.
Even though we’ve been here for almost a month, I haven’t met many of my neighbors.
Between work, Lyla, and my parents, there hasn’t been a lot of time.
At this point, I recognize the cars in the neighborhood more than anything else.
The small red sports car that will be hell on the driver in a few months.
The navy SUV that looks very similar to my own, but a few years newer, parked a few doors down.
About a week ago, an older model white SUV showed up, parked in the spot next to mine. I haven’t seen the owner yet.
“Daddy, where’s my backpack?” Lyla’s grumpy voice asks, her legs appearing on the carpeted steps.
“Right next to the door.” I glance there, just to make sure I’m not lying.
Between last night’s bathtime and storytime and first-day-of-school jitters–mine more than Lyla’s–I didn’t get to sleep until after one.
But I’m not going to let her see that I’m dragging a little today.
I beam a smile at her that she doesn’t return. “It’s all packed up and ready to go.”
Lyla pouts when she hits the first floor, and I don’t think that I could love her any more if I tried. She crosses her arms. “Dunno why I can’t go to grandma and grandpa’s.”
I head into the kitchen to make sure that I have everything before we head out.
“Grandma will pick you up after school. And then I’ll come get you after work.
” We’ve discussed the plan at least a dozen times, but she keeps asking, hoping that it will change.
“I thought that you liked the daycare on campus?”
She squints her eyes at me, hands on her hips. “I do.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Meeting new people is a good thing, baby. Grandma and grandpa are two of my favorite people too, but it’s not fair for us to take up so much of their time.”
Understatement of the year. Until we moved into this apartment, we lived with my parents after I came home from Seattle with a baby in tow.
I wouldn’t have been able to survive as a single parent without them these last couple of years.
Or go back to school to get my degree in physical therapy.
Hell, I wouldn’t be able to have a job that sometimes has unpredictable hours and weekends away.
I know it, and they know it. But, they’re incredible people who’ve never made me feel shitty about the circumstances of my life changing so quickly.
Plus, being a single parent is almost never the plan. I mean, being a parent for me, period, wasn’t in the plan until Lyla happened. But I can’t imagine my life without her, and everything that I’ve done since my hockey career ended has been for her.
When Lyla realizes that I’m not going to cave, she finally crosses the living room, slow as molasses.
She’s taking a different tack with her protesting that I have to respect.
I also can’t pretend like I don’t know where she got her stubbornness from.
“Grandma said I’m the light of her life,” she says when she hops up on the stool near the door so that she can grab her jacket off the hook.
I stand at the kitchen island that’s open to the living room and pour coffee into my to-go mug. “You are. And think how cool it will be after school when she picks you up, and you can tell her all about your first day of kindergarten.”
I can see Lyla considering my words carefully. She does love to tell a good story. “How will she know where to get me?”
We’ve been over this before, too. But, I’ll tell her as many times as she needs to hear it. “Grandma and grandpa are both on the list at your new school so that they can pick you up. I gave them the address, and they already know where it is.”
Sometimes Lyla is the most carefree kid I’ve ever met, but other times, I see an uncertainty in her that breaks my heart.
I don’t know if it’s because of the situation with her mother, which I’ve explained to her in kid-approved bits and pieces, now that she’s starting to ask questions.
Unfortunately, it’s really hard to spin that once the Wyatt Chase money train careened to a halt, her mother decided that being a parent wasn’t in her gameplan anymore.
At least she didn’t fight me for custody, which meant that moving back to the East Coast with Layla was possible. I don’t want to imagine the type of life that we’d have had to try and cobble together in Seattle.
Instead of dwelling on it, I grab my own bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Ready, monkey?”
She puts on her backpack and follows me out the door. We walk along the short walkway which leads to the parking spaces.
“Grandma and grandpa’s house has a yard,” she laments when we reach the SUV.
For about the millionth time, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake moving us here. Now I’m paying rent, Lyla’s not happy, and I have even more responsibility on my shoulders.
But… I wanted a place for us. That we can decorate together and make our own.
I wanted to show her that two people are absolutely a family.
Plus, we’re only fifteen minutes from my parents, so she’s still going to see them a lot.
Besides after school every day, she’ll stay with them on the weekends when I have away games and they’ll watch her during home games, too.
Maybe it won’t work out long-term, but I wanted to at least try.
Before I open her door, I look down at her.
She hits me with impossibly big, brown eyes that look so much like my own.
She gets her dark, wild hair from her mom, but there’s no doubt that she’s my daughter.
My heart squeezes with the weight of knowing that I’m responsible for her in this world. That I’d do anything to make her happy.
My voice is full when I say, “We forgot the most important part of the first day of school.”
She looks at me curiously. “What’s that?”
“We need to make our genie wish!” I pick her up in my arms, which is still easy to do at this age. Our favorite Disney movie to watch together is Aladdin, and I wonder if she realizes how much it means to me that she loves a plot about a single dad and his daughter.
I refuse to cry as I start to wiggle my body with her in my arms, like we’re a genie coming out of a lamp. She squirms and lets out a cry of delight, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“I wish for Lyla to have the best first day of school ever,” I say, beginning to spin us around.
“I wish my class has a tiger like Rajah for a pet,” she bellows as I spin faster.
Finally, we both yell, “Whoosh,” and she throws her arms up in the air.
On my last spin, I stop quickly when I notice someone watching us.
Standing about twenty feet away at the door to one of the apartments is Asher Reynolds, looking at me strangely.
And sure, this isn’t the version of me that players or coaches know, but I’m never going to let Lyla think that I’m ashamed to be silly and have fun with her–even if it ruins my street cred at the arena.
I give her a kiss on the cheek before placing her down on the ground. Once I make sure she’s not going to fall over from all of the spinning, I open the SUV door. “Climb in, baby.” She, blessedly, does as instructed, and I go to work making sure that her carseat is properly buckled.
Once I shut the door, I realize that Asher’s closer now, standing where the sidewalk meets the parking lot. “Morning,” he says, still clocking me with that look.
I glance between the apartment door next to my own and him. “I take it you’re the neighbor that I haven’t met yet?”
“I didn’t realize you have a daughter,” he says, not answering my question. He does that a lot.
We met twice last week for his physical therapy, but he’s kept a wide berth otherwise. Not that I’m full enough of myself to think that he’s avoiding me, specifically.
I’ve noticed him during team events, and he hasn’t been especially chatty with anyone. Which isn’t a great sign for his recovery considering he’s played with a lot of these guys for years.
I fidget with my car keys. “Lyla. We moved into the apartment a few weeks ago.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this, since it’s clear that he doesn’t care. I could probably chuck rocks at him from an overpass, and he’d just grunt dismissively as they thwacked against his solid frame.
I assess him, my eyes scanning down his t-shirt and joggers. He’s holding more weight on his uninjured leg than he should be, especially to get parity back. I make a mental note to tweak our exercise regimen for the session that we have tomorrow.
With his backpack slung over his shoulder and a backwards baseball cap, he almost looks like a normal student.
Sure, some of the younger players have baby faces, but you can’t be a D1 collegiate level athlete without being in the top percentile of fitness and athletic ability.
Only, his size–and the fact that he’s a few years older than most of the other seniors–aren’t the reasons that he fails to blend in.
He still looks like the shadow of a person.
It’s depressing and heartbreaking in equal measure, and I’m wondering what to say when he, thankfully, speaks instead.
“Guess you won’t be the guy to give me tips on snagging the community BBQ to throw parties.” He stares at me, and I finally see the tiniest smirk play at his lips.
I like it. A lot. Even if he’s still sort of being an ass, it’s progress. I can’t help him if he isn’t hopeful about his future. If he isn’t willing to put in the work to get it back.
I flip my keys around so that they thwack against my palm. “Is that because I’m on the coaching staff or because I’m the new guy in the neighborhood?”
“Or because you’re a parent?” he adds, meeting my eyes with his intense blue ones. He still has the dark circles, but they’re less noticeable when he’s animated.
I’m not sure why me being a dad surprises him so much. Well, that’s not actually true. I had a reputation in my college and brief professional days. That’s probably it, even if I haven’t been that guy in a long time.
Still, I laugh, thinking about how little he understands the lives of a lot of parents, even though it’s not exactly aspirational. “The moms at dance class could drink you under the table. Trust that.”
He smiles again, and even though it’s not a smirk this time, I notice that it’s still a little naturally crooked. I like that, too.
While I’m considering whether it would be weird to mention that I’m glad he seems to be doing the slightest amount better–obviously phrased more tactfully–a tiny hand raps on the inside of the window.
I acquiesce, even though I strangely don’t want this moment to end. “A chariot is only as good as its driver.”
He nods toward his SUV, which is when I finally realize that I’m blocking him from getting into the driver’s side. I shake my head, embarrassed that I’ve been holding him hostage for the last few minutes. But, in my defense, I’m really rusty talking to anyone if it’s not about work.
I don’t know how I got so distracted, but what I do know is that I’m going to be crazy late dropping Lyla off if I don’t leave soon. I walk around to my own door and open it. “See you at the arena.”
Instead of walking to his own car, Asher stands right where he’s been for our entire conversation and watches me drive away.