Chapter 5
five
. . .
Al
Tonight is our home opener, and there’s nothing like it.
This is my fifth season in the league, my fourth starting in the NHL, and I still get jitters every year when the season officially kicks off.
We’ve been in prep mode for a few weeks already, so I’ve got my legs back, and I’m itching to get on the ice and play for real.
This is my second year with the Grizzlies.
After Arizona traded me last summer, I inked a new seven-year deal with my hometown team.
I grew up coming to these games, wishing one day I could skate on this ice.
The awe I felt when I pulled on the script Boston jersey for the first time…
it was all my childhood dreams come true.
And every day, I get to go to work and live my dream.
MacGregor, our new captain, nods at me as I enter the dressing room. His shocking red hair is rumpled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s started growing a beard lately, but right now it’s still in the patchy, scraggly phase. For his sake, I hope it grows in better soon.
“Morning.” I drop my bag in my cubby.
“You ready for this?” he asks.
My stomach twists. Does he know? Did Vanessa tell him? Anxiety swirls in my belly while I look around the dressing room, but nobody is paying attention to us.
I don’t want to hide Emmy. I refuse to pretend she doesn’t exist. But how do I tell people about her? How do I explain her sudden appearance in my life?
A few of these players have kids. Maybe I should arrange for the wives to meet Riley.
Aside from Larsson’s kid, Easton has two under three, Henry has a newborn, Lewis’s wife is due any day now, and Amelia, our physical therapist, has a niece who recently turned one.
I never thought I’d be invited to a baby’s first birthday party, but her brother is part of our extended family, so his kid is, too.
McKittrick, our former captain turned player-development coach, enters the dressing room. He’s already in his skates, though now he’s wearing a team quarter-zip and athletic pants rather than full hockey gear.
“Hey, Cap,” MacGregor says, offering his fist for a bump.
McKittrick laughs. “That’s you now.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
More guys filter into the dressing room and start stripping down for practice.
Nick Mitchell, the newest player to join our team, gives me a nod as he takes his place at the cubby beside mine.
He’s a veteran in the league and a lethal goal scorer.
I still don’t know what New Orleans was thinking, letting him walk in free agency.
At least he’s on our team now, rather than playing against us.
Coach Turner has been messing with the lines, trying to find the best on-ice chemistry.
There’s always a bit of turnover at the start of every season—that’s part of the game.
Easton moved up to the first line, playing with MacGregor and Larsson, leaving Mitchell to center me and Jenkins.
But it does mean we need to work a little harder to gel as a line and find our groove.
Hopefully, it won’t be long until we’re able to predict where the others are on the ice, until our connection becomes near-telepathic.
We had that last season, and I’m confident we can find it again.
“You ready for this?” the new guy asks, pulling on his gear.
I go to answer him, but somehow, what comes out of my mouth is: “I have a kid.”
The room goes silent.
“Uh, what?” Logan asks.
“I have a baby.”
Mitchell cocks his head. “Is this news?”
“Yeah. I found out yesterday.” My heart threatens to pound itself right out of my chest.
“Like… your girlfriend is knocked up?”
“No, like a woman showed up on my doorstep with a baby.” A loud thump sounds as I fall back against my cubby, collapsing into an awkward heap. “I have a kid now. She’s six months old.”
MacGregor frowns. “Are you sure she’s yours?”
I don’t blame him for being concerned; I was, too. If it were any of my teammates in my situation, I’d be the first to stand beside them. But now that I know Emmy’s my kid, I won’t let anyone doubt the truth.
“We did a paternity test, and the lab expedited the results. She’s mine.”
Larsson clears his throat. “How are you feeling about this?”
My laugh comes out hollow. Forced. “I don’t even know.”
Stunned. Surprised. Confused. Bitter for having missed out. Tentatively happy… Irrevocably in love with her. I’ve known about her for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m obsessed with her.
“Why now?” Sinclair asks. “If she’s six months old, why didn’t the mother tell you before?”
“She died.” When I look around the room at my teammates, my brothers, I see nothing but sympathy on their faces. “Her sister showed up on my doorstep.”
“Fuck, man,” MacGregor says. “That’s a lot to deal with.”
“Do you have a nanny?” Larsson asks. “I can see if Brigitte can help out…”
That’s the woman who takes care of his son when both he and Vanessa are on the road. She’s cut back on travel, but she still comes with us on road trips once in a while.
Brigitte is nice. Pretty. Vanessa tried to set us up last year, but we didn’t click. After our coffee date, we went our separate ways, and I haven’t seen her since.
“I’ve… uh, found someone,” I say simply, not wanting to get into it.
“Do you need help?” MacGregor pushes. “Do you have everything?”
“Put together the crib yesterday. Spent all night trying to figure out the exerciser bouncy thing.” Huffing out a laugh, I run my hand through my hair. “For being so small, babies need a lot of shit.”
“And the diapers,” Easton adds. “There are so fucking many diapers.”
Riley walked me through my first diaper change this morning. There was a fair bit of fumbling, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty of practice once I’m home from this road trip.
Luckily, Emmy seems to be a pretty easygoing baby. She sure does love to eat—she really is my kid—and has no problems when I hold her. She fucking loves her new bouncer thing, too.
Crap. I should probably start training myself not to say fuck quite so much. The last thing I want is for someone to call social services because the kid’s first word is fuck.
How old are babies when they start talking? And walking? I need to read all the parenting blogs, stat. Most guys get almost a year’s advance notice to prep for this; I got none.
Some of my anxiety must show on my face, because Logan claps me on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he says, steady and sure. “You’ll figure this out. We’ve got your back.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I nod.
My phone buzzes in my cubby, the vibration rattling the wooden shelves. I’m expecting an angry call from my agent or maybe my lawyer, so I’m surprised to find a text from Riley.
It’s a photo of Emmy. She’s in the bouncing contraption, pure, unbridled joy on her face, and I smile, my heart thumping loudly.
“Oh, fuck,” Mitchell says, the sound echoing distantly. “We’ve lost him.”
“That her?” MacGregor asks, nodding to my phone.
I save the photo as my wallpaper, then I turn the screen around to show them. “She’s fucking perfect.”
Logan leans over MacGregor’s shoulder, trying to get a better look. “Yeah, she is,” the defenseman says.
“You want one of these?” MacGregor asks, pointing at the phone.
“Nah. I know it’s not in the cards for me and Hailey.” Logan shrugs. “We’re still focused on the service dog thing.”
He’s dating MacGregor’s sister, and they’re disgustingly adorable together. She has some chronic illnesses; I’m uncertain of all the details, but she shows up at nearly every game to support him and her brother. She’s good friends with Cari, too, having bonded over being sisters of hockey players.
Coach Turner enters the dressing room, and silence falls again.
“Well?” he demands. “Why aren’t you on my fucking ice?”
The guys start filtering out, and I hurry to put on the rest of my gear. Shoving my phone back into my cubby, I stick my helmet on my head and trudge after my teammates.
MacGregor catches my arm. “Hey. You good?”
I think of that photo, of the utter delight on my kid’s face at her new toy. I will spend the rest of my life and every dollar I earn making sure she stays as happy and carefree as she was in that moment.
“Yeah. I’m great.”