Chapter One
Bodhi
A small, boney finger jabs my cheek for the third time in the past two minutes, pressing the skin against my teeth and staying there. I keep telling myself that if I pretend like I’m sleeping, she’ll go away. But then the finger will retreat, wait a few seconds, and poke me again.
“There’s a fire,” a tiny voice whispers, lurching me from the king-size bed I spent way too much fucking money on.
Without thinking twice, I hook an arm around the six-year-old standing beside my bed and book it to the front door with her tucked into my side like she’s a football.
If Pops were still alive, he’d probably find it comical.
He was a football coach for most of his life and tried convincing me for half of mine to be a running back or lineman.
Obviously, that didn’t pan out. And despite his disappointment in my love for hockey, the grouchy bastard attended almost all of my games until the very end.
I let the passing thought of my grandfather go, though, because there’s a fire. Except as I run through the house at a record-breaking speed to get Gemma out, I don’t hear any alarms or smell any smoke.
It isn’t until I’m almost at the front door when I hear her say, “Now that you’re up, can you make me pancakes?”
My steps slow to a jogging pace as I survey the house quickly. There is definitely no smoke or alarms going off. Nothing.
“Gemma,” I say slowly, still holding onto her sideways like she’s one of my grandpa’s pigskin footballs. I stop by the front door with my palm around the handle. “Did you say there was a fire to get me out of bed?”
The hesitation I’m greeted with tells me the answer before she eventually whispers, “Would I be in trouble if I said yes?”
Letting go of the door, I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
This kid—this forty-seven-pound little girl—might actually be the death of me.
Lowering her down until her bare feet touch the floor, I take a deep breath and remember what her Grandpa Joe, my ex’s father, told me when I fought to get custody.
“Parenting ain’t easy, kid, but it’s worth it. You’re about to find that out firsthand.”
Joseph and Helen Duran are good people who love their granddaughter unconditionally.
I didn’t want to fight them over Gemma, but they gave me little choice when their daughter Inez passed away.
I was never their favorite person after things ended badly between their daughter and I, so going against them in court was a shitshow.
They tried to claim I had little to do with Gemma, but they never pointed out that it was because of my demanding career and Inez’s lack of cooperation to let me see her after she was born.
My character was attacked, but worse than that, so was my ability to be a father.
It was never my intention to take away their granddaughter or restrict visitation.
Gemma needs them. Hell, I need them. When they realized that, they eased up on their smear campaign against me and we came to an agreement that suited everybody.
I helped get them a house on the outskirts of the city, and they have Gemma during the school week so she doesn’t have to switch districts again and make new friends somewhere else.
Squatting down to Gemma’s level, I take her little hands into mine and squeeze them gently to gain her attention.
When those round, green eyes meet mine, it’s like I’m staring at her mother all over again.
She’s a mini-me of the woman who gave me the greatest gift she could have, from the dark color of her brown hair to the round shape and color of her eyes, to her little button nose.
When she was a baby, I didn’t see it the same way Inez’s parents did.
But now, the resemblance is clear as day.
Pushing that heaviness away from my mind for the time being, I focus on the task at hand. “Saying there’s a fire when there isn’t one is very dangerous, Gemma. You can’t lie about things like that. You shouldn’t lie at all. Okay?”
Her bottom lip wobbles slightly. “But you weren’t waking up and my tummy wanted pancakes.”
I have to look away when she starts rubbing her stomach.
It’s hard to be serious when she does shit like that, but I know how important it is to keep a straight face.
It’s one of the many things Joe drilled into my head when I started coming around more often.
“Life isn’t a joke all the time. You can’t be her best friend.
You need to be her father. Can you handle that? ”
As much of a hard ass as he is, his advice is warranted. It’s a reminder that Gemma needs consistency—stability. I’m determined to show everybody that she has that with me despite the preconceived notions about me that they may have in their heads.
Clearing my throat, I nod once. “I understand you’re hungry, and I’m sorry I wasn’t waking up when you wanted me to.” I finally look at my watch and visibly flinch when I see it’s only five-thirty in the morning.
I didn’t leave the stadium until nearly ten last night thanks to the meeting coach wanted with me, then I had to drive an hour and a half to pick up Gemma from her grandparents, then drive an hour back to my place in New Jersey.
I should have taken them up on their offer to let her stay the night at their place outside of Poughkeepsie, but I have the next two days off thanks to our preseason schedule and want to make the most of them with her.
“You’re usually still sleeping until at least six-thirty, Cookie Monster.
” I smooth out some of the bedhead she’s rocking and tug at her Cookie Monster pajama shirt with a small smile.
It’s her favorite set—Inez bought it for her in every size so whenever she grew out of the old one, she had a new pair to replace it with. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shakes her head. “There are monsters in the closet. If I sleep, they might get me.”
Monsters. Right. Joe mentioned she’d been talking about monsters under her bed at their house. Helen says it started after they watched some animated movie about monsters in school or some weird shit.
“Do you want me to check out the closet to make sure they’re gone?” I ask her.
She looks over her shoulder at the stairs in contemplation before turning back to me with a nod. In as much seriousness as she can muster, she says, “But you need your costume for protection.”
By now, I know exactly what “costume” she’s referring to.
Which is why, twenty minutes later, I’m decked out in my old hockey equipment—from my helmet, chest protector, shoulder and elbow pads, down to my shin guards.
Just in case, is what Gemma said. Just in case what, you ask?
In case the invisible monster tries to kick me in the shins, tackle me to the ground, or hit me on the head with a shoe. Seems reasonable.
Gemma hides behind me as I make my way to her walk-in closet. Helen told me that any girl would be jealous of the space my daughter has for her wardrobe. In hindsight, I guess that means it’s prime real estate for monsters.
I open the door slowly and peak my head inside knowing that my six-year-old is watching carefully.
If I don’t do a thorough investigation to ensure there’s nothing here, I can forget about her having a successful nap this afternoon.
Which means no nap for me either, and sleep is high on my priority list right now.
“Hello?” I call into the empty room, looking around at the racks and built-in shelves.
“Be careful, Daddy!” Gemma says from behind me.
I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but that might just be my favorite.
It warms a piece of my chest that’s been a little frozen since Inez’s death.
Hell, since probably before then. I’ve never let anybody see that side of me, because it would mar my reputation as the fun-loving, carefree Bodhi Hoffman.
But it’s there, lingering on the nights I don’t have something or someone to otherwise occupy my thoughts.
It takes ten minutes for me to do a full sweep of the closet, including the dirty clothes hamper where Gemma insists one of them likes to hide. Once I convince her that there’s nothing hiding in any crack or crevice, I peel off my equipment and swipe a hand through my long, sweaty hair.
“Does this mean its pancake time?” she asks in a perky tone, already forgetting the fear she had over her resident closet monsters.
I can’t help but chuckle as I finish taking off the rest of the equipment. I’m in desperate need of a shower, but I could use a big stack of pancakes before I go about the day. “Yeah, Cookie Monster. Let’s go make some pancakes. I’ll even let you choose the toppings.”
Watching her run out of the room with a squeal of laughter, I smile past the bone-deep exhaustion. Joe is right. Parenting isn’t easy but hearing her giggles echo down the hall makes it all worth it.
*
I should have said no to what Coach Erikson asked me to do when he called me into his office yesterday.
If I’d known the meeting had nothing to do with the season, I would have made a swift exit to get Gemma sooner instead of listening to his forty-minute spiel that included a lot of unexpected ass-kissing.
Coach isn’t really the compliment-giving type, so alarm bells rang when he started off the conversation saying I was a ‘man of good character’ both on and off the ice.
Which is how I ended up driving two hours to the New York Aquarium with a very excited six-year-old prattling on about penguins and otters and seals while I tried not to lose my mind in the backed-up traffic.