13. Chapter Thirteen #3
I pulled my truck into the usual spot in the parking deck at Renegade Ice, the team training facility.
I parked at the perimeter, a cement half-wall in front of me and a cement support column to the side.
The truck took up two spots and the bed hung out like a…
well, like a long-ass truck bed, but I’d earned my territory in this concrete cave.
And it was a fuckin’ gorgeous truck.
My hand drifted to my neck, rubbing at the tension building there.
Nothing like routine to settle the nerves—park the truck, flash the smile, play the part.
Same as always, even if everything in my private life had changed.
I resisted the urge to call Hannah and check in.
I’d not even been gone an hour. She’d think I was a nutcase if I called this soon after leaving.
I swung into the stairwell and found Zacha frozen on the first landing, his eyes glued to his phone.
“Move it, bro. Holding up traffic.”
He looked up with a scowl, relaxing when he saw me.
I cocked a brow at him. “Is the divine Novy giving you a shopping list? There’s an app for that, you know.”
“And we use it well. She’s on about some derby event coming up. But it isn’t on the Killbillies’ schedule, so I am confused.”
Bohdan Zacha, best left winger in the game, transformed into the world’s number one derby fan over the summer.
I grinned at him as he scrolled through his phone.
His partner and my long-time friend, Novy, competed on the local derby team and he only missed bouts when the Renegades’ travel schedule took him out of town.
I bumped his shoulder and he dropped the hand holding the phone and hustled ahead of me down the stairs. He flashed a key card at the metal door on the next landing and we entered the maze of corridors leading to the inner sanctum of Renegades hockey.
“So,” I drawled, aiming for casual as we wound our way deeper into the facility, “I got a kid since you saw me last.”
Zacha snorted. “Nebu? debil.”
“That sounded insulting. I’m trying to update you about my life and you’re throwing insults.”
“Don’t be a moron.”
“She’s thirteen. Seems I had some swimmers in my youth. Unsurprising.”
Zacha froze midstep, pivoted to face me, his expression postcard perfect for ‘what the fuck’.
“Her grandmother dropped her off before our road trip. Gram’s sick, needs treatment. Hannah—that’s my kid’s name—she needs somewhere to land.” The words tumbled out, my usual smooth delivery deserting me. “She’s gonna live with me. Full-time.”
“Wait, wait. Back up.” He held up one finger. “You have a daughter?”
I nodded.
Another finger up. “And she’s thirteen. And you’re just sharing this now?”
“To be fair, I just found out myself. Still processing.” I sidled past him, needing movement. “But you should see her, man. She’s Shy’s clone. I have a little mini Shy running around my place as we speak.”
“She’s living with you? You? Mr. No-Strings-Attached?”
We’d reached the main hallway, locker room through the double doors. Down that corridor lay the video room where Merri worked. Instantly the image of another away video room swamped me. One where I’d kissed her senseless before running like a coward. My gut twisted.
I shoved through the locker room doors. “What, you don’t think I can handle it?”
“Is she with your sister?”
“Nah, got a sitter. Dropping her off on Shy would be cheating.” I flashed him my media-ready grin, all charm no substance. “Shy refuses to enable my ‘poor life choices’.” I held my fingers up to provide the air quotes.
“That’s fair.”
“Yep.” I heaved my duffle onto the lowest shelf of my stall, ignoring the churning in my gut.
“Ended up I didn’t need her anyway. People make out like this childcare business is so complicated.
I don’t get it. Shy hooked me up with this parenting app and two seconds later I had my choice of babysitters. ”
“An app?”
“Yep. Easy peasy. They screen ‘em, verify their credentials, all that shit. Picked one, she showed up this morning, settled right in.”
“What did—what’s your daughter’s name again?”
“Hannah.” My throat tightened. My daughter. “But she already warned me. Sadly, we are forbidden to crack any Hannah banana jokes.”
“What did Hannah think of the sitter?”
The question hit like a blindside check. I stopped unpacking, remembering how she’d been buried under her covers when I’d checked on her. “Not much. She hadn’t come out of her room by the time I needed to leave.”
“So you left your new daughter to wake up to a stranger in a strange house?”
The truth of his words sucker-punched me right in the chest. “Fuck,” I breathed, my earlier confidence crumbling. “I’m an idiot.”
He clapped my shoulder. “Rookie move.”
I checked my watch, knowing Coach would have my ass if I wasn’t on the ice in five. But the image of Hannah waking up alone, surrounded by abstract mashed potato wallpaper and a stranger in the living room…
“I should call. Check in.”
Zacha snorted. “Too late now.”
My stomach dropped as his words sank in. Because he wasn’t just talking about this morning’s practice. Thirteen years of “too late” stretched behind me, and now I was fumbling my first real shot at being there for her.
Turned out, I was way too fucking late on all counts.