Chapter 2
NICKY
Natalia beams at Bea, pointing eagerly at the fifteenth of September on the massive calendar.
Bea hands her the marker, smiling as my daughter writes her name in the square.
The letters are different sizes and trail off at the end, but I have the same bloom of pride in my chest that’s on Bea’s face as Natalia concentrates on the task.
“Ever wish you had given her a shorter name?” Charlie “Bones” Kane, right winger for our team, rumbles from my left.
His voice is one of the deepest I’ve ever heard, an insecurity he has that keeps his chatting to a minimum around people he doesn’t know.
It’s one of the reasons we get along so well.
I don’t like talking to people much, either, but when it’s just us, I don’t mind.
Charlie is a few years younger than me, but he’s one of my closest friends on the team.
“It never crossed my mind to,” I tell him honestly, one eyebrow raising in question.
When Natalia was born, I had never considered names.
I had never even considered children. But that changed, courtesy of her mother.
A one-night stand who never told me she was pregnant, then gave birth and signed away all parental rights before leaving the hospital.
The staff called me, and I brought home a newborn within twenty-four hours.
It was one of the most confusing experiences of my life.
“Fewer letters to write. She’ll probably have one of the longest names in kindergarten when school starts.” He takes a sip from the bottle of beer in his hand, and I weigh his thinking.
“Could be worse. She could have a traditional Russian middle name, too,” I muse. “Natalia Baladinovna Baladin is a lot. Good thing I kept it easy with Reese.”
Charlie barks out a laugh, drawing the attention of the other attendees.
He flushes, but the guests quickly go back to their cocktails and conversations, leaving my friend to return to a normal color.
The crowd is mostly people we know: other players, staff from the team, but there are also plenty of strangers from Tex and Allison’s families.
He clears his throat and points to where Natalia and Bea have finished entering their delivery date predictions.
The duo head off to the catering tables, where Bea shakes her head when Nat lifts a cup of juice. She hands my daughter water instead.
“She sure seems to like Bea. Nat didn’t even take to Violet that way, and everyone loves Vi,” Charlie muses.
I offer a grunt of acknowledgment. He’s not wrong. Nat effortlessly adores Bea.
Beatrice Farrow.
Spirited best friend of Violet Cameron: Coach’s daughter and current girlfriend of Crosby, our new team captain and starting center.
Bea rolled into town this past season, like the eye of the hurricane the couple found themselves in.
She was calm and steady when she arrived to support Violet and Crosby through a publicity nightmare.
A reprieve from the damaging onslaught of the press and turmoil in the organization.
She has been nothing short of mesmerizing.
When everything passed, Bea blew back out, returning to London and leaving me to make sense of the infatuation left in her wake.
“You get along with her, don’t you?” Charlie presses. I cross my arms, as if that will keep him from figuring out that my crush has only deepened since Bea showed up in the middle of the playoffs—wearing my jersey—as The Midnight’s new public relations officer.
“She’s fine.” I keep my arms over my chest. Charlie mirrors me, a smirk spreading slowly, but it dies when I give a firm shake of my head.
It doesn’t matter what thoughts or fantasies have floated around in my quiet time about the curly-haired beauty.
I have enough going on in my life as a single father and professional hockey player.
Better to stop that possibility before it ever starts.
Charlie gives an understanding nod. “It’s good for Nat to have a woman she actually likes interested in spending time with her. ”
“I thought you settled all that nanny stuff?” he asks.
I appreciate it when he shifts topics. I still have my eye on my daughter, who has entered whatever odd game of chase the Kelly siblings are engaged in.
It’s wholly inappropriate for the occasion, but I like hearing my little girl giggle, and it is completely on brand for our team’s goofiest player.
Gus’ sister, Maeve, was recently accepted to Yale, moving in temporarily with her brother and his roommate, Obadiah “Obie” James.
Obie is paired on the ice with Gus, forming one of our defensive lines.
As Gus gently uses Natalia as a human shield, Maeve gives a protesting shout, proving the pair may have gotten older over the years, but haven’t grown up.
“Yes, Margaret is exactly what I was looking for. She’s prompt, professional, and handles our schedule with ease,” I explain to Charlie.
He gestures grandly in front of him, expecting the rest as I pause.
The whole team knows the difficulties I’ve had this past season with finding consistent childcare.
Nannies would last for days to weeks at a time.
None ever fully clicked with my schedule or with Nat.
I hold in an exasperated sigh. “And Natalia still dislikes her, even if they’ve reached a detente. ”
I’m saved from any further discussion of why my daughter does not care for the retired empty-nester who watches her by the arrival of Nat, piggybacking on Gus. Maeve and Bea follow close behind, wearing twin smiles.
“Daddy! Bea says it’s almost time for cupcakes, but first we have to play a game.”
Unceremoniously—but carefully—Gus drops Nat to her feet.
There’s a slight panicked look on his face, his head whipping around looking for something, as she moves closer to me.
My forehead creases at his unusual behavior when I scoop Natalia to sit on my hip.
She’s probably getting a little old to be held like this, but she’s petite and accommodating of it, so I still take every opportunity to indulge.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him. Bea scoffs.
“Want the list chronologically or alphabetically?” she snarks good-naturedly, and I can’t help the twist at the corner of my mouth as a smirk threatens to bleed across my face.
“I told you, there won’t be any games in which you have to sniff diapers,” a voice attempts to placate Gus’ concern.
From behind me, Crosby and Violet join our expanding cluster of friends.
Our new captain is shaking his head, fingers linked with his girlfriend’s, who is giving a small smile.
Gus doesn’t look pacified by his best friend’s comment.
“I don’t want to smell diapers!” Natalia protests, looking wide-eyed with disgust and confusion at the adults.
“I’m with Nat. No fake poop.” Gus nods emphatically, pointing a finger at Violet before swinging it to Bea. His eyes narrow at her. “And don’t think I didn’t hear your little comment.”
Bea holds her hands up in surrender, attempting to look completely innocent of the retort she gave at his expense.
“Like you’re actually mad at me.” She laces the words with a thick coating of sarcasm, lifting a sculpted eyebrow at him.
Gus holds her gaze, the pair locked in a silent argument that ends when his broad, charming smile breaks out across his face.
Bea rolls her eyes, but giggles when Gus scoops her into a tight, playful hug, pressing a sweet kiss to her temple.
“Never. I’ve never been mad at you, Beatie,” Gus coos to her.
Bea’s face flushes at the attention. I’m struck with a sharp twinge of envy when Bea comfortably wraps her arms around his waist, leaving herself in his arms. It’s not quite the embrace of lovers, but it isn’t entirely that of casual acquaintances, either.
Every time we’re together as a group, I can’t quite understand their dynamic.
Turning back to Violet, Gus asks, “Now, what’s this game that doesn’t involve diapers? ”
Twenty minutes later, the entire party is in various states of chaos, as guests run around with balloons stuffed under their clothes.
The goal is to get each other to “pop” and collect the tiny plastic baby released from the balloon.
Like some strange version of capture the flag, it has resulted in some elaborate displays of ingenuity, as well as eruptions of laughter loud enough to disturb the neighbors.
It’s wildly weird, highly competitive, and despite the slightly demented nature of the game, it’s difficult to keep a smile off my face as Natalia giggles next to me.
“Careful, Nikita.” Bea’s voice drips down my spine from where she whispers in my ear.
The use of my full name feels intimate, and there’s a teasing hint in her pronunciation that flirts with a part of me I try to ignore.
Leaning past my chair, she sets two cupcakes on the table in front of me.
A fluffy white concoction, covered with green dusting sugar, and a decadent chocolate mountain with a single sugared tan bear.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself. Might ruin your image.”
“Thank you, Bea!” Nat sweetly acknowledges before looking at me longingly for permission.
Bea runs her fingers through the wispy ends of Nat’s hair before she walks around to sit across from me.
I slide the sugar bomb of a dessert in front of my daughter, carefully cutting it into bites to keep the frosting from ending up all over her face.
I slip a napkin into her lap before passing her the fork.