Chapter One #2
All for some estranged daughter I didn’t even know Coach had.
After ten years of playing for his team, I’ve come to know him and his wife pretty well.
It’s hard not to when you’re constantly surrounded by the same people at events, games, and dinners.
My family doesn’t travel much from my hometown in Vermont, so I’ve been adopted by other families here.
And not once did Coach or Sylvia ever mention having a kid.
Correction.
A grown daughter.
I didn’t see that one coming.
Just like I didn’t see Coach Erikson asking me to show her around the area to reacquaint her with the city.
I’m not sure why he took it upon me to be the welcoming committee to his adult kid when he’d be free today too, but here we are.
Because I stupidly agreed to meet up at one of her favorite places to break the ice.
The only positive thing about this is that Gemma loves aquariums. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve taken her to Brooklyn to see the exhibits that don’t change as often as I’d like considering I spend too much time here.
She could probably lead her own guided tour throughout every exhibit and spew out the same facts the employees can without thinking twice.
Gemma tugs on my shirt as we stop by the front entrance. “Are we going to see the giant pussy?”
That earns us a few surprised head turns, and a couple amused snickers from the crowd of people passing by.
Clearing my throat, I look down at her. I’m going to kill my best friend, Sebastian, for calling it that in front of her last time we came. Payback will be a bitch when his son Beckham starts repeating every word he hears. “It’s called an octopus, Gem. And yes.”
“His name is Chuck!” she exclaims to anyone who will listen.
But it’s New York, and very few people actually pay attention.
It’s one of the nice things about the city.
I can walk around and, most of the time, not get recognized.
Once in a while somebody will stop and ask for a picture or an autograph, but it’s not as often as people probably think.
I’d like to think that pulling my sandy, shoulder-length hair up into a bun and stuffing it into a Yankee’s baseball cap helps.
But I’ve been told the hat and glasses combo doesn’t do much when you’re six-foot-four and built like a brick house on steroids.
Apparently, that tends to draw attention—whether it’s from hockey fans or not.
“Can we go in now?” Gemma asks for the tenth time in the last five minutes. “It’s hot.”
It is abnormally hot for September. The car’s thermometer said it was pushing eighty-five when I looked at it on the way down, which is ten degrees higher than the average this time of year.
“Soon, Cookie Monster. We’re waiting for a friend. Remember? Coach Erikson’s daughter is joining us today. You can tell her all about your favorite animals.”
She frowns up at me. “Is she your friend? Because the only friends I have are Grandpa Joe, Grandma Helen, you, and Hannah.”
A ping of hurt, and a little bit of jealousy, radiates in my chest when I hear that I’m third on her list. I don’t care what Joe says. I have a lot of friends, but Gemma is undoubtedly the best one out of the bunch.
I don’t want to lie to her about who Coach’s daughter is to me, but I’m not sure how to explain that I’m doing this as a favor for my boss.
“She’s more of an acquaintance.” Well, a stranger, but I’m not going to explain that to Gemma knowing fifty questions will follow about how we’re not supposed to talk to strangers.
I got that lecture when someone drove by the house while I was out checking the mail and waved at them without knowing who they were.
“You know what? Yeah. I guess she is sort of a friend.”
I’m paying attention to Gemma’s thoughtful expression when I hear someone snort. “Real convincing,” a new voice interrupts, snapping my attention up.
Holy shit. The curvy redheaded bombshell standing in front of us is holding onto a leash that’s attached to a golden retriever with a service vest on.
It’s hard to pay any mind to her canine companion when she’s wearing a pair of jean shorts that snuggly hug her hips and a faded Rangers T-shirt that looks cut at the neckline to show off more of her cleavage.
And there is a lot of cleavage to be seen.
I really hope this isn’t Erikson’s daughter, because my dick is on full attention right now staring at her full chest.
All hopes are dashed when she asks, “You’re Bodhi, right?” Her eyes, which are some shade of brown that I can’t tell in the sunlight, give me a thorough onceover.
Familiarity hits me when her eyes land on mine, but I can’t place it. I take her in, really take her in, and try figuring out where I’ve seen her before. Maybe there are pictures at Coach’s place. He’s hosted the team plenty of times, so it isn’t unlikely that I walked by one of her.
Although, I can’t say I would have forgotten a face like hers. Her lips are full in a pouty kind of way, and her eyes are round and bright despite the color being darker and cautious. Her cheeks are rounder, her facial features soft, but I can sense a barrier around her as she stares at me.
Silently willing my dick to calm down, I stick my hand out.
“That’s me. Bodhi Hoffman. And you’re…?” Erikson never actually told me his daughter’s name.
Did he? I was too busy thinking about getting Gemma, beating traffic, and faceplanting in bed when he was talking about the favor he wanted from me.
Damn, I feel like an idiot.
Coach’s daughter stares down at my hand with a small frown tilting her full lips. Is she a germaphobe? The city is probably the last place she’d want to be considering the garbage, used needles, and piss littering a lot of the sidewalks and streets.
Her tongue drags across her lip as if she’s contemplating something before shaking her head and putting her hand in mine. Her grasp seems limp, like she doesn’t want to be touching me. “Go figure my father didn’t even tell you my name after dragging you out here to babysit me.”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “He didn’t ask me to—”
Gemma tugs on my shirt again. “Daddy, I thought only little kids get babysat? You says I can’t stay home alone and that Grandma and Grandpa has to watch me.”
“It’s ‘said’ not ‘says’, Gemma,” I correct her, ruffling the hair I haphazardly put into pigtails before we left.
She told me they need work. I told her I’d make sure to watch a video tutorial on it next time.
It seemed to appease her. “And you’re way too young to be home alone. Ask me again in fifteen years.”
Erikson’s daughter laughs lightly, still holding onto my hand that I’d forgotten I extended. “You sound like my dad.” She lets go first, turning to my daughter. “Some parents don’t understand boundaries. You’ll get used to it.”
Gemma frowns at her. “What are bou…boun-dar-ies?”
I sigh at the perpetual stranger. She may be hot, but it’s obvious she has some unresolved issues with her dad that I don’t want to be dumped onto my kid.
“Can you not instill advice like that on my six-year-old, please?” I ask her dryly.
She flinches, then holds up her free hand in surrender.
“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” she promises, lowering her hand down to scratch between her dog’s ears.
Her chest rises with a silent inhale before exhaling slowly.
“I’m Honor, by the way, and this is Puck.
Before you say anything, I named him after the Shakespeare character, not after hockey. ”
I nod my chin toward her shirt. “So you’re not a fan of the game then?”
She makes a twisted face, like the question offends her. Her eyes, which I decide are a caramel color, dull. “Not really. I only wore this to make myself stand out since I was meeting you. It’s been in my dresser for forever.”
Not a fan of the game I play professionally.
Got it.
Today should be fun.
“Can I pet your dog?” Gemma asks, already walking toward Puck.
I stop her. “He’s a working dog, Gem. We can’t touch dogs while they’re working.”
Looking up, I meet Honor’s eyes to see if I’m right. She’s smiling. “He’s right, you always need to ask before touching a working dog because some handlers can’t have them distracted. But you can go ahead and pet Puck. He loves attention.”
Puck’s tail wags as Gemma approaches him, scratching his sides and giggling when he licks her face.
“What is his job?” Gemma asks Honor, paying attention to only Puck. “Does he get paid a lot?”
I almost scold her for asking, but Honor answers her without hesitation. “He’s an epilepsy dog trained to detect seizures. Puck can sense when I’m about to have an episode, alert me, and respond to ensure I don’t get hurt. He can even call for help by pressing a button. Pretty cool, huh?”
Even though Gemma has no idea what any of that means, she nods. “I like Puck.”
I study Honor as she watches my daughter. There’s a softness to her that Coach definitely lacks. She must get that from her mother, who I’m starting to doubt is Sylvia because they look nothing alike. Other than her eyes, I barely see Coach in her features.
She catches me staring, raising one of her eyebrows in silent inquiry. My gut tightens, and I try placing the feeling with no luck.
It’s Gemma who breaks the silence. “Can we get a dog, Daddy?”
Honor laughs quietly to herself as I scratch the column of my throat. “Dogs are a lot of work, Cookie Monster. My schedule would make it hard to train one.”
“Grandpa Joe said we could get a dog.”
My cheek twitches. I’m sure he did. I can’t blame the guy for wanting to get Gemma whatever she wants. She’s a hard kid to say no to.
“We’ll talk about it later” is all I tell her.
Honor gestures toward the aquarium. “Ready to go in? I’m sweating in places I don’t want to sweat in. If I knew how hot it’d be, I would have worn something cooler.”
It’s already hard not staring at her legs, so I’m glad she didn’t opt for a dress or something more revealing.
I grab ahold of Gemma’s hand and nod toward the entrance. “Let’s go. I have the tickets on my phone.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she tries. “I could have gotten my—”
“I know, but it’s my treat. Your dad said you just moved back into the area, and this is your favorite place.”
Her nose scrunches as we walk side by side into the building. The air conditioning blows her hair off her shoulders, revealing a little tattoo peeking out from the neckline. I don’t know why, but I have a sudden urge to see what it is.
“This was my favorite place when I was, like, ten,” she replies, looking around. “Doesn’t look like it’s changed much.”
Internally sighing, I stop in the short line of people getting their tickets scanned. I don’t know what to say, or why I’m even here. Especially if this isn’t somewhere Honor wants to be. “Well, it’s one of Gemma’s favorite places. I know she’ll be happy to look around.”
We’re quiet for what feels like forever as we move up in line. After we get the QR codes scanned on my phone, Gemma bounces up and down as she leads us to the first exhibit.
“…and there are seahorses and coral and fish and clams and shells!” she tells us, pointing at all the different displays like a rabbit on speed.
As she presses her face against one of the glass cases that have coral lit up in rainbow colors, I turn to Honor.
“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.
I can tell your dad that you came, had a great time, and it was a successful day.
I’m not going to force you to spend time with me and my daughter. ”
The offer makes her nibble her bottom lip in contemplation. Just when I think she’s going to tell me she’ll stay, she pulls her phone out and types something on the screen.
When she’s done, she looks up at me with a big smile on her face that seems forced. “I really appreciate that, actually. I’ve got somewhere I need to be. I’m sure my dad will be ecstatic to know I had a good time with you guys. I’ll see you around!”
In a blink of an eye, she and Puck are gone.
I shake my head slowly, wondering what the hell just happened as she disappears.
Gemma turns around. “Where’s Puck? I want to show him the seashells.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I come up with a lame excuse. “He and Honor had to go run an errand they forgot about.”
I wince at how bad the line is, but Gemma doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she takes my hand and asks, “So can we get a dog?”