Chapter 16
Levi
Settling into the extra-wide window seat on the team plane, I’d barely slipped on my noise-canceling headphones when someone plopped down beside me, nudging my shoulder.
I inwardly groaned. I’d planned to use the hour-and-a-half flight to Phoenix to dive into the limb loss podcast that Maisie’s physical therapist recommended, but that would be impossible with a needy seatmate.
When I saw that it was my captain who’d joined me, I swallowed down my annoyance. He had been nothing but understanding when I’d all but tricked him into serving as a witness at my wedding, while simultaneously making him an accessory in our deception of the courts.
“What’s up?” I tugged on my headphones so that they rested around my neck.
Cole tracked the move. “Sorry, I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re listening to in a minute. But I just wanted to check in on you, see how things were going at home.”
“There’s a steep learning curve, but we’re figuring it out.”
He chuckled. “You sure jumped in with both feet, didn’t you? Went from bachelor to married with two kids like that.” The sharp snap of his fingers sounded.
“Damn, Nixon.” Jagger’s head popped up from the seat behind us. “You pick up a single mom? I mean, it makes sense. You’re kinda old, so all the hot chicks your age were scooped up a long time ago, but that shit’s messy.” He shuddered. “Baby-daddy drama is no fucking joke.”
Cole raised an eyebrow at the defenseman. “What do you know about baby-daddy drama?”
Our young teammate cringed. “I may or may not have picked up a woman at the club last year who was fresh off a divorce and looking for a good time. She didn’t realize it, but her psycho ex had put a tracker on her phone.
Dude started beating down my front door when we were mid-fuck, pissed as hell that she’d dumped the kids on him so she could get laid. Never lost a boner faster in my life.”
Crew snorted from across the aisle. “That’s fucked up and hilarious at the same time.”
Jagger held his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is you gotta have your head on a swivel if you’re stepping in as daddy to some other guy’s kids, Levi.”
I bit back a smile. “Noted.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t marry a single mom,” Cole teased.
“Wait.” Jagger frowned. “I thought I heard you say something about two kids?”
“She’s got custody of her younger brother,” I explained.
Using his fingers to count, he said, “Okay, that’s one.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and tapped the side button, and the lock screen lit up with a picture of Maisie in the aqua dress she wore on my wedding day. “The second is my daughter. Just found out about her two weeks ago.”
His green eyes grew large, and his mouth dropped open. “No shit.”
I hummed. “Yeah, came as a shock to me too.”
“What’s this I hear about a kid coming out of the woodwork?” Coach loomed over us from the aisle, brows drawn down.
Turning my phone in his direction, I beamed with pride as I announced, “This is my girl, Maisie.”
Instead of him offering his congratulations, the grooves in Davenport’s forehead only grew deeper. “You get a DNA test?”
“Yeah, just waiting on the results.”
He grunted. “Good. You can never be too careful.”
I waved off his concern. “Don’t really need it, though. She’s the spitting image of my sister when she was that age.”
“Regardless, get a good lawyer and nail down an ironclad child support agreement. It’s one thing to take care of your kid, another to allow the mother to take you to the cleaners because you lost control of one of your swimmers.”
Jagger leaned forward even more, whispering, “Sounds like Coach has experience in accidentally knocking women up.”
“I was young once, too, you know.” Our bench boss shoved one hand into his pocket. “And since you’re so curious, yes, I do have three adult children, born to three different mothers, none of whom I was in a relationship with when they were conceived.”
Three? Jesus. You’d think he would have learned to wrap it up after the first whoopsie.
Says the man who’s only gone bare with one woman, and she’s not the mother of his child.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t be so judgmental about Coach’s family situation, seeing as mine wasn’t too much different.
Davenport issued a stern warning. “Make sure to be smart, Nixon. Protect your assets.”
“Yes, sir.”
Satisfied that I’d gotten the message, he continued his trek toward the back of the plane, likely in search of the restroom since the coaching staff usually sat up front.
Jagger blew out a breath. “Man, he’s intense.”
“And apparently, a bit of a manwhore,” Crew chimed in.
We all burst out laughing.
Gripping my side, I wheezed out, “How much you wanna bet he barks orders in bed like he does on the ice?”
Cole got in on the fun, imitating Coach’s gruff voice. “Less teeth! You’re sucking a dick, not competing in a hot dog eating contest.”
Our howls of amusement only grew louder.
“Oh my God, I can totally picture it,” Jagger managed to say, gasping for breath.
“Shh.” Crew widened his eyes. “He’s coming back this way.”
The four of us zipped our lips but were unable to keep a few errant snickers from escaping when Coach passed by.
This was nice. Joking around with my teammates.
I’d thought I was hot shit in Connecticut, coming straight from the draft to the pros, and winning a championship early in my career didn’t do anything to temper my ego.
I wasn’t well-liked within the locker room, which I could admit was my fault.
Focused only on myself, I saw everyone else as a threat—the guy who stole my spot on the starting line, the ones who got special teams play when I didn’t, those who wore a letter on their jerseys.
Because of that, I found myself on the fringe, watching from the outside while everyone else was part of a close-knit brotherhood, and that only made me resent them more.
Getting my ass traded might have seemed like a punishment, but maybe it was the fresh start I so desperately needed.
Another game, another battle.
We were putting up goals, but so was our opponent, the Phoenix Pythons, and we’d found ourselves in the middle of an old-fashioned shootout. Exiting the ice after the horn sounded at the end of the second period, we were tied at six.
My teammates and I filed into the locker room, everyone shucking different pieces of gear for the twenty-minute intermission designated to give players time to rest and refuel.
I grabbed an energy bar and a sports drink before heading to my assigned stall. Dropping onto my ass, I untied and loosened my skate laces, letting out a sigh of relief.
“This bullshit ends now!”
Coach’s booming voice could be heard from the hallway, and everyone’s spines straightened as he came into view, pissed off and red-faced.
“Six goals,” he huffed. “Six fucking goals. That’s more than this team has scored during any game this season. But it’s not enough because YOU KEEP LETTING THEM TAKE CLEAR SHOTS!”
Those screamed words echoed in the silence that followed, a few guys flinching at the loud volume.
“Here’s how the third period’s gonna go, boys.
You’re going to put your bodies in front of every shot attempt, and I swear to God, if I see one of you move out of the way, I’m going to tie you to a motherfucking chair next practice and let the whole goddamn team line up to take slapshots. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Coach,” we replied in unison.
He turned on his heel to leave, shaking his head and muttering, “Fucking amateur hour in here.”
Cole stood, tossing his shoulder pads over his head, and then he addressed the team. “I think by now we know he’s not bluffing. So let’s make those bruises worth it and walk out of here with a win!”
A cheer rang out, and the rest of us rose to our feet, suiting up with a renewed sense of determination.
Hitting the ice for the third period, I took a few laps and got into position for the face-off. The ref dropped the puck, and Cole was quick to win it back to his brother. An up-pass to Dylan at the blue line, and we were in the offensive zone, ready to go to work and take the lead.
Unfortunately for us, the Pythons weren’t going down without a fight, and their six-eight enforcer checked Dylan behind the net, separating him from the puck, and soon the action was moving in the opposite direction, toward our own goalie.
Busting my ass, I skated hard on the backcheck, supporting the defense against the opposing team’s rush, but despite slamming the puck carrier into the boards, he was able to dump it deep, allowing the Pythons to set up possession in our zone.
Letting Crew and Jagger take care of business down low, I floated near the point, keeping an eye on the Pythons defensemen standing guard at the blueline.
We attempted to break up their passes but were unsuccessful, and they cycled the puck with ease, searching for the perfect opportunity to fire it toward the net.
Stuck in the defensive zone, our shift extended past the typical thirty to forty-five seconds, and by the time it approached two minutes of ice time, we were on dead legs, barely able to move.
Our opponents took full advantage, changing on the fly to bring in fresh bodies. Like sharks smelling blood in the water, they were circling for the kill.
You could feel it in the air; a goal was inevitable if we couldn’t clear the zone.
Thighs burning, it felt as though I was skating through a sea of molasses instead of cutting across smooth ice, and I couldn’t break up the pass to the man I was covering.
He moved along the blue line, and I positioned myself to take away any potential pass to the slot as Cole pressured him.
Pulling his stick back, like he was about to take a slapshot, he brought the blade down, sending it to his defensive partner, who quickly sent a wrist shot careening toward the net.
With Coach’s threat looming, I put my body directly in front of the fast-moving puck. Exhausted out of my mind, I didn’t even register the height of the shot. Not until pain exploded between my legs, stealing both my breath and my vision.
I dropped like a rock, my body torn between the need to puke or pass out. Agony unlike I’d ever known lit up my insides, radiating outward, and I wanted to fucking die.
Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard the sharp sound of a whistle.
Then Jagger’s voice said, “Guess it’s a good thing you already have a kid because I don’t think you’ll be able to have any more.”
All I could manage was a weak whimper as I cupped my crotch with both hands.
Man down.