Chapter 5
New Roomies
Lenzin
The Puck Pad smells like lemon cleaner and pine, like the cleaners we hired tried to Febreze away years of bad decisions.
The place needed a good scrub down and they did it while we were at practice.
I glance at the ghost outline of where Dash’s coffee table used to live.
Apparently, his sister Briar split her head open on one when they were kids and needed stitches, so the table is a hazard and now is dead to us.
“What are you doing?” I ask Koa, who’s pacing the room like a nervous dad, snapping caps onto the outlets.
He looks at me like I’ve just confessed to a crime. “She could get electrocuted.”
“Is this child actively trying to die?” I ask.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Aleks mutters as he passes behind me, arms full of boxes.
“What’s wrong with me?” I say, hoisting a box that contains at least a third of Dash’s Paul Bronski shrine. “I’m not the one assuming a toddler wakes up and thinks, you know what’d slap today? Electricution.”
“Says the man from a place with no outlets in the bathrooms,” Hank says, grinning.
“Inaccurate information,” I fire back. “That’s the UK. We absolutely have outlets in our bathrooms.”
Dash laughs. “Don’t you also have to pay a quarter to piss in a public restroom?”
“As one should,” I say, genuinely offended as I carry the box to the pile by the door. “Have you been to a bathroom in Times Square? That’s a crime scene. Charging admission to keep it clean would be a smart move for the city.”
I carry the box to the growing collection stacked at the entrance and set it down with the others, a shrine to men who never expected scrutiny. Then I turn back and do another sweep of the place.
No toys. No kids’ things. Just the remnants of adult men who lived as if they’d never have to explain themselves to a social worker, which would be accurate until now.
For a month, that’s exactly what Hank and I will be doing.
To be fair, it’s our longest away stretch of the season. We only play eight home games. More time on the ice, more time in the gym, fewer distractions. On paper, it’s perfect. The kind of setup that keeps you locked in and sitting comfortably in the number one spot.
Hank holds up a pillow between two fingers like it might bite him. “We are not putting that on a bed.”
“No,” Dash says immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Koa snorts. “Nalani already said they’re washing everything they grabbed.”
“Everything,” Aleks adds, not looking up.
“Good,” Hank says. “Because eww.”
I stand between the two rooms at the end of the hall. One bigger, one smaller. Both stripped down to bare walls, mattresses leaning upright like they’re ashamed of themselves.
As they should be.
“Sofie’s handling clothes,” Aleks adds as he pulls the mattress off the wall. I grab the other side, and we pull it into the hall.
“Noelle’s bringing books.” Dash grins. “Which tracks.”
“Nalani said comfort,” Koa continues. “Blankets, pillows, all the things kids cling to.”
Aleks doesn’t smile. He doesn’t comment. He just goes back to dismantling the bed frame because they all think a king-size bed for a three-year-old is too much.
We finish up fast after the bed was taken down. Trash out. Rooms cleared.
When I walk out toward Dash’s vehicle, snow is coming down hard in that way that makes everything look softer than it really is. Like we’re living in a snow globe.
I hope when Hildy and her sister arrive, it feels that way to them.
I also know she isn’t a girl from the bar. She was the girl from the lecture. The one that should have bored me to death with conference talk, citations, and earnest intellectual enthusiasm. It would have been a complete snooze fest if I hadn’t met her.
If I hadn’t leaned in. If I hadn’t suggested a drink, away from the noise, away from the expectations, away from the version of myself that was born of ‘privilege’.
“You’re sure this isn’t going to be an issue?” Aleks murmurs, leaning in like we’re sharing classified intel.
“I told you I was mistaken. I’m one hundred percent certain she wasn’t a girl from the bar.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. I wish him luck.
I nod toward the vehicle. “You going to stand there, or are you going to let me load the remains of Sterling’s shrine into his car?”
A loud whistle cuts through the air from the opposite direction. I make a mock gagging sound. Aleks’ gaze snaps back to me.
“You’re truly whipped,” I tell him. “Go. Your little woman is waiting.”
“Put the damn box down and come help the girls unload,” he calls over his shoulder before jogging off.
Of course, I feel a flicker of guilt for not telling him why I know Hildy isn’t who I’d thought she was. But it wasn’t a lie. It was 100% the truth.
Deacon laid it out for us when he dropped by earlier. “No spectacle. No weird energy. Claudia wants it quiet. Hildy already feels like she’s imposing, so she wants you guys to be normal. As close to a regular night as you idiots can manage.”
Hank nodded immediately. “So, no chants.”
“No chants,” Deacon confirmed.
“And no overcorrecting,” he adds, eyes flicking to me. “She doesn’t need to feel like anyone is doing her a favor. She wants Lucy to meet people, real people, ones who’ll be around.”
“Can Hank and I actually pass for real people?” I joke.
He rolls his eyes. “Lucy’s sharp. Claudia says she notices everything. So, whatever you’re doing, do it honestly.”
That was it. No more speech. No more warnings.
So, we’d prepped the house the same way we prep for a day off between games. And other than the outlet covers and the lack of a coffee table, the place is set without fuss. Nothing flashy and nothing that screams temporary.
Now we wait.
Deacon pulls to the curb just after four. Dusk, not dark yet. The sky is still holding onto that pale winter light that makes everything feel quieter and more peaceful than it is. I stay at the window, while Hank is at the door, before they even get out.
Claudia steps out first, calm and carrying herself with the kind of class you cannot buy or learn.
Deacon follows, one hand on the car door, the other already steadying the baby carrier.
Savannah is bundled tight, a knit hat pulled low, only her eyes visible as she blinks at the cold like she’s offended by it. She’s utterly adorable.
Hildy, the stunning redhead, comes next, careful on the snow as she turns and holds her hand out, and a small hand takes it.
The first thing I clock is not the coat, not the tension in both of their shoulders, it’s the way Lucy looks up at her with all the trust in the world, even bruised and broken, arm in a cast.
The cast is bright against everything else, clean and so new that she’s still adjusting how she moves around it. I still remember my first break, I’m sure she will remember hers far longer than I.
Lucy breaks eye contact at last and looks around, curious, unafraid, already looking at the house, sighing and moves toward it.
I head to the foyer, but stay back.
Hank opens the door before they knock. “You must be Lucy.”
She looks up at him, assessing. “You’re tall.”
“You think?” Hank says, smiling.
“Uh-huh,” she replies.
“Come on in.” He waves a hand showing her the way, which is obvious, but this is Hank being Hank.
Hildy stays half a step behind Lucy as they enter. Close enough to reach her, but trying not to hover.
I step forward before the moment stretches. “Alright. Quick tour.”
Lucy’s attention snaps to me. Hildy’s follows a half beat later.
“This is the living room,” I force my eyes from Hildy and continue. “Everything in here is fair game. Except that chair. Hank and I are not allowed to sit in it, Hank and I, your new friends, are too big. But you, Lucy, are the perfect size for it.”
Lucy grins. Hildy smiles without meaning to, then schools it.
“The kitchen,” I continue. “Snacks are allowed whenever you want, actually, they are encouraged.”
Lucy walks over to the fridge, glances at us as if we’ll tell her to stop, then opens it. “You have cheese?”
“Always,” I assure her. “It’s a requirement here.”
Hildy leans against the counter, eyes never leaving Lucy.
I nod toward the stairs. “Upstairs is where Hank and I sleep. Second floor.”
Lucy tilts her head. “What else is up there?”
“Laundry and bad decisions,” Hank says.
She accepts that easily. Me? I give him a look.
“Snack first or down the hall to see your room?”
“My room,” she smiles.
“This way,” I say as I head in that direction.
I stop at the two doors. “These are yours.” I open Lucy’s room first.
The room is done. Not staged. Just ready for a little girl who deserves a softer life.
The walls are still their original soft cream and clean, even though no one touched a paintbrush.
The bed is made with pale blush linen sheets, washed down to softness so the fabric already knows how to give. A quilt in warm cream tones is folded at the foot. A stack of extra blankets rests nearby, all cotton and linen, woven loose enough to breathe, soft enough to pull close.
Stuffed animals sit along the pillows, not lined up, just placed where small hands might reach first. A bunny, a bear, and a dog.
On the chair is a neat stack of pajamas, cotton, and flannel in muted florals and warm pastels, already washed. No tags. Beside them, a pair of felted slippers lined in brushed cotton.
A small lamp glows in the corner, light filtered through a linen shade, so the room stays gentle. Honey-warm, not bright.
Books line the shelf in soft tones, paper thick, covers worn at the edges. Stories meant to be read slowly, again and again.
And tucked beside the bed, almost invisible unless you’re looking for it, is a woven basket. Inside, folded carefully, an extra blanket and a spare pair of pajamas. Not for tonight. For later. For spills. For bad dreams. For the moments no one wants to think will happen.
That’s the part that gets me. Not the softness. Not the care. The assumption, and I want that for her, for the little bird with the broken wing. I want her to assume, to heal, and I want her to know it’s okay to fly.
She steps inside slowly, touching the edge of the bed, then the books, then one of the stuffed animals.
“This is for me?” she asks.
“Yes,” Claudia says quietly.
I open the second door. “And this one’s yours.” I tell Hildy.
Neutral bedding. Lamp on, a sweater folded on the chair, as if someone anticipated her needing comfort. She steps in. I do not.
Claudia has settled Savannah on her hip now. Her eyes track Lucy with open curiosity, fingers flexing in slow, uncoordinated determination.
Lucy wanders back into her room. A moment later, she reappears, clutching the bunny as she walks to Hildy. “Can I give this to Savannah?”
Claudia inhales slowly before exhaling an emotionally charged breath.
Hildy nods. “Yes.”
Lucy approaches carefully, holding the stuffed animal out like it’s something important. Claudia lowers Savannah slightly so she can see.
“For you,” Lucy says. “It’s soft.”
Savannah immediately grabs it with both fists, victorious.
Claudia laughs under her breath. “Looks like she agrees.”
Lucy watches, satisfied. She reaches out and touches Savannah’s foot gently, like she’s been taught how to be careful, then nods and drifts back down the hall, lighter somehow.
Hildy sets a bag down, and Deacon heads toward us with more.
“Thank you,” she says, taking them, and looks around again, slower this time and less like she’s counting exits to escape.
“Is there a bathroom?” Lucy asks.
I nod, “There’s one in your room.”
“Is it yours?” she asks, eyes big like she wants the answer to be something different,
“No, Lucy, it’s all yours.”
“Need help?” Hildy asks walking out of her room.
“Can I take a bath or a shower?” She heads to her room.
“I don’t know, we’ll have to see which is there?” Hildy says, placing her hand on her shoulder and following her.
“I can’t believe she’s still asleep,” Hildy yawns.
“Looks like someone else should be as well.” Noelle smiles.
She shakes her head, “I run on caffeine and three hours of sleep. I’m good.”
“You’re a new mom, you should sleep when she does,” Claudia says, yawning too.
“You,” Hildy pauses and shakes her head. “You’re the new mother here, and I am so sorry you had to leave Savannah behind.”
“It had to happen sooner or later.” Deacon leans down and kisses the top of Savannah’s head. “We did good, Claudia had enough milk expressed that we could have lasted a week.”
Claudia shakes her head, and he realizes what he’s said and why she looks almost afraid.
Savannah was conceived during an internship here in New York.
An ex-teammate of ours and her had a fling; he was given options, and he decided he didn’t want anything to do with the child until he got engaged.
Now, several months later, living on the opposite side of the country, he has decided he wants to be part of her life.
It’s all optics to appease his fiancée, and that is why Hildy and a couple of other girls were hired to help with photos and videos for a PR campaign.
A man like Kyle Dingy would never want to see his public profile sullied, and neither would his bride-to-be.
“I will be eternally grateful to all of you for what you have done for Lucy, and I,” Hildy says with an obvious attempt to quell her emotions and holds her hand to her chest, “I did not know you’d never left Savannah for any other reason than work.”
“She had me and the little one’s real father, Red.” Paul winks.
“Um, hello, what am I, chopped liver?” Sofie huffs.
“The point, Sassy,” Paul winks at Sofie. “She left her with family who she knows and loves. Family helps family.”
“And was gone for less than twenty hours.” Nalani states, “In an emergent situation.”
“She never left the state,” Noelle adds.
Claudia leans forward assuredly, “I’d do it again.”
“Thank you,” Hildy says and yawns again.
From across the room, I push my chair back and stand, “We’ve got clean up.”
“We do?” Hank asks, and I shoot him a look. “I mean, we do.”
“I can help. It’s the least I can do.” Hildy starts to stand.
“Not tonight.” I shake my head. “We got this.”
“We sure do,” Hank says as he starts to clear the table.