Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Al
The ice is my happy place. I love hockey, getting to play the sport I’ve devoted the last twenty years of my life to.
There’s nothing like skating out onto a clean sheet of ice, the crisp scent settling my nerves and pumping adrenaline through my system.
Even when we’re in enemy territory, nothing can bring me down.
After this game, we’re home for six days. That’s six mornings I get to spend with Emmy. We’ve got three home games, so I won’t be able to put her to bed every night, but I can do bath time and bedtime at least a few of those evenings.
I expected to be a hands-on dad, but I’m continuously surprised by how much Riley does, how little she needs me. Still, I participate as much as I can with my schedule, and I try to get up with Emmy every morning I’m home.
Home. I’m ready to sleep in my own bed, rather than another shitty hotel room. Ready to be reunited with my girls.
MacGregor skates past me, giving me a nod. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” We’re playing Montreal, and it’s sure to be a bloodbath. It always is, given our century-long rivalry.
He nods again as he moves on to Mitchell, who’s warming up a few feet away. The new guy is settling in well. He’s a veteran in his early thirties, so he knows the score.
And score, he does, five minutes into the first.
Montreal does not like that, challenging the play. But the goal was clean, and we go on the power play.
I set up shop at the left point. Logan quarterbacks the play, Sinclair straddling the blue line in support, and Mitchell and Jenkins get all up in the crease.
Logan passes the puck to Sinclair, who saucers it over to me, and my slapshot lands squarely on the goalie’s pads.
But Jenkins is there to clean up the play. Even though he can’t seal the deal on the rebound, he’s able to kick the puck back, and Logan scoops it onto his blade and back to me.
This time, my shot lands in the back of the net, and the lamp lights up red. The guys crash tackle me into a group hug, and then we zoom past the bench for celebratory fist bumps.
Coach Turner pulls me off the ice, and I grab for a nearby bottle, spraying some of the electrolyte drink into my mouth.
“Good job,” Coach says, clapping my shoulder. “Now do it again.”
I grin. “You got it.”
Larsson scores a goal, and in the second, so does Jenkins, off an assist by Mitchell. In the third, Montreal scores two dirty goals, but a bullet from Sinclair seals the deal.
We win, 4-2. It’s a buoyant mood in the room as we cool down and clean up. Rock music blares, and guys chat and laugh as we get dressed in our suits. I grab my ring, slipping it onto my finger. I’m surprised by how natural it feels after only a few weeks.
“Hang on,” MacGregor says, catching my shoulder.
“What’s up, Cap?”
He grabs my arm. “What’s that?”
I cock my head. “What are you talking about?”
“The thing. On your hand.”
“Oh, that. Riley and I got married.”
The room falls silent.
“Are you kidding?” MacGregor’s quiet voice echoes through the room. His deadly calm face does little to lessen his intensity, his ice-blue eyes boring into me.
“Why would I joke about this?” I glance at my teammates, but they all look as confused as our captain.
“Do you even know this woman?”
“I know she was awarded custody of my child, and I have to sue the state for her to be mine,” I finally say. “I also know social services is trying to take her away from me, and if I have to marry a complete stranger to keep my kid, I will. I did. I’ll do anything for Emmy.”
“But she’s your baby mama’s sister,” Mitchell says.
“And?”
“Isn’t that… weird?”
“Not for us.” I’m firm about that. “Marriage doesn’t have to be all about love and rainbows. It’s a business transaction.”
MacGregor shakes his head. “That’s sad.”
Fists clenching at my sides, I turn on him. “What does that mean?” I would never take a swing at him, but I still don’t have to stand here and tolerate his accusations.
He doesn’t know half of what I’m dealing with. The doubts running through my head at all hours of the day. He’s saying my inside thoughts out loud. It’s not what I wanted for myself, but it’s the hand I’ve been dealt. Now I have to live with it. I don’t need him calling me out.
“Marriage should be about spending your life with someone who makes you happy. It should mean something,” he says. “Sure, there are business deals and political alliances that happen behind closed doors, but that’s not what it should be about.”
“Who knew you were a romantic?” I throw a nearby towel at him. “This works for me. It works for us.”
But hours later, as I take my seat on the team plane, I whip out my phone and pull up my messages with Riley. It’s all fairly straightforward. Everything is about Emmy or the house. The day the maid comes, when Tyler will drop off the prepared meals, when I’ll be back.
She doesn’t share anything personal. Neither do I.
And for some reason, that leaves me feeling hollow. We’re married on paper, but we don’t act like a married couple. We don’t do anything together, like ships passing in the night, trading the baby back and forth between us.
Until MacGregor brought it up, I tried not to let it bother me.
Doubts are one thing; regrets are another.
Now, it’s the only thing I can think about.
For so long, all I’ve wanted is a family, someone to come home to.
And boom, now I’ve got it. But it’s not at all what I thought it would be.
I like belonging to someone. I like knowing someone belongs to me. That we’re a unit, however it happened.
And even though I’m surrounded by teammates, I go home to Emmy and Riley, and I’m still lonely. I never thought I could be so alone when I’m constantly around people.
Something has to change. I have to change. I need to do something.
The flight is only an hour and a half, but by the time we deplane, grab our bags, and I drive home, it’s past midnight. Riley should be asleep, so I’ll have to talk to her in the morning.
But when I walk in the door, her light is on, and I find her in Emmy’s room, changing her.
“Hey,” I whisper so I don’t spook her.
Riley looks up, exhaustion etched into her face. “Hey. How was the game?”
Part of me is disappointed she didn’t watch. But I’ve never asked her to. It didn’t occur to me until just now that it’s something I need.
I want my wife to care about me. I want her to show an interest in the things that are important to me, beyond our daughter.
“We won. I scored a goal.” I lean against the door, my gaze raking over her body.
Dark circles crease under her eyes, and she’s wearing sweats and a baggy shirt, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail.
I wonder what would happen if I pulled the hair tie out, letting her waves cascade around her shoulders.
She looks gorgeous with her hair down. She also looks gorgeous with her hair up.
Basically, she looks gorgeous all the time, even when she’s exhausted.
She’d probably slap me, though. They taught us in kindergarten not to pull pigtails, but still, I haven’t learned. My fingers twitch, and I shove them into my pockets so I don’t inadvertently reach out. It’s really inconvenient being attracted to my wife.
“Nice.” She grins, then zips Emmy’s pajamas closed.
The baby lolls her head to the side, and when she sees me, she lets out a happy shriek, going from snoozy to wide awake in an instant. Her smile spurs one of my own, and my heart pangs. I love this little girl so fucking much.
“I guess it’s my turn,” I laugh. I discard my suit jacket, then roll up my sleeves. “Gimme my girl.”
“I’ll grab her bottle,” Riley says. She shoves Emmy into my arms and practically bolts from the room.
“Guess it’s just you and me, then, kiddo,” I murmur to my daughter as I settle in the gliding chair. “You like me, don’t you?”
Emmy grabs at my beard, rubbing her hands against me. She kicks her feet and squeals, happy as can be.
“I missed you, little one. Did you miss me?”
She doesn’t answer me, of course.
“We’re going to have to do something about your mommy. I need her to like me. What do you think I should do?”
Because Riley is her mother now. She may not have given birth to her, but in the month since Carter passed, she’s stepped up and parented her expertly. And now that we’re married, Emmy is technically her stepdaughter.
It feels right, calling Riley her mother. Now I have to convince her to accept the title.
She returns with the bottle, and as I feed my baby, I feel Riley’s eyes burning into me from the threshold.
“You have perfect timing,” she says around a yawn. “She’s been waking up at this time every night. It’s like she knows you’re on your way home.”
“I’m sorry.”
She waves it off. “I know it’s her system. She doesn’t actually realize yet.”
Especially since I can get home at different times.
After a home game, I’m usually back by eleven, but when we’re flying back, we get in at all times of the night.
Sometimes after dawn if we’re coming back from the Midwest or West Coast. Every once in a while, we fly in the daytime rather than after a game, but not too often.
The team would rather we sleep on the plane than in another hotel and waste a day.
She looks dead on her feet, her eyes struggling to stay open.
“I’m home now. You’re off duty. Go get some rest.”
Her nod is brisk. “Got it. Goodnight.”
My stomach twists, knowing I pissed her off. That wasn’t my intention.
“Riley.”
She turns back, her hand on the doorjamb. “Yeah?”
“I’m home for the next few days. What do you think about going to the children’s museum?”
Her frown makes my stomach clench. “She’s a little young for something like that. She won’t be able to see much beyond the stroller.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” It’s clear I’m in over my head.
“Maybe you can take her to the Common,” she says. “She’ll like the duck statues.”
“Great idea. They dress them up for winter. It’s pretty cute.” One of my earliest childhood memories is trying to ride the duck. I was maybe three or four and didn’t understand why it wouldn’t move.
“That sounds nice.”
“Will you come with us?” I hold my breath, then exhale. “It would be nice to do something as a family.”
She bites her lip. “You sure you want me to come with you?”
“Yeah. I want you there.”
I may not be able to verbalize the chaos on my mind, but I can show her I’m serious. That I’m in this.
Riley stares at me in the dark room, her gaze pinning me to the spot.
“All right,” she finally says. “We can go.”