46. Cal
Chapter forty-six
Cal
“No! I want Miss Noelle to do it!” Khia pouted, stamping her foot.
Breathe. Remain calm. Pressure burned behind my eyes in a growing headache as I crouched down beside the table. “Sweetie, you can ask her to do it when she gets here, but I have to put your hair up so you don’t get syrup in it,” I said with even firmness. “Now hold still please.”
She did as I asked, and I tucked her curls up safely in a scrunchie to keep them out of the syrupy mess on her plate.
“Eat up.” It came out harsher than I intended.
Khia’s lower lip wobbled, the tears swimming in her big eyes as she climbed onto her chair. But she picked up her fork and pushed her pancakes around, sniffles punctuating the silence.
I groaned inwardly. Looking at her the wrong way was all it took for the tears to start.
Turning back to the kitchen, I scrubbed a hand over my face.
I was tired, too tired for a meltdown. After the amazing skating date earlier this week, Noelle and I had talked on the phone every night, just like we used to.
I wanted to know everything about her—little things, big things.
If she still loved The Dick Van Dyke Show.
Her favourite part about New York. How she met her best friend, Macy. Her favourite gluten-free dessert.
Of course, this was the moment Noelle came inside. She took in Khia’s sad face moping over her pancakes and my shoulder sagging in exhausted defeat.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked me in a hushed tone.
I nodded and followed her out to the porch.
Once the door clicked shut, she turned to me. “Rough morning?”
I blew out a ragged breath. “She fought me on everything. She didn’t want to wear the clothes I laid out, she did not want pancakes, and she pitched a fit over my tying her hair up so she could eat the syrup without wearing it because she wanted you to do her hair.
” I scrubbed my hand over my jaw; the stubble I hadn’t gotten a chance to shave cut into my palm. “Usually she’s so mild mannered.”
“Kids have off days. They’re human,” Noelle said gently. “So are you.”
“I know, I just . . .”
“Cal.” She cupped my cheeks, her touch grounding me. “You’re an amazing dad. Parenting is hard, but you keep showing up. That little girl is so loved, and you’re raising her to be an amazing person. Give yourself some grace.”
I knew it in my head. I did. But believing it? Yeah, that was harder. No matter how much of a failure I felt like, Khia’s bright smile convinced me I was doing something right. But I wanted to be worthy of that smile. She depended on me.
“You’re seeing me at my worst, and I kinda hate that.”
“Why? You’ve seen my mess,” she said, her pink lips tipping up in a half smile.
“Because . . .” I stifled the joke on the tip of my tongue.
If we were going to work, I needed to be honest, not trying to mask everything in humour when it was uncomfortable.
“Well, I used to think if I’d been better you wouldn’t have left me.
That somehow I was a disappointment. Izzy said I was.
” My shoulders slumped. “I hate the man I became, but I’m trying to be a better one. ”
“Cal . . .” Noelle’s hand drifted from my cheek down to my chest, right over my racing heart. Could she feel what she did to me? “We had a failure to communicate, but I’ve always been proud of you. Still am. And I never needed you to be perfect.”
I let her words wash over me, sinking deep, and laid my hand over hers. “You needed me to listen. I’m listening now, Elle.”
Warmth settled over me as she slipped her arms around my waist and hugged me. “I still believe in you. And you’re a good man, Callan Satterfield.” She punctuated the words with a soft, lingering, yet all-too-short kiss.
The steadiness of her words—her belief in me—carried me through practice, and when I got home, Khia was in a much better mood.
“Daddy, look!” She held up two woven bracelets. “Friendship bracelets!”
I oohed over them appropriately. It had been years since I’d seen one, but Noelle and Juliet made them all the time when we were growing up.
“For you!” Khia said, beaming. “So you remember me when you’re working.”
I’d always been very clear to keep the distinction that hockey was my job and not something I did for fun. I never wanted my daughter to feel like I was choosing enjoyment over her. “I could never forget you, Lovebug.” But I slid the bracelets on just the same.
“I made this one”—Khia tugged on the one with a confetti of colours—“and Miss Noelle did this one.” She pointed to the striped navy-and-white one—Chargers’ team colours.
My eyes found Noelle’s across the room. “Thanks.”
From the way her cheeks were flushed, I doubted Khia giving them to me to wear was part of the plan. But I wasn’t complaining.