Chapter 11
Kai calls for me from across the rink. “Dad, watch this!”
I give him my full attention as he executes a crossover turn that would make most junior varsity players jealous. He’s been skating for days, not years, but the kid moves on the ice like he was born to it.
Natural talent. The kind that can’t be taught.
The kind that comes with a legacy he never asked for.
Oh, and there’s the little issue of him calling me Dad. I didn’t make that request. He just started doing it. We talked and I made it clear that I’m not technically his father—still not exactly sure who that is.
He was quiet for a long moment afterward and he told me that Desiree always insisted he call her boyfriends Dad.
He didn’t want to because half of them didn’t even say his name right—one of them even just called him kid, not bothering to learn his girlfriend’s son’s name.
But he always wanted a dad and now he has one.
There was a hug. Maybe some misty eyes. You know, we’re dudes. But yeah. Whoa.
Meanwhile, when in public, my sister insisted Kai call her by her name and not “Mom” because she didn’t want anyone knowing she had a child. Said it could interfere with her career.
Can’t argue with the boy’s logic, but at this point, I’m beyond words. I almost don’t ever want to talk to Desi again because of the verbal damage I fear I’ll do. How could my sister be so selfish?!
I’ve noticed a few times Kai referring to Nina as his “Mom,” too, especially when he’s talking with his classmates and new friends.
After discussing this whole matter with Lou Chen, I assured her that it was best to just go with it. We’re bringing him in for a visit soon. Told him it’s part of the pro hockey deal and that we have to strengthen our mental muscles, too.
I watch Kai practice his stops and starts, and part of me swells with pride while another part twists with anxiety.
He’s got the Sheridan gift for hockey—there’s no denying it.
But I remember what that gift cost me. The pressure, the expectations, the constant weight of living up to a name that was famous before I could even spell it.
“He’s incredible,” Nina says, appearing beside me at the boards with two cups of hot chocolate. “Look at that edge work. You’ve hardly had to teach him. It’s like he knows what to do.”
“He’s a natural,” I admit, accepting the cocoa gratefully. “That’s what worries me.”
“Worries you? Lane, this is amazing. He loves it.”
“For now. But what happens when people start expecting him to be the next Sheridan?” I take a sip of the hot chocolate and grimace.
She wrinkles her nose after taking a sip. “Your hot chocolate is so much better than this.”
“Are you saying you’d like me to make some when we get home?”
“I wouldn’t object. What they make here is an embarrassment to cocoa everywhere.”
“Your marshmallows are what make my hot chocolate perfect.”
“You’re such a secret sweetie.”
“Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”
I nuzzle her and kiss her temple, something else that feels so natural it terrifies me—on some days.
On others, it’s why I get out of bed. To hear her laugh, see her smile, and feel that rise in my chest when she enters a room or cheers me on during a game.
Talk about natural. It’s like we were meant to be together.
I called off my attorney’s drafting of divorce paperwork and owe Lucian Little an apology—and a thank you.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Dad’s name on the screen makes my stomach tighten, slowing my roll.
“I should take this,” I tell Nina, stepping away from the rink noise.
“Lane!” Dad’s voice booms through the speaker with his usual command, like he’s going to tell me to do ten more laps and speed drills.
I will myself not to flinch. Old habit.
“How’s married life treating you, son? And—Kai? Heard he’s showing some promise on the ice.”
The guy has eyes everywhere, at least when it comes to hockey potential. No doubt, he’ll call dibs and recruit the kid before he exits high school.
“He’s doing well. We all are,” I say when really, I want to exclaim that I’ve never been happier in my life, but these aren’t things I share with my father. They’ll be met with him reminding me to keep my practice and training sharp rather than enjoying the gifts I’ve been given.
“Good. Listen, son, I wanted to talk to you about Nina Bruun. Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”
The question should hit me like a blindside check. But it doesn’t. “What do you mean?”
“It all happened pretty fast, didn’t it? Vegas wedding, instant family ... reminds me of your situation with Xoe. These women see a hockey player and dollar signs start dancing in their eyes.”
My jaw clenches. “Nina isn’t like that.”
“That’s what you said about Xoe, too. And look how that ended.
The minute your career hit a rough patch, she was gone.
” His voice softens with what he probably thinks is wisdom.
“I’m just saying that you’re better off being careful.
This girl’s got you playing house with a kid that isn’t even yours.
What happens when things get hard? When the media catches wind?
When your shoulder starts acting up again? ”
The twist in my stomach turns into a tick in my jaw. His thinly veiled attempt to look after me is really just his pride, not wanting to see any negative association between our names. He doesn’t actually care. He’s proven that over and over.
I shoot back, “Harder than being publicly married on a variety show? Finding out that my sister signed her kid over to me?”
“That’s different. That’s a family obligation. Nina could become a problem.”
“Nina is my wife,” I interrupt.
“But her father was Viggo Bruun and her mother—”
The things I could say to him right now about Suzie Bass stack up like boulders, but I tell myself to take the high road. Or at least, go higher than the low blow I feel like he deserves after cheating on Mom.
“Before you bring up whatever you think you know about Nina, remember that I’m not you, Dad. I’m not going to make the same mistakes you made.”
There’s a pause on the other end. When my father speaks again, his voice is colder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever happened between you and Mom before she died ... whatever you did that made her so sad those last few years ... I’m not going to repeat that pattern.
” My voice is like grinding gears as I get closer to telling him that I know about his and Suzie’s affair.
That’s not something he’d want spread around, especially not after he was so public about being an upstanding husband after losing his wife all those years ago.
“Your mother was sick, Lane. That’s what made her sad.”
“She was sad long before that and I think we both know why.” Now my voice is icy.
Another beat of silence passes. It’s longer this time.
He clears his throat. “Ancient history. The point is, Nina will run when things get tough and take a part of you with her, if not a substantial sum. They always do. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I end the call. Otherwise, I’m going to confront him. Part of me wants him to feel the shame and agony of his indiscretion, but that’s not the kind of man I want to be. All the same, I’m left staring at my phone, my father’s words echoing in my head like an opposing team’s goal song I can’t shake.
Maybe I am being na?ve. Perhaps Nina is just playing house until something better comes along. What if …?
“Lane?” her voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. She’s standing a few feet away, concern written across her face. “Everything okay? You look upset.”
For a moment, I wonder if she overheard any of the conversation. If she knows what my father thinks of her, of us, and this whole situation.
“Just Lane Sheridan Senior being, well, himself,” I say, lighting my tone and my expression.
She plants her hand on my arm and looks up at me with those beautiful gray eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I could clam up, but instead opt for the more logical choice while choosing my words carefully. “He’s concerned about how fast everything is moving.”
Nina nods slowly. “Understandable. This has been pretty overwhelming for everyone.”
“He thinks you’re after my money,” I blurt out, then immediately wish I could take it back.
But instead of looking hurt or offended, Nina laughs. She laughs!
“Your money? Lane, have you seen your apartment? You live like a college student. If I were after money, I’d have set my sights a lot higher than a hockey player who owns exactly three pieces of furniture and eats takeout for every meal.”
Despite everything, I find myself smiling because she’s the one who changed that by welcoming me into her home. Big difference. “Hey, I have four pieces of furniture. You forgot the coffee table and I make great microwave meals.”
“Oh, right, the coffee table that’s actually a milk crate and a wooden plank with a towel thrown over it.”
“It’s functional.”
Nina shakes her head, but she’s grinning now. “Lane, I don’t care about your money. I care about you. About us. About the family we’re building.”
She steps closer, and I inhale her scent of cinnamon and comfort with relief.
“The promise I made to my father feels less important than this,” she continues, gesturing between us. “Than what we have. What we’re creating.”
“Even though I’m a hockey player?”
“A hockey player who puts family first.” She reaches up and touches my cheek. “You said it yourself. You’re not your father, Lane. Just like I’m not my mother. We get to write our own story.”
I want to believe her so badly it aches, but a little splinter of doubt wedged itself inside as soon as my father reminded me of what Xoe did.
Having moved on, she says, “Speaking of stories, I was with Leah earlier and she wants our help with the Happy Hockey Days Festival next week.”
“The what—festival?” This is news to me. Then again, I have been a bit preoccupied.