23. Griffin
After I finish the post-game press, get showered, and change, I put my headphones in and head down the player’s hallway that leads us out to where the team bus is waiting.
I’m just about to press play on my postgame playlist when I hear a voice that jump-starts my heart. I knew with tonight being Carson’s first game, there was a chance she’d be here if she wasn’t playing her own game. I quickly place my headphones back in their case and take a deep breath.
My heart rate quickens, and my chest tightens when her laughter echoes down the hall. The melodic sound awakened something inside of me that I hadn’t felt in so long. Flashbacks of what it was like to be the cause of that beautiful laugh hit me all at once.
Turning the corner, what had my pulse thundering only seconds ago suddenly causes my heart to stop dead in my chest.
I stand in shock as I stare into the icy-blue eyes that have haunted me for the past two years. Her face has paled into a ghostly shade of white, and she looks like she’s about to faint at the sight of me.
“Mama! Look! Mama!”
The fact that I can hear anything over the ringing in my ears is a miracle. This has to be a sick joke, because the scene playing out in front of me isn’t real life—it can’t be.
I try to gather myself, but I can’t. I’m stunned, frozen at the sight of Kenna, my Kenna, shrugging away from the guy with his arm draped over her shoulders.
And Carson is holding the blonde baby girl who just called her “Mama.”
Kenna goes to grab the baby girl from Carson and wraps the little girl into her arms, nuzzling her neck—breathing her in.
“Hi, baby,” she coos to the girl.
I watch as the little girl pulls back and grabs Kenna’s cheeks, placing a big, sloppy kiss on her face before giggling.
How is this happening? I knew it was over. We hadn’t spoken since that night in Boston, the night that changed everything.
But now it’s really over . . . for good. Kenna has moved on. She created a life with someone else. They started a family.
A family you’ll never be a part of.
My stomach sinks at the thought, my throat clogging with the realization.
Kenna turns her back to me, leaning in to whisper something to her brother.
The next moment happens as if in slow motion. The little girl peeks up at me over Kenna’s shoulder and the moment her dark, coffee-colored eyes meet mine, I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that’s my daughter.
My shock quickly transitions into confusion as the realization sinks in.
“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” I growl.
I watch as Carson winces, Kenna turns an angry shade of red, and Kenna’s parents go to grab the little girl—my daughter—from her arms.
“We’ll take her to the restaurant and meet you both there,” Liz says to Kenna and Carson.
“Ian, why don’t you ride with us,” her dad suggests.
“Works for me,” Ian replies. That’s when I realize Ian-mother-fucking-Nelson is the guy who had his arm slung over Kenna’s shoulder.
Carson goes up to his mom and wraps her and the little girl into a hug. “Uncle Carse loves you so much, Cadey Cat,” I barely hear him say to the girl before she’s swept away by Kenna’s parents.
I feel my vision blurring and my breaths starting to come out staggered. Did Carson just call her “Katie Cat?” As in, the same nickname I used for Katie?
“What’s her name?” I demand.
Kenna stutters her response, “Wh-what? Whose name?”
“Cut the shit, McKenna,” I command in a chilling tone, one I’ve never used before. “What’s my daughter’s name? She’s mine, right? Jesus—of course, she’s mine. Look at her eyes. They’re a carbon copy of mine.”
“Alright, let’s take this conversation back here. There’s no one in the film room right now. We can talk away from where the media may overhear,” Carson suggests and leads us to a room down the hallway.
Once we’re inside, I turn to find Kenna staring back at me with a thunderous expression. “Is this some sort of fucked up game you’re playing, Griff? What is wrong with you?” she shouts.
“What is wrong with me? Who has a secret child and doesn’t tell the father? Is she mine? Tell me right now.”
“Yes—dammit! Of course, she’s yours. Why are you acting this way—as if you’re shocked? As if you didn’t look me right in my eyes and tell me that you didn’t care that I was pregnant and to stay the fuck away from you?” Her eyes are glassy now, filled with unshed tears.
“You’re lying. You’ve never said a word to me about a baby—a pregnancy.”
“What are you talking about? That night in Boston, when you played against Carson, I came to the after-party to tell you.”
I physically recoil at the mention of that night. “And you clearly forgot to tell me—hence why I had no clue I’ve had a daughter for the past two years—”
Carson cuts in, “She’s eighteen months. And I was there with Kenna.”
Is he serious right now? The six-month difference doesn”t matter much when I missed out on the entire two years.
Carson places his hands on my shoulders and says, “I was there that night with Mack when she told you. After seeing you when we got there, I should’ve never let her tell you by herself. I’d never seen you like that, man. It was like you had taken everything under the kitchen sink—you were crazy. She said she told you everything, and you laughed in her face and told her to get the fuck out of there.”
My stomach churns, bile filling my throat. The visceral fear that they’re telling the truth hits me like a truck.
I was so fucked up that night. It was the week of my twenty-first birthday, the same week that Katie would have been nineteen. I took too many Adderall and mixed it with alcohol to try and drown out the shock from seeing Kenna.
The only recollection I have of Kenna being there that night came from what Emmett and my dad told me. I can remember how seeing her again at the game—in a jersey that was half mine and half Carson’s—made me feel something for the first time in weeks. I know that when I got to the party, I snorted more Adderall and drank my weight in alcohol, needing to drown out the pain I was riddled with. Anything to pierce through the veil of pain I felt when I saw the look on her face.
I have pieces of what that night consisted of, but clearly, I don’t remember the essential piece they’re talking about. The part I do recall is the look of anguish and disappointment on Kenna’s face as I walked away after the game with Emily.
“You were in no place to bring a child into this world. Mack was so terrified after that night that she contemplated giving the baby up for adoption instead of keeping her.” Carson takes a deep breath and continues, “I got her out of there and got her home as quickly as we could. The moment she saw Cadence, the light came back into her eyes. Shit, she changed all of our lives for the absolute best.”
Cadence.
“Apparently, everyone but me—her father. Jesus Christ, I have a daughter,” I choke out the words that haven’t fully sunk in until this moment. “After everything we’d been through, did you think I didn’t deserve another chance to know?”
Her dark expression tells me precisely how she feels about my remark.
But I can’t waste another second hearing her reasons at this point. I need to see my daughter and get to know her.
“Can I see her?” I plead.
Griff stands so close to me that we’re almost touching. Over time, I forgot how tall and broad he is—though it looks like his muscles are bulging more than ever. The league has done wonders for his athletic frame.
I take a deep breath to steady myself but groan when the smell of laundry detergent mixed with his cologne and mint overwhelms my senses. Why does he have to smell so intoxicating? The notes of cedar and spice spring me back in time to memories of being wrapped in his arms, feeling loved and cherished.
Seeing him again after two years is a heady feeling. I almost forgot how beautiful the gold flecks in his deep brown eyes are. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve seen these eyes, this jawline, this immaculate man every night in my dreams for the past two years. The sound of his voice now is just as haunting as the words he’s spoken.
What does he mean he didn’t know? The fucking audacity of this man. And he wants to see her? He’s had a year and a half to come see her.
“That wasn’t the only attempt I made to tell you about her. I called you on the night she was born,” I state, my voice trembling.
“When? If you called on the day she was born, I would have remembered. I got my shit together after that night in Boston. My dad came the next day, took one look at me, and I started therapy that same day. I haven’t touched drugs or drank in excess since that night.” His admission takes me by surprise.
What does that mean if, after all this time, he hasn’t reached out to me? I had convinced myself it was because he was still drowning himself in liquor and bad decisions each night. But I should’ve known better. An elite athlete, which is what I’ve heard Griffin be called by broadcasters, can’t dissolve their problems in booze and drugs and still play at this level.
“I did tell you again. I called you from Carson’s phone on the night she was born, but like every other attempt, it went to voicemail. So I texted you and told you that I had a girl and to call me. I took one look at her beautiful face inside the incubator they had her in, and I knew I had to tell you at least she existed. That you had a daughter who was a perfect little fighter.”
“Fuck. Goddammit.”
“What?”
“When was she born?”
“March 29th.”
“As in right before the Frozen Four?”
“Yes, Griffin.”
“McKenna, shit, I’m sorry. I can’t say for certain if I was in the right headspace to pick up the phone or not at that time, but I honestly didn’t have my phone anymore. I gave it up after that night in Boston when I started therapy. My agent, Jared, had it, and he hired a publicist to take over my social media accounts. I still haven’t been on social media in almost two years, which explains how I didn’t know until today that you even had a child.”
Not that he needs to know, but I don’t post anything about Cadence on my social media. It’s important to me to keep her out of the media.
“I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around everything. Why did you choose to disconnect your phone?” I question.
“My therapist suggested blocking out things that triggered my anxiety and panic attacks I was having at the time. One major trigger for me was my old phone because of the photos on it and the social media memories that would come up. Every time I felt like I was coming up for a breath of air, a memory popped up on my phone, letting the grief resurface and pull me back under. So, I handed it over to Jared. He would tell me if anything major came up, but my dad, my coach, and my teammates all had my new number, so I didn’t really use it much. I disconnected my old number when I signed with Colorado after the Frozen Four. I didn’t think to check my messages with the chaos of moving.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s hard for me to believe you when the timing came literally days after I called to tell you about her, Griffin.”
“And you don’t think I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I just now found out I have a daughter?”
“If I have to try to be understanding of your situation, you need to try to put yourself in my shoes.”
I take a deep breath, and as my anger begins to subside, I curse myself for my stubbornness. “I’m sorry, McKenna. You’re right. I apologize. That was unfair of me. I just don’t want to miss another second of her life. Please, Kenna. I’ve already missed so much.”
Seeing that she’s not ready to discuss whether or not I can see Cadence yet, I look into Kenna’s eyes and plead. “Will you tell me about her, please?”
She’s still visibly upset, which is understandable. But she takes a calming breath, and then it’s as if she can’t help but smile as she begins to tell me all about Cadence.
“Well . . . her name is Cadence Aelia Wilder. Like I said earlier, her birthday is March 29th. She was born at thirty-three weeks, so we had to stay in the NICU for a little over a month. She was four and a half pounds and eighteen inches long. From the moment she arrived into the world, she’s shown she’s a fighter. She had a heart procedure at only eight days old.”
Kenna must see the panic in my eyes because she reassures me quickly. “Cadence is okay now. You’d never even know she had a heart condition. Now she’s at the top of her growth charts, which isn’t typical of a preemie-baby.” I watch in awe as she continues with sheer pride and joy, which is evident in the way she talks about her daughter. Our daughter.
“She’s an absolute spitfire . . . no clue where she gets that from. It seems like she learns a handful of new words each day. She possesses enough sass in one pinky to take down a grown hockey player,” Kenna jokes.
I know exactly where she got the spitfire attitude.
“Why did you name her Cadence? Did you know you were having a girl?”
“She’s named after your mom and sister. Carson calls her Cadey Cat, though I can’t bring myself to call her that. Even after all this time,” she says, looking down at the ground. “I didn’t know the gender until she came. I was still trying to wrap my head around being nineteen and pregnant. I didn’t even know I was actually pregnant until almost halfway through the pregnancy.”
Shit, I should’ve been there. She was all alone in this.
“You said her middle name is Aelia. What’s that after?” I think I hear Kenna’s sharp intake of breath in response to my question.
“Aelia means sunshine,” she whispers so low I think I hear her wrong.
Sunshine.
I haven’t cried much in the two years since Katie died. But tonight, as I sit in my hotel room, trying to come to terms with the fact that I have a daughter, all of my emotions and grief wash over me in unruly waves. I go through every stage of grief all over again. Not that I’ll ever accept Katie’s death, but now I have to grieve the fact that I wasn’t there for my daughter’s first year and a half of her life—for her birth, for the months she was growing inside Kenna’s belly, for the moment Kenna found out she was pregnant. I wasn’t there for any of it. I missed it all.
There’s still so much I don’t know about her or the time Kenna and I spent apart. Can Cadence walk? She was being held the whole time I saw her. And then McKenna mentioned she could talk and was learning new words each day.
I should have been there—not Carson, not her parents—me. I should’ve been there to rub Kenna’s swollen feet and ankles. I should’ve been there to take her to her doctor’s appointments. I should’ve been there to support her through labor, to cut the cord, to assure her our daughter, who was in the NICU, was going to be okay. I should’ve been there to help her through it all.
I can’t get back those moments I missed, but I can make sure I don’t miss out on any more than I already have.
I don’t even hesitate as I pick up the phone and dial my coach’s number.
Coach grants me a two-game leave to spend time here with Cadence and come to terms with being a father. Even though I know I won’t be able to wrap my head around the fact that I have a daughter in a matter of five days, it’s definitely a place to start.
The first step in coming to terms with being a father would probably be meeting the little girl who made me one.
I start a new text chain and enter a number I’ve memorized since I was a teenager.
Me:
Hey Kenna, this is Griff. This is my new number. Where would you like to meet tomorrow? What time works best for you two?
Sunshine:
You can come to the house. I”ll send you the address. Is tomorrow at 11:30 a.m. okay for you? When do you fly out?
Me:
Tomorrow at 11:30 works great. See you then.
I don’t let her know I won’t be flying out tomorrow with the team. I don’t want to scare her any more than I already did tonight.
I hadn’t realized until the moment I saw her how lonely I had been the past two years. Having her back in my life has awakened a part of me that had been dormant.
It’s like I’ve been walking around in a catatonic state—unfeeling, completely void of emotions. But tonight, I’m feeling everything. Joy at the fact that I have a daughter. Sorrow and regret that I missed out on moments in her life that we’ll never get back. And hope for a future I hope will be filled with a lifetime of memories and love for my daughter.