2. Evan
Chapter 2
Evan
A t five forty-five a.m., my daughter is explaining why she wants to be a figure skater as well as play hockey.
"But Dad," Natalia says around a mouthful of Cheerios, "I already know how to skate."
I take a long sip of coffee, buying time. "Hockey skating is different from figure skating, Nat."
"How different can it be?" She waves her spoon for emphasis, milk droplets flying. "You just do it prettier."
I suppress a laugh. Everything in life is that simple when you're nine years old.
"What about hockey?" I counter, wiping up the splash zone with a paper towel. "I thought you loved playing goalie for the Tiny Terrors."
"I do! But Maddie says I can do both." She fixes me with those big brown eyes—her mother Chelsea’s eyes—and I feel my resolve wavering. "Please, Daddy? Just one lesson?"
Christ. The "Daddy" card. She's getting too smart for her own good.
"We'll talk about it later," I say, which is dad code for, Let me figure out how to add one more thing to our already impossible schedule . "Finish your breakfast. Aunt Julia will be here in ten minutes."
This earns me a dramatic sigh worthy of Broadway, but she goes back to her cereal.
I check my phone while she eats, scrolling through the usual morning barrage.
Three texts from my sister about Ryland's upcoming prospects camp. And another two from my agent about endorsement opportunities I have zero interest in. And an email from the Blades' PR team about some media thing I definitely won't be doing.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
"Dad?" Natalia's voice pulls me back. "Are you listening?"
"Always." And I mean it. Even when I'm distracted, even when my mind is a thousand places at once, I'm always listening to her. "What's up, kiddo?"
"I said, can Sophie come to my next game?"
I nearly choke on my coffee, my mind flashing back to the familiar dark hair and ocean-blue eyes. "Sophie?"
"Yeah, the pretty lady that used to hang around after your games. The one who always remembered my favorite flavor of Gatorade." Natalia tilts her head, studying me with that unnerving perceptiveness she inherited from…well….me. "You know...the one you saw in the bathroom yesterday?"
This time I do choke. "How did you…"
"Aunt Julia told me. She said you were all flustered when she called you yesterday right after it happened."
Note to self: Kill Julia. Slowly.
"I wasn't—that's not—" I clear my throat. "We're not discussing this."
"But Dad—"
"No buts. Go brush your teeth. And don’t forget your math homework this time."
Another sigh, but she slides off her stool and heads upstairs, her dark ponytail bouncing with each step.
Alone in the kitchen, I think back to the bathroom encounter and shake my head.
Sophie Bennett.
Of all the people to walk in on me yesterday... And what the hell was she doing in the men’s room?
It's not like I haven't thought about her since she left the Blades for Sports News Now . Hard not to, when she had made such an impression during her time with the team.
Always cheerful. Always efficient. Always somehow managing to anticipate what everyone needed before they asked.
The players loved her. The coaching staff adored her. Even I had to admit she made my job easier, always having stats and schedules ready, never getting flustered by my grumpier moods.
And okay, maybe I noticed other things too.
Like how her face lit up when she talked about hockey. Or how she'd sing under her breath when she thought no one was listening. Or the way she looked when she wore her large assortment of Blades hoodies with those tight jeans…
Nope. Not going there. I’m old enough to be her father. Well, not really, but she’s definitely too young for me.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's Ryland.
Ryland: Hey old man. Got news. You free?
Me: Practice at 7. Call me on the drive?
Ryland: Will do. And try not to scare any interns today .
"Very funny," I mutter, pocketing my phone just as Natalia thunders back downstairs.
"Ta-da! I’m ready!" she announces, her backpack slung over one shoulder. "And I triple-checked for my math homework."
"That's my girl." I ruffle her hair, earning an indignant squawk. "Let's get the rest of your stuff before Aunt Julia…"
The doorbell rings.
"…gets here."
Julia had dropped her car off at the garage this morning and grabbed a ride over to my place so she could drive in to work with me. She works in marketing part-time for the Blades and picks up Natalia in the afternoon while I’m in practice.
Swinging a curtain of auburn hair over her shoulder, Julia breezes in like she owns the place, which, given how often she's here, she might as well. "Morning, favorite niece!"
"I'm your only niece," Natalia points out, but runs to hug her anyway.
"Morning, favorite brother!"
"I'm your only brother," I deadpan, but accept the coffee she thrusts at me. "What's this for?"
"Can't a sister bring her overworked sibling a bit of caffeine?" At my raised eyebrow, she relents. "Fine. I wanted to hear about yesterday's bathroom incident in person…with all the gory details." She begins giggling out of control.
"Not happening." I grab Natalia's hockey bag. "And not in front of the kid."
"Please," Natalia rolls her eyes with all the attitude a nine-year-old can muster, "I already know all the details. Sophie walked in on you peeing and then fell down."
Julia snorts into her coffee. I close my eyes and count to ten.
"Car. Now. Both of you."
They file out, giggling together like the traitors they are. I follow, locking up behind us and trying to figure out when exactly I lost control of my life.
Probably around the time Chelsea decided sleeping with my teammate was more important than our marriage. Or maybe when I became a single dad at thirty. Or possibly yesterday, when Sophie Bennett crashed back into my carefully ordered world with all the grace of a drunken giraffe.
My phone rings just as I'm closing Natalia's door. It’s Ryland.
"Hey, kid. What's going on?"
"So, you know how prospect camp starts next week?"
"Considering I've been helping you train for it nonstop? Yeah, I'm aware."
"Well..." He hesitates, which immediately sets off warning bells in my mind. Ryland never hesitates unless he’s about to tell me something that I’m not going to like. "I got a call from Sports News Now . They want to do a feature on me."
The coffee in my stomach turns to lead. "What kind of feature?"
"The good kind? They want to follow my journey through camp, maybe do some human-interest stuff about being your nephew…"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended it to. "Absolutely not."
"Uncle Evan…"
"The media isn't your friend, Ry. They'll build you up just to tear you down. They'll dig into your personal life, twist your words…"
"This could be good exposure! And it's not some random reporter, it's…"
"I don't care if it's Wayne Gretzky himself. The answer is no."
A long silence follows. Then, quietly he says, "I already said yes."
The lead in my stomach spreads to my chest. "You what?"
"I said yes. And before you flip out, you should know…"
"We'll discuss this later." I catch Julia watching me from the passenger seat, concern written all over her face. "Practice. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
I hang up before he can respond, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“Everything okay?” Julia asks softly.
No. Nothing is okay. My nephew is about to make the same mistakes I did, letting the media into his life right when he needs to focus most. And I can't protect him from it without looking like the same controlling hardass everyone already thinks I am.
But I just say, "Fine," because what else can I say with Natalia in the backseat?
Julia doesn't push it, but I know that look.
She'll corner me later, make me talk about it. She's good at that—at making me face things I'd rather ignore.
Like the fact that I'm going to have to deal with reporters again. Like the fact that my carefully constructed walls are about to be tested.
"Dad?" Natalia's voice breaks through my thoughts. "You missed the turn."
Perfect. Just perfect.
I signal and make a U-turn, ignoring Julia's knowing smirk. One crisis at a time. That's how I'll handle this.
Get Natalia to school. Make it to practice. Talk some sense into Ryland.
And try very, very hard not to think about one clumsy intern with the most beautiful blue eyes.