Chapter Three
Bodhi
Coach Erikson’s testy mood leads to an intense practice that leaves most of us limping into an ice bath afterwards. We’ve all seen him mad before, but it’s usually at one of us. It’s obvious whatever caused his shit attitude today has nothing to do with the team.
“What crawled up his ass and died?” Sebastian Henderson, our starting defenseman and my best friend, asks as we walk off the ice after a brutal two hours of drills.
Someone passing by us says, “He must have gotten into it with Sylvia.”
Henderson and I share a look. He’s the only one who knows that Erikson has a daughter. I told him about my strange, albeit short, outing with her when we got to the complex this morning for our annual physicals.
He then proceeded to drill me with questions about her as if I could have gotten to know anything interesting about the girl—the woman—who I spent less than ten minutes with.
Yet, those ten minutes felt like déjà vu in ways I still can’t make sense of.
The way her teeth bit into her bottom lip, or how her eyes darted to the right when she talked, and how she tugged on the hem of her shirt when she was nervous seemed familiar.
But racking my brain over the past two days gave me nothing that was indicative of why.
So, I chalked it up to lack of sleep.
Gemma has been waking me up in the middle of the night saying the monsters are back.
I’d go and check, promise they weren’t there, only to be woken up again within an hour for the same reasons.
Eventually, I let her crawl into my bed and sleep with me.
You’d think a California king would be big enough for a thirty-five-year-old man and his six-year-old daughter, yet somehow I wound up getting kicked in the kidney at least four times by the tiny girl.
If I looked in the mirror, I’d probably see bruises.
Between my exhaustion, the team doctor telling me he couldn’t give me anymore cortisone shots in my shoulder and wrist, and Coach’s short fuse, it’s been a long ass day.
I’d already been in a crappy headspace hearing that my previous rotator cuff injury was flaring up without many treatment options outside of ibuprofen, physical therapy, and surgery.
Coach getting pissed off and hammering down on us for the smallest things only made it worse.
Henderson drops his voice. “You think it has to do with his…?” His eyebrows go up in question.
His daughter.
“You can say her name. Pretty sure everyone is going to find out about her anyway,” I point out, pushing the locker room doors open. It smells like sweat, body odor, and expensive men’s body spray. Not the greatest combo, but I’ve become immune to its familiarity.
My teammate starts stripping out of his uniform a few lockers down from mine. “Wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep Honor on the downlow. From what you said, she sounds…unique.”
Compared to most women we meet, she is unique.
Puck bunnies will come out of the woodwork just to be around us.
They’ll do anything we want if it means winding up in our bed by the end of the night.
Not Honor, though. She couldn’t have gotten away from me fast enough, like my very existence scorned her. I found it oddly flattering.
“She was a bit flaky,” I note. “And has some obvious daddy issues.”
Henderson’s lips quirk up at the corners. “I hear daddy issues can be hot.”
I match his grin. “You would know, wouldn’t you, Henderson?
” He and his father don’t get along. I don’t know the man well, but the few times I’ve been around him were more than enough.
Maybe if the dude didn’t give so much shit to Sebastian’s little sister, Olive, I wouldn’t mind him so much.
Henderson probably wouldn’t either. But if we’re talking flakes, their father is the biggest one.
“Touche, douchebag,” my friend muses, chuckling with a shake of his head. “But, seriously. Coach is a good man. I don’t see what her problem could be with him.”
“Well, considering we never knew he had a daughter, that’s probably a contributing factor,” I point out casually.
That gives Sebastian pause, as if he never considered it before, before shrugging. “True.”
“It’s none of our business,” I decide. “Let’s hope whatever issue they have is dealt with. I’m not sure I can handle another day like today.”
My friend knows me too well. His eyes go to my right arm. “Did the doc talk to you about your injury again?”
Making a face as I grab clean clothes from my locker, I let out a breath. “He suggested surgery, but that would mean sitting out for God only knows how long.”
“Only if you do it during the season,” he reasons, reminding me of our time off. Unfortunately, we’re about to start a strenuous schedule now that pre-season is coming to an end and the real one is about to begin.
That means risking even more damage than what’s already there in the tendons and ligaments, which could lead to permanent problems in the future.
It’s a fear slowly coming to life. What if I’ll never get full movement in my arm?
What if I’ll never be able to play with Gemma the way I can now?
Or keep up with this career? I hate thinking about the what ifs that come with contact sports, but they’re always there lingering in the back of my mind.
“I’ve got a lot to think about,” I conclude with a heavy sigh. I roll my shoulder and wrist, wincing slightly at the pain shooting from one to the other. “I need to keep Gemma in mind.”
He pats my back in sympathy. “I’ll support whatever it is you decide to do. Always. If I were in your shoes, I’d be thinking of Beckham.”
His son’s name makes me sigh. Henderson would do anything for that little boy, so I know he gets it.
He’s one of the few guys on the team who do, since most of them are younger than us with zero interest in being married with kids.
Not that I was on board with it when it happened to me, but still.
Gemma changed my life for the better, and now all I want is to do right by her.
Forty minutes later, I almost make a grand escape to my car when Coach Erikson calls out to me from where he’s standing beside his Mustang. “Hoffman, you got a minute?”
I want to tell him no, but Gemma’s grandparents have her tonight, so I’ve got nothing but time. Walking over to him, I adjust the bag I have over my shoulder and internally wince at the pain shooting down my arm. I hide that shit, though, because I don’t need Coach trying to bench me.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“I wanted to thank you for being kind to my daughter. Life hasn’t been easy on her lately, and I want her transition here to go smoothly.”
All I do is smile and nod because I don’t feel like him picking apart the lies I fed him when he asked how it went with Honor. I gave him just enough detail not to doubt me and left the rest up for him to assume.
He scratches the back of his neck. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask, but we’re doing a family dinner tonight.
Sylvia is setting it up. It’s supposed to ease some…
lingering tension.” His eyebrow twitches.
Almost to himself, he adds, “Things that I certainly haven’t helped over the years.
Anyway, I could use some reinforcement. She said you two got along well. ”
How much did Honor tell him? And what kind of lies did she spew that make me sound like I gave her the best tour of the city she’s ever had? “What kind of reinforcement did you have in mind, sir?”
Coach clears his throat. “I need you to come to dinner.”
I stare at him, trying not to make a face. Then I repeat what he said to make sure I heard him right. “You want me to come over for dinner?”
He dips his chin once.
“Just me?” I clarify, hoping he’ll tell me other members of the team will be there too.
He doesn’t. “It’ll be Sylvia, me, you, and my daughter. Honor doesn’t always do well in big groups. I don’t want to overwhelm her. We both know some of the team can be a bit much.”
And I can’t? Suddenly, I wish my reputation wasn’t so squeaky clean. “I don’t know, Coach…” I try to come up with a reasonable excuse, but he knows my schedule to a T, which means he knows I don’t have Gemma tonight.
The only other option would be telling him my arm is killing me, which it is after today. But I’m sure as hell not risking my spot on the starting lineup by telling him the truth. He wouldn’t hesitate from pulling me if it meant I got the proper medical treatment I needed.
“It would mean a lot to me, Hoffman. You know I don’t ask favors much, and you’ve always been trustworthy. I can depend on you.”
Son of a bitch. The man knows where my loyalty lies, and it’s with the team. Trust means everything to me and the boys. It’s one of our core beliefs. If you can’t trust your team, then you won’t be successful on the ice. There’s a reason we’re a well-oiled machine with the ranking to prove it.
“All right,” I relent. “What time?”
He clasps my good shoulder and squeezes once. “Thank you. I’ll send you the details. Plan for seven.”
Once I’m alone in my car, I stare out the windshield wondering how the hell I got myself into this.
And, more importantly, I wonder what Honor’s reaction will be when I walk into her father’s house like we’re BFFs.
“For fucks sake,” I mumble to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Henderson is going to get a fucking laugh out of this once when he hears.
*
I’ve been to Erikson’s house too many times to count over the years, but this is the first time I’m reluctant to walk inside. Normally, I’m with the team when we come for dinner or parties, and we walk right inside like we own the place. That’s what Sylvia and Coach have always told us to do.
Tonight, it feels like I’m invading their personal space. Not just theirs—Honor’s. Even though they invited me, it feels like I’m popping an intimate bubble I have no right to be in.