Chapter 15
Halle
After I finish up the spreadsheet I created with all the new data entered from the most recent game, I check my watch for the fiftieth time in the last six minutes.
Why is it that time ticks by so slowly when you’re waiting for something to happen? It’s that way when you’re counting down the days until your birthday or for Christmas Eve to arrive. Or in this case, for the conversation with your ex about the paternity of your daughter.
Taking a long inhale, I let it go with intention and drop my head back against the chair. Then I begin to touch each finger to my thumbs on each hand, one by one, as a means of calming my nerves.
For five long years I’ve carried the weight of this secret, one only shared with my dad and Carmen.
Not even my brothers know who Lennon’s father is, and honestly, they never even bothered to ask.
As teenagers, they were too centered on their own lives and playing hockey to wonder about it.
That didn’t prevent them from being great uncles, though, and they both love Lennon with all their hearts.
My dad, Zack, and Drew all stepped up to be the men she needed in her life. It was an easy topic for me to avoid because she had them to love and dote on her. Until the day came when Lenni expressed an interest in knowing who her daddy was.
It first occurred six months ago when she attended the birthday party of one of her preschool friends.
It was held at the little girl’s house, and both parents were in attendance and very involved in the event.
Lenni came home enamored with the way her friend’s dad had entertained them all, even putting on a cute dance performance with his little girl.
When I put Lenni to bed that night, she looked up at me with those soft pewter-gray eyes of hers and asked in her sweet voice, “Mama, will my daddy come to my birthday party, too?”
It shattered my heart into a million irreparable pieces. The response I came up with was not the full truth, and I knew it would only delay the inevitable.
“You don’t need one, sweet pea. In fact,” I said, brushing her baby soft hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “You’ve got more than just a daddy. You have your Papa and your uncles. You’re one lucky girl.”
She seemed satisfied with the answer at the time, but I know the question will continue to crop up in the future, possibly leading her to search on her own one day.
Which is why this conversation with Dane is long overdue, regardless of my reluctance to have it.
I’m startled back to the present when my coworker, Anna, who typically works remotely, pops into my cubicle from around the corner.
“Hey, Halle. You’ve got plans for lunch today?”
She beams at me with hopeful brown eyes. I don’t know too much about her yet, since she’s been on vacation since I started, but I know we’re about the same age and she’s engaged to her partner, Mo, short for Molly.
I return Anna’s smile with a mopey sad face. “Thank you so much for the offer, Anna. But I have lunch plans to meet up with… an old friend.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked out to lunch or a happy hour by my new coworkers.
Last week, I went out for a coffee break with Sanita, and was able to grab a drink with a few of our team members one evening while my dad was here.
But sadly, going forward, I’m afraid I’ll be turning down more invites than I accept.
My motherly duties require that I pick up Lenni from her daycare by 6:00 p.m. every night.
My boss, Trevor, has even graciously offered up the babysitting services of his nineteen-year-old daughter, Kelsie, who is earning money to go to New York next summer with a group of students from her school. I told him I’d consider it if needed.
Anna nods with understanding. “No problem. Next time, then. In fact, tomorrow night is Taco Tuesday at the Ale House. Their street tacos are fantastic.” She punctuates her sentence with a chef’s kiss.
Crap.
I should’ve known better than to choose a spot where other Vikings employees might frequent.
I don’t want anyone to see us together and draw the wrong conclusion about me fraternizing with a player.
Picking up my phone, I start to type a message to Dane asking that we meet somewhere else, but I’ve already received a text from him.
Hockey Boy: I’m here in a booth at the back. See you soon.
“Everything okay?” Anna asks, compassion embedded in her words. “You seem panicked.”
I quickly tuck the phone into my jeans pocket and wave with a smile, standing from my desk chair and reaching for my purse hanging on the cubicle wall hook.
“Oh, no, I’m fine, just running late. I’m so sorry I can’t go with you today, but I will definitely plan on it next time.”
I give Anna’s arm a squeeze as I pass her and we go our separate ways. “Have a good lunch.”
“You too,” she echoes as we walk off in different directions. I hurry into the bathroom to empty my full bladder and double-check my appearance before I head across the street to meet my fate.
* * *
The pub is hopping as I enter the front door. Although not officially connected to the arena, the Ale House is certainly a hockey-loving pub with strong ties to the team. I give myself a mental slap for not choosing a place a bit more discreet.
Too late now.
I walk past the busy hostess station and weave through the crowd searching for Dane.
It’s definitely a sports pub with all the team-related photos, gear, and signed jerseys collected over the years on the walls.
The entire interior is a hockey fan’s dream come true, and I’m sure it’s packed on game nights for those who don’t have tickets to see the game.
Following the directions Dane texted me, I wind up heading toward a wall in the back corner of the restaurant and soon spot Dane in a booth, his arm draped over the back of the seat, chatting with a long-haired waitress.
Sudden regret washes over me that’s so powerful and compelling I nearly turn and walk back out before he sees me.
This is what I have feared all these years. Dane—the Ax Man—Axelrod is a sports hero and celebrity who has fans all over the world, people who think he’s larger than life.
If I thought Dane had a big head before he hit the big leagues, I can only assume how much bigger it’s become with that level of reverence and adoration he receives from fans and the media.
I’ve heard all about his over-the-top, self-important cellies out on the ice, seen post-game interviews where he doesn’t hide his inflated sense of self-worth, and read about the various escapades he has with a revolving door of women.
I’ll admit, Dane is an excellent right winger who has become a fan favorite since joining the league. I always knew he would be. And he deserves to be recognized for his skills.
And for his skills off the ice? I don’t even think about it.
Okay, maybe that’s a little lie.
Perhaps there’s a little jealousy permeating my attitude toward Dane. But it shouldn’t matter to me. Dane is not mine. I gave up that right to be jealous a long time ago.
Except we’re connected still—and will be forever—because of the teeny-tiny fact that Lennon is his daughter.
I am prepared today to shield my daughter from knowing the truth about Dane.
Which means I will clearly explain to him that, while he may have fathered Lennon, we do not want anything from him—not his money or his name. He has no responsibility in this matter whatsoever and should keep it that way.
Honestly, I think it’ll be a relief for him. He can walk away without the baggage of a nearly five-year-old little girl to mess up his lifestyle. No harm, no foul. He can go about his free-and-easy life without making any promises he can’t keep to us.
I quietly stand behind the waitress, who giggles over something Dane has said. She leans forward over the table in a suggestive manner, and Dane’s gaze goes to her cleavage. I clear my throat to announce my presence.
Dane’s scandalously flirty smile suddenly morphs into something more cautious and reserved.
The woman straightens and twists around, her eyes flickering over me.
The corners of her mouth turn up into a half-smile as she looks me over, probably wondering who the hell I am and why I’m here to see Dane.
Don’t worry, honey. I’m not in this game.
“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, offering a polite apology. “Sorry I’m a little late, Dane.”
Dane stands from the table and brushes past the waitress—who looks slightly flustered and a tad peeved.
Or maybe that’s just my assumption based on my past experiences with women who wanted Dane.
She moves aside as Dane steps toward me with his arms out wide, and he encloses me in a warm embrace.
His spicy scent makes my tummy shimmy with fluttering nerves.
I return the hug by haphazardly wrapping my arms around his waist; he’s definitely bigger since the last time I felt him. He’s grown into a dedicated athlete who’s all hard muscle and broad-shouldered man. That strange thread of awareness returns, and my heart hammers inside my ribs.
Although the hug lasts for only the briefest of moments, I feel his coarse-stubbled jaw rub along my cheek as his face nuzzles into my neck.
There’s such a familiarity in our embrace, and a small hum of electricity ricochets up my arms. I immediately pull away, caught in a wave of nostalgia and sentiment.
“It’s really good to see you, Cherry.” He laughs. “I mean, Halle. It’s been a long time.” He gestures to the horseshoe booth, and I scoot in, placing my purse on the empty spot between us.
I inhale deeply and let the breath out, watching him as he tucks his tall body inside the intimate booth.
Now that we’re so close, I take a good look at him. Although I’ve seen him a few times in the last week, I haven’t had the opportunity to really appreciate the nuances and changes in his physical appearance.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a plain black T-shirt, the short sleeves showing off the smooth muscles of his biceps.
He sweeps a hand through his wavy hair, which is a shade darker and a tad longer than it was in Calgary, allowing him to tuck pieces behind his ears.
He used to keep it cut short to his scalp, saying it was easier to manage.
There’s a mass of dark stubble covering his strong, angular jaw. Even with the short beard, I can still see that divot in his chin that looks like someone pressed their thumb there upon his birth.
If he had taken a good look at Lennon when he met her, then he must’ve seen this unique physical attribute they share.
“How are you—” I begin, leaning an elbow on the table to look at him, when he jumps in at the same time with a very different question.
“Is she mine?”
Whoa.
Dane Axelrod does not waste time getting down to business.
He just throws out the easiest to ask, yet most difficult question in the universe for me to answer.
And I’m not sure I’m truly prepared for what will happen when I do.