Power Play (Boston Grizzlies Hockey Club #3)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Al

There’s a baby on my doorstep.

Did I take a puck to the head at practice? Or is this some kind of weird-ass fever dream?

A horn honks down the street, startling me, the baby, and the woman holding it, and a solitary cry rips through the air before the squirming pink bundle settles again.

Nope. Definitely not a dream. The squawk was as real as it gets.

“I’m so sorry,” says the woman holding the baby. She’s gorgeous, that’s for certain, with chocolate-brown hair falling in soft waves and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I’ve also never met her before. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

My eyes drop to the child in her arms. What the hell? It looks like… a baby. I don’t know ages. Not a newborn. Its cheeks are chubby and full, glistening with drool. Given the pink on its outfit, I’m guessing it’s a girl.

Note to self: Don’t call a baby an “it.”

“Can I help you?” My voice comes out in a croak.

I don’t know this woman or what she wants from me, but as a professional hockey player, I’ve been warned about the manipulative people who will try to sink their money-hungry claws into me.

“You don’t know me,” she says, bouncing the little girl. “But you might remember my sister. Carter Matthews?”

I shake my head. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“You’re Alberto Gonzales. You’re a hockey player, and you used to play for Arizona.” Her mouth twists in a frown. “Fifteen months ago, you slept with my sister.”

“Okay, and…? What do you want?” I’m trying not to sound petulant or rude, but as a professional athlete, I’ve heard plenty about guys who fall for the sob story hook, line, and sinker, and then it turns out the entire thing is fabricated.

The woman takes a deep breath. “Last week…” She swallows hard, her face crumpling. “Carter was in a car accident. She didn’t make it.”

My stomach knots at the pain on her face. If I’d lost either of my siblings… “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“The thing is…” Her blue eyes meet mine, her unshed tears squeezing my heart in a vise. “I promised I wouldn’t do this, but legally, I’m not her guardian.”

“I’m not following.” I glance down at the baby, who’s happily sucking on a toy, then back to the woman.

“You’re her father.”

It’s like a sucker punch to the face. The three words I never expected to hear.

I shake my head, trying to process, but this still isn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?”

She hefts the baby in her arms. “This is Emmy. Meet your daughter.”

Panic rises in me, threatening to send me over the ledge into a full-blown panic attack.

Black dots hover in the corner of my eyes and I swallow, hard, against the bile in my throat.

If this is my kid… I need to be strong. She’s already missing her mom, so the last thing she needs is a father who can’t take care of her.

My stomach twists, half dreading and half accepting this as my new reality. I don’t want to believe it’s true, but I have to hear out this woman. I have to give her a chance.

With my foot on the threshold, I stumble back, nearly tripping and falling flat on my ass. I catch myself on the doorframe. “Why don’t you come inside?”

The Mattapan townhouse I grew up in feels even smaller than usual, the walls closing in on me.

As the woman steps into the house, I practically sprint to the kitchen, where I pour myself a shot of tequila.

Fire licks down my suddenly dry throat as I swallow the burn of the alcohol, and I reach for a glass, filling it with water. I down that, too.

She stands by the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the next like she’s waiting for me to stop freaking out. The baby babbles, completely unaware of the tension, waving around a hot-pink silicone toy.

Meanwhile, I’m trying not to pass the fuck out. Or throw up. Or crumble under the weight of what the fuck?

Filling my water glass a second time, I gesture for her to sit down. I take the armchair as she settles on the couch, her shoulders tense.

“Why don’t we start with your name,” I suggest.

“I’m Riley,” she says, giving me an awkward wave. “Riley Lucas. And this is Emmy.”

My stomach clenches, and I force myself to blow out a breath. “Okay.”

“Carter was my sister. We live together in Phoenix.” Her face creases with pain.

“Lived. She was on her way home from work when some asshole ran a red light and T-boned her car. The only saving grace is she went instantly. S-she didn’t suffer.

” Sniffling, she clears her throat, then looks down at her—niece?

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say again. The words aren’t enough. How can they be?

“Thanks.” She drags her finger beneath her eyes, catching the moisture.

An awkward beat passes between us before I twist in my seat and grab the tissue box off the end table, handing it over.

I want to give her time to gather her composure, but I can’t help asking the one question pounding in my brain. “Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant?”

I have no recollection of this woman—either of them. Was she at the bar the night I met Carter?

“She wanted a baby. She didn’t want a baby daddy.” Riley shrugs, her face tinged with sadness. “I don’t agree with her choices, but she didn’t know you were famous until after. You were just a guy in a bar.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t contact me, ask for child support.” My stomach twists once more, all the warnings from my agent ringing in the back of my head. “Not that I believe you.”

Tearing her gaze off me, she stares down at the floor and shakes her head. “Carter didn’t want money. We grew up in the foster system. She wanted someone to love her unconditionally, and I wasn’t enough for her. The only way she knew how was with a baby.”

“Why not foster herself? Or adopt?”

Riley scowls. “I’m not here to defend her choices. They were hers to make, not mine.”

Holy fuck, okay. I lift my hands in surrender. “Got it. Sensitive subject.”

Sighing, she roves her hand over the baby’s back.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite your head off.

I just… I don’t know what else to do. Carter and I, we were foster sisters.

Not blood. I was granted a temporary placement by Social Services, so I can keep her for now, but I’m not a suitable guardian long term.

I can’t afford our apartment on my own, much less day care. ”

… And there it is.

“How much do you need?”

But she shakes her head again. “It’s not about the money. I—Emmy is your daughter. She’s yours. She’s not mine.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t keep her. Legally, financially…” She blows out a breath. “I have no right to keep her, and I can’t justify keeping her from you. My feelings on Carter’s decision aside, Emmy’s your kid. She deserves to know her father.”

Everything blurs as my head spins, and a faint ringing fills my ears. I stare unseeingly at the baby.

My baby.

“I’m guessing you’ll want a paternity test,” Riley continues. “Carter was convinced she was yours.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” How could she rob me of the opportunity to know my kid?

“She found out she was pregnant the same day Arizona traded you to Boston.” A sad, bitter smile tips the corners of her lips.

“She was afraid you’d sue for custody and take the baby away from her.

And it’s not like a transcontinental living situation is good for an infant.

We have no money. You’d win, hands down. ”

“My living situation isn’t… ideal.” I glance around my childhood home.

The shabby, worn carpet, the walls that could use a fresh coat of paint.

Last summer, I bought a new couch and TV, but this is very much a bachelor’s house, not something suitable for a child.

Growing up, it was close quarters with my parents, brother, sister, and I filling the house with love and laughter.

And fighting. There was a lot of that. Good-natured tussling, but loud.

Now, there’s just… me. Tony moved to Denver over the summer, and Cari is across town living with her rugby teammates, leaving me alone. Sure, it’s home, but it feels so… empty. I’ve finally gotten used to the quiet. Am I ready to add a screaming child to the mix?

Not to mention my schedule. “I travel for three-quarters of the year. Fuck, I leave tomorrow for Detroit.”

“I’m staying in a hotel for a few days,” she says. “I know it might take some time for the paternity test results to come through and for you to trust me, so if you want, I can take care of Emmy until you can find a nanny. But eventually…”

Presuming this baby is mine, I’ll have to step up. I’ll have to be her father.

Fuck. I’m in over my head here.

Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and then scroll through my contacts. I should probably call McKittrick, my former captain, or maybe even Coach. I should definitely call my agent.

Instead, I dial the only person who can fix this.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa Larsson asks as soon as the call connects.

“Why do you presume something is wrong?” Although I try to tease her, play it off like everything is fine, my voice cracks on the last word. After all, if everything were fine, I wouldn’t be calling her.

“Cut the shit, Gonzo.” A hint of fondness colors her tone beneath her no-bullshit attitude.

“Can you come to my place? Like… now?”

The team’s logistics coordinator sighs. “I’m on my way.”

On the couch, Riley raises her eyebrows. “So you believe me?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” I admit. “I don’t know you, and I don’t remember your sister. I’m sorry for that, I’m sure she was a lovely person, but—”

“She was a bitch,” she says with a laugh.

“A little rough around the edges, but given the hand she was dealt, she made the most of her life. We were sisters in everything but blood, and I loved her.” Riley’s face falls.

“But because we’re not related, I have no legal claim to Emmy.

I can’t put her on my health insurance, can’t take her to the doctor… ”

“That’s her full name? Emmy?”

“Emilia Riley Matthews.” A proud smile curves her lips, the first sign of genuine happiness.

At that, the air knocks from my lungs like I’ve been cross-checked into the boards. My middle name is Emilio. Did she know? Or is it a coincidence? Was that Carter’s way of acknowledging my absence in her life?

But more than Emmy being named for me, I’m stuck on the other half of her name.

“She’s named after you.” They must have been close.

“Carter was my best friend. She drove me nuts, but we’re all each other have.” Her face clouds. “Had. Emmy is my last tie to her.”

“It must be tough. Losing a sibling. I can’t imagine…” Tony and Cari make me crazy, but I don’t know what I’d do without them.

Riley clears her throat. “Her birthday is April ninth.”

I count in my head. We’re in the second week of October, just starting our season…

“That makes her about six months old.” And conception would have been during the offseason, when I had nothing but time and energy for getting into trouble.

“She’s a great baby. Happy most of the time. Usually sleeps through the night. She’s… perfect.”

The baby stares at me with dark brown eyes. My eyes. Wisps of chocolate-brown hair attempt to curl on her head. Her cheeks are round and full, her arms and legs chubby with rolls. Although she’s wearing socks, they’re slipping off.

“Isn’t she cold?” She’s only wearing a little one-piece outfit, her limbs exposed. It may be early October, but it’s already getting chilly.

“I usually wrap her in blankets. She doesn’t like to wear clothes.” Riley chuckles. “If I let her, she’d be naked all the time. But that’s not a good idea in this weather.”

I grunt in agreement. Especially if she’s from Arizona, she won’t be prepared for the cooler temperatures in Boston. Every baby I’ve ever seen has been wrapped in blankets and layers. But what do I know about dressing a baby? Maybe that’s how they do it everywhere.

We fall into an awkward silence, interrupted by a knock on the door. I get up to answer it, my heart racing.

Vanessa is tall, blond, and athletic, with the best poker face I’ve ever seen. She works for the Boston Grizzlies, and she’s married to Sven Larsson, my teammate. She also has a kid about the same age as Emmy.

“What did you do?” she demands as she steps over the threshold. “I’m not PR.” At the sight of Riley and Emmy, she stops in her tracks. “Gonzo, what the fuck did you do?”

“I need help.” It’s the truth, but my voice still cracks anyway. I don’t like asking for help. I don’t want to be the family screwup any more than I want to be the team’s laughingstock.

“Hi, I’m Vanessa. I work with this guy,” she says, striding past me into the living room. She shakes Riley’s hand. “And who is this?”

“This is Emmy. She’s my daughter.”