Chapter 1 #2
“Then write it down. Don’t buy the bath. Everybody buys the bath. Use the sink.” A pause. “Actually, buy the bath. Your sink is an orc sink and she’ll drown in it. What’s her name?”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie,” Elena repeated, in a completely different voice, and there was a suspicious sound in the background. She sighed. “Korvash, stop crying.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You’re leaking.”
“It’s allergies.”
Rognar laughed for what felt like the first time all afternoon. By the time he ended the call, he had a list long enough to qualify as an equipment inventory and strict instructions to call back if he had questions about anything.
He also had a message from Tarmek demanding to know why he’d missed skate without notifying his captain. Three minutes later he received another one, informing him that Korvash had explained the situation and that he was excused from practice until further notice.
That one made him smile.
Charlie let out a high, ecstatic shriek at a passing display of stuffed dragons, the sound bouncing off the linoleum and turning three shoppers’ heads.
She twisted around in the seat to keep eye contact with the dragons, one fist stretched out, and her whole face bright with wanting.
He grabbed the dragon off the shelf. Charlie clutched it to her chest and buried her face in it with a sigh so contented it nearly took him out at the knees.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “The dragon stays.”
He couldn’t decode the nipple wall but he had a list. He could buy.
He knew how to buy. He bought a crib and a mattress, because apparently those were separate things.
Sheets with pink elephants on them. A monitor.
A high chair. A whale-shaped bathtub. Diapers in two sizes.
Wipes. Formula. Tiny spoons. Tiny socks that barely fit over one of his fingers and made something uncomfortable happen to his throat.
He had made a professional career out of figuring things out at speed. He’d learned new systems, new coaches, new linemates, and new opponents. He knew how to watch and adjust and try again. Being terrible at something the first time didn’t mean you stayed terrible at it.
He was going to figure this out too.
He was almost certain of it.
It was nearly five when he pulled into his driveway, and he had never been so grateful to see his own garage door.
The truck was absurdly full. The crib and the mattress and the other furniture filled most of the bed.
Bags occupied the passenger seat and footwells.
Charlie was asleep in the new car seat, her cheek resting against the side, and one tiny fist curled beneath her chin.
His house looked exactly the way it had when he left that morning.
It was a comfortable house in a quiet neighborhood built in the fifties, when houses were small and lots were big.
The previous owner had opened up the walls to create one long living area across the back of the house that opened onto a patio and the big backyard.
Hockey equipment usually took up most of the garage, and there were more sneakers by the back door than any one person reasonably needed, but the place was a home.
A home that had absolutely no idea a baby was about to move into it.
He sat for a moment with the engine off and glanced towards the neighboring yard. Nora Bennett was standing beside the low fence with a watering can in one hand because five o’clock was when Nora watered things.
His neighbor was small and dark-haired and permanently unimpressed.
In the twelve months since he’d bought the house on Alder Street, she had perfected an expression just for him.
Level, over-the-glasses skepticism—a woman doing sums in her head and not liking the total.
He’d thought about that expression considerably more often than was reasonable.
He knew exactly what Nora thought of him.
He’d seen it every time teammates crowded his driveway, and every time laughter from a team dinner carried across the fence.
Nora Bennett had taken one look at the cheerful, flirtatious hockey player next door and apparently decided she knew everything worth knowing about him.
He probably should have been offended. Mostly, he found it entertaining. There were few things he enjoyed more than aiming his best smile at Nora and watching her become visibly more suspicious. Today, however, he was in no shape for the game.
He got out of the truck carefully, easing the door shut.
Nora’s gaze moved over him, then to the boxes filling the back of the truck.
Her eyebrows drew together. He considered, for one heroic moment, playing it cool.
He could wave, carry everything inside, and pretend this was a perfectly ordinary Monday.
Then Charlie stirred in the back seat and made a small, sleepy, unmistakable sound.
Nora froze, and her gaze snapped towards the truck. He gave her his smile. The good one. The one that had gotten him out of speeding tickets, into dinner invitations, and onto the good side of bartenders across half the league. It came out at maybe forty percent.
“Afternoon, neighbor.”
Nora didn’t answer. She stared at the back seat while he opened the door and lifted out the carrier. Charlie blinked awake, and Nora took one step towards the fence. Her eyes went from the infant carrier to him, then back to the small green baby inside it.
“What,” she said slowly, “is that?”
He looked down at Charlie. Charlie chose that exact moment to catch sight of Nora. Her eyes widened. Her tiny tusks appeared as her entire face broke into a delighted gummy smile.
He sighed and looked back at his neighbor.
“Apparently,” he said, “my daughter.”