Chapter 18
Dane
“It’s your call, dickhead.”
I snap my gaze up from the five cards I have fanned in my hand and look through the haze of stogie smoke for the source of the interruption. It was Rossco, who sits to my right at the poker table and who is guffawing over my lack of attention.
“Jesus Christ, Ax. I don’t know where your head is tonight—probably up your ass—but keep it up, bruh, and I’m going home a rich man.”
The guys all laugh and snicker at his typical nonsensical comment. I scoff with a severe roll of my eyes.
“You already are a rich fucker, Rossy.” I retort, flipping him off and then mean-mugging the four other guys at the table.
“So are all of you, motherfuckers.” Because every one of us at this game table are multimillion-dollar players.
Well, except Case and Shaw, the rookies.
They’re both still at league minimum, having been just called up from the minors.
Tonight’s our monthly poker game at Case Lyons’s and Shaw Bennings’s shared condo.
It’s become something of a rite of passage for each season’s rookies to host the regular parties at their place.
It’s our way of getting them to step up and be part of the team off the ice.
It’s also fun to have them wait on us hand and foot.
Although, Costa makes all of us chip in to cover the tab for the food and drinks so it’s not on the rookies’ dime.
But tonight is not my night for much of anything. I’ve already lost three hands in a row, and my chips are dwindling fast.
With a sigh of annoyed defeat, I lay my cards face down on the poker table with a curse. “Fuck, I’m out. I fold.”
Through hoots and hollers, and even a “Fuck yeah” from Brewer, I slink back in my chair and run a hand through my mussed-up hair. I’m not even sure I combed it after we finished our workouts earlier.
For being the most obtuse on the team, Rossco’s not wrong about me. I do have my head in the clouds. That’s not to say I haven’t been killing it on the ice, even scoring goals in each of our three last games, but outside of that, all I can do is wait impatiently for Halle’s answer.
I’ve been called a lot of things in my life but patient is not one of them. It’s been over two weeks now since our lunch, and it’s been complete radio silence. I’m not sure how much longer I can hack it without hearing from her.
The night after we had lunch, I took the paternity test and sent it directly to the lab. Within a week it was confirmed that Lenni is indeed my daughter. Without a shred of doubt.
Honestly, I knew it subconsciously the first time I met Lennon and then once Halle confirmed it, even before I’d even received the results. And I didn’t waste time letting Halle know either.
Me: I just got the results back. 99.9% positive.
Me: So, have you given it more thought? Can we talk?
It took her a good hour to finally respond to me that night, and all I got back from her was a valid excuse to delay.
Cherry: Not now. Lenni has been running a temp and feeling sick.
Having never been around a sick kid, I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but I wanted her to know I was available if she needed me.
Me: Call me if I can help out. Hope she gets better soon.
Cherry: Thanks.
That was the last I heard from her, and that was five days ago. Shouldn’t a kid be better by now? I googled it and then started to worry profusely when I saw the list of all the terrible things that can make a child sick.
Part of me wants to call Halle and demand she tell me what was going on with our daughter. I’m ready to fucking go. I want to be there for both Halle and Lennon.
But I also want to respect Halle’s boundaries.
She’s been a parent for over four years while I’ve known for less than a week that I’ve fathered a child.
I have zero experience to draw on, so I’ve kept a tight rein on my demands and expectations.
I told her I would wait for her and I will, even though it’s making me a grump to be around tonight.
And that honor usually goes to Wolf.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear my phone ring from my jeans pocket. Wolf nudges me in my side.
“Bruh, isn’t that your phone?”
I snap my head at him, and he lifts his eyebrows.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” I pull out the phone and stare down at the name that lights up on the display.
Cherry
Holy shit. Is this happening now?
I stand up with so much force that I knock the chair off its legs and then step back from the table.
“I gotta take this.” I waggle my phone in the air, as if my teammates don’t understand what a person does with a ringing phone.
Then I lift my chin toward Lyons, who is on the couch with a game controller in his hands and playing some war game with Canners, who surprised us all by showing up tonight.
“Yo, Canners. You want to take my spot next round? I’m out.”
Cannfield flicks his gaze away from the giant-screen TV and gives me a look, gesturing with his chin toward the screen. “Fuck off. I’m beating the rookie right now.”
I shrug my shoulder and head toward the sliding glass door that leads to the rookies’ deck. Which is eight floors up from the ground. I’m not big on heights, so I stay close to the wall as I step outside and answer the call.
“Hello? Halle?”
The line is silent for a moment and then I hear a sickly moan.
“Dane…” she croaks out, thick and hoarse, but not in any sensual way. More like she’s rasping for air. I can hear her lungs rattle.
I’m immediately on high alert. Her voice is usually chipper and bubbly, often with a bit of sarcasm. Had it not been her contact’s name on my display, I wouldn’t have recognized her. She does not sound good at all.
“Cherry? What’s going on?” I say, panic and dread icing through my limbs.
I hear something on the other end of the line that sounds vaguely like Lenni singing a song in the background.
“I… really… sick,” she groans out, the words stumbling out of her like they cost her dearly to say each one. “Need sleep. Need you.”
Hearing those words is enough to fill me with superhuman strength. I will take a flying leap off this eighth-floor balcony just to be there because she asked. I will be there to do whatever she needs from me.
“Send me your address, I’ll be right there.”
* * *
The guys barely bat an eye when I tell them I have to leave unexpectedly. Rossco provides his own commentary on my departure, stating I was probably heading out to meet up with two hot chicks who would console me over my horrible loss tonight.
Well, he got part of that right.
I plug in the address Halle sent me and consider what I might find when I get to her house.
She sounded terrible and out of it, like maybe she was even delirious from fever.
I don’t know anything about how to take care of someone else when they’re sick.
The only experience I’ve ever had was when one of my former juniors teammates, Beau Withers, got wasted on Rumple Minze shots and puked all over the shared bathroom of our hotel.
I had to clean that shit up, and to this day, if I get one whiff of that noxious mint flavor, I end up gagging.
My map app tells me I’m less than two blocks away from her neighborhood, and as I near the street I’m slated to turn onto, I notice a small convenience store on the corner.
I flip on my signal and turn into the parking lot. I park haphazardly in front of the store and run in to search for some kind of cold and flu remedies, maybe a carton of orange juice and some premade soup.
While I wait for the seemingly bored-out-of-his-mind checkout clerk to scan through my haul, I see some kids’ toys on the display rack over the conveyor belt and add one to my purchases.
Heading back to the car, I pull out of the lot and turn down a quiet residential street with small, similar-looking ramblers and bungalows lining both sides of the tree-lined road. I peer at each house number until I find hers.
Once I reach her small, white, one-story home, I turn into a short, paved driveway.
A detached garage with the door shut tight sits further back behind the house, and a chain-link fence wraps around the backyard.
Although it’s dark, I see a tricycle and some toys strewn across the yard and smile to myself.
I’m glad Lenni has a safe place to play. I park my car in the driveway next to the small bungalow and turn off the engine. Opening the car door, I unload the bag of groceries to the sounds of neighborhood dogs barking at my appearance.
Walking toward the front door, I’m hit with a niggle of worry in my stomach.
I’m not sure what Halle expects from me tonight, but going in cold has me a bit worried if I can handle it.
I push the anxiety away and climb the three cement block steps that lead to her front door, giving myself a pep talk. I play against some of the toughest two-hundred-pound men in the league, and I’ve managed to deke, outskate, and outscore them with ease.
This will be a piece of cake.
Shifting the bag into the crook of my left arm, I ring the security doorbell and wait.
Tiny footsteps padding to the door can be heard from inside, and I inhale a breath, expelling it slowly as the door creaks open and I come face-to-face with my daughter.
Lennon’s face is covered in what looks like an explosion of chocolate, like she took a bath in a tub of Hershey syrup.
She looks up at me with those wide eyes the same color and shape of mine, blinking rapidly as if she’s trying to remember how she knows me.
“Hey, Lennon.”
“My mama’s sick,” she explains by way of greeting, her mouth turning down into a slight frown.
I kneel on one leg so I’m down at her level and place the bag of groceries next to my foot.
“I know. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m Ax, remember me?”
She tips her head to the side and considers this information. Then she gives a swift nod and swings the door open, taking off into the room and leaving me out on the front step. I pick up the bag and stand, peering into the house after her.
“Halle?” I call out quietly, scanning the front room and the kitchen next to it to see if she’s around.
But the only things I see are a pile of throw blankets on the couch and a mess of toys on the floor in every direction.
It looks like a tornado upended the toy box and threw everything across the room.
“Lennon, where’s your mommy?” I ask as I place the grocery bag on the kitchen table. I crane my neck down a small hallway that looks like it leads to the bedrooms and try to listen for any noise coming from the back of the house.
Lenni swivels around and points to the long couch that faces a TV and fireplace lining the wall. And sure enough, it’s then that I notice a tuft of messy auburn hair sticking out from underneath. To further confirm it’s her, the blankets shift when her body shakes with a coughing fit.
“Come play a game with me, Ax,” Lenni demands, seemingly unfazed by her mother’s state of distress as she grabs my hand to lead me into the living room.
And that’s all it takes. Apparently, four-year-olds need no further proof or formal identification when looking for a friend to play with.
Looks like my first task in dad mode will be to discuss the topic of stranger danger.