Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Enzo
Axel Knight storms down the hallway, and I do the sensible, self-respecting thing and refrain from running after him. I know I made the right call when Coach corners him. From their body language, Coach is yelling at Axel.
Great, now Axel’s going to hate me more.
He’s acting like this isn’t his fault, when it is. I tighten my fists and walk to the exit.
The last thing I need is for the Blizzards management to sit me down and explain the difference between athletic spaces and non-athletic spaces.
Did I make a huge mistake by coming here? I promised Gaby in the hospital I would contact Axel. But maybe she didn’t mean I should move across the country and join his workplace.
My heartbeat quickens.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Have I failed at being a guardian to Luca two weeks after Gaby’s death?
Have I already ruined his life? Tied him to a deadbeat dad?
At least Gaby and I had Mom for a while after our father scampered to the Caribbean for its sparkling blue waters, cheap beach bars, half-naked women, and convenient lack of alimony laws.
I blink rapidly and quicken my pace. No one is going to see me have a breakdown at the Blizzards arena on my first day.
When I heard Dmitri had been deported, it felt like a sign.
The Blizzards needed a forward, and I needed to get to Boston.
No way is Axel raising my sister’s child without me nearby.
I called my agent before I could talk myself out of it, and the Blizzards’ management was super-efficient.
They know about Luca. They don’t know Axel is the father.
But Axel hasn’t asked about Luca once. Maybe I could have pretended Gaby didn’t die. The press never got hold of the story.
I close my eyes. Maybe I made a mistake.
When I met Axel when I was eighteen, I didn’t think to myself, he’s going to be a deadbeat dad, but my mother didn’t think that of my dad either. I’m sure my sister thought she would meet her Prince Charming and not end up a single mom.
I hate I noticed the breadth of his shoulders and the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips. The same body I’ve spent a decade trying not to imagine pressed against mine. The same body that was pressed against my sister.
Coming here was supposed to loosen the tightness in my chest, not add another knot, like a fisherman gone wild in a net demonstration.
Part of me hoped Axel would be the sweet boy who used to babble about Lord of the Rings.
But a man who sleeps with my sister, then abandons her when she’s pregnant, isn’t sweet.
Why hadn’t I seen who he was earlier? Was I blinded by his blue-green eyes? Distracted by the curve of his neck and breadth of his shoulders?
Thank God I’d never confessed anything to him.
If only I’d never introduced him to Gaby.
He probably does know why I’m here. All his excuses for why we can’t talk are about how he doesn’t want to face his responsibilities.
The cold hits me the moment I step outside. This is absolutely nothing like LA.
I make the short walk to the hotel the team put me up in. The ornate moldings might as well say Not LA. The wallpaper is a dark botanical print that probably cost a fortune, but makes everything look claustrophobic.
Sure, Massachusetts was my home. But my memories of growing up here aren’t great. Winters went on forever, and waiting outside for the yellow school bus wasn’t exactly the way to enjoy them.
Our breath used to cloud in the air, like we were a bunch of smokers and not kids.
Then school would drag on under fluorescent lights with exposed asbestos everywhere.
Sitting on the radiator when there weren’t enough chairs, pretending I liked the girls in class and pretending not to notice the guys—every interaction something that could ruin me.
I miss the palm trees and the perfect weather and the contemporary designs that don’t make me feel like I’m wandering the vision board of a middle-aged woman with a Little Women obsession.
I walk along the stodgy corridor with its fancy moldings and paintings of Boston and Cambridge from a century ago. They’re all clipper ships and the State House dome and Harvard Yard in autumn, gilt frames thick with dust in the corners. The pompous gold-and-burgundy carpet muffles my footsteps.
I drop my things in my suite, then enter the suite I rented for Luca and the expensive round-the-clock nanny service from the agency.
“I’m home!” I shout, forcing a smile on my face, waiting for a new nanny I don’t recognize to greet me distractedly.
And then I hear it.
Crying.
Frightened crying.
Fuck.
“Mr. Bellanti.” A woman I don’t recognize greets me with a sour expression.
Next to her is Luca, sniveling, his big eyes round with tears. His pants are damp.
Shit.
“I do not work with babies,” she says. “I work with children who have learned to use the bathroom. I’ve already called the agency for someone who can work with someone so… developmentally challenged.”
I scoop Luca up. His hands tighten around my shirt.
The woman’s nose wrinkles. Maybe carrying a child who has wet himself isn’t precisely hygienic.
“It was an accident.” I glare at her. “Everyone has accidents.”
“Do you have accidents, Mr. Bellanti?”
“Did you ask him if he needed to go? He hasn’t had an accident until now.”
“He doesn’t talk,” she says brusquely. “He’s supposed to talk. Changing diapers is not in my job description. You’ll need to hire other nannies for that service.”
“Luca doesn’t wear diapers.”
“Obviously he should.” She marches from the room.
The door clicks behind her.
I need to make sure a new nanny is really coming.
I take out my phone, maneuvering it awkwardly when I’m still holding Luca.
He stares at me wide-eyed.
No.
I need to clean him first.
And then I need to change.
“Let’s get you changed,” I say. “Isn’t it good the grumpy woman is gone? Right?”
He stares at me, probably wondering why I’m trying to force cheerfulness when things have never been so terrible.
Gaby should be living her happily ever after with Luca, but a truck driver who never should have been allowed to be behind the wheel of a commercial vehicle changed everything.
I take Luca into the bathroom and plop him into the shower. I turn the water on, and he screams.
Shit.
“I’m sorry, Luca. You don’t like it in your eyes. I’m sorry.”
He sobs, and I deserve it. I scoop him from the shower and turn the water on in the tub. I continue to apologize, and he continues to cry.
“Your uncle’s going to make a phone call,” I say. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
I open my phone, then remember I never got around to programming in the nanny company.
I try to scroll to when I last called them, then click on a Cambridge number.
“Good afternoon, Cambridge Hill Hotel,” a bright voice says.
“S-sorry,” I stammer. “Wrong number.”
I hang up the phone and carry Luca to the couch. I start to sit, then remember we’re both dirty. I return to the bathroom and place him on the counter, standing in front of him so he doesn’t fall.
“One moment, Luca.” I frantically scroll through the phone.
I find the agency’s number and call, while Luca watches me from the counter, still sniffling.
“Someone will be there in an hour,” the voice promises.
An hour. I can survive for an hour.
I hang up and look at Luca. His blue-green eyes stare back at me.
Tomorrow I play my first game as a Blizzard. Tomorrow I share the ice with the man who abandoned my sister.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell Luca.
I’m not sure which of us I’m lying to.