Chapter 9

Foster

My eyes sweep across the large expanse of the team’s family lounge located on the bottom floor of the arena, just down from the locker room. It’s a place where family and close friends can congregate both before and after games. Filled with plush furniture and rectangular dining tables, the lounge always has a buffet available. My eyes immediately locate Mazzy by her mass of fiery red hair and warmth floods through me when I see that Bowie Jane is fast asleep in her lap as they sit on one of the couches.

It’s been nine days since Bowie Jane returned to Pittsburgh with me and she and Mazzy have bonded well. Currently, Mazzy is engaged in animated conversation with Kiera McGinn, who is not only our goalie Drake’s sister, but she’s dating Bain Hillridge, a first-line defenseman.

I weave through the crowd, accepting congratulations from those I know. When I reach Mazzy and Bowie Jane, I lean over the back of the sofa and press a kiss on the top of my daughter’s head. She doesn’t twitch a muscle, which means she’s knocked out cold.

Mazzy twists her neck to look at me and I grin. “Did you drug my kid?”

Her tone is droll… perfectly Mazzy. “Yes. A sweet cocktail of heavy barbiturates with a shot of bourbon.”

Laughing, I walk around the couch, lifting a hand to Kiera who says, “Great game.”

“For the entire two minutes you played,” Mazzy says with a faux pout. She knew I’d hardly get any ice time, given this is the last preseason game, but that she can tease me about it pretty much sums up how our relationship has progressed.

I’ve been busy with camp and Mazzy has been putting in the time needed to get to know my kid. She took her clothes shopping the day we arrived, and they apparently had way too much fun because they came in loaded with bags and bags of stuff that Bowie Jane insisted was necessary. I then had to suffer through a fashion show as Mazzy helped her dress in a variety of outfits and then provided runway commentary as my daughter strutted a makeshift catwalk through the living room.

Sadly, texts to Sandra to show her outfits and get her advice went unanswered. That night I shot her a blistering text telling her to get the chip off her shoulder and act like a mom. She didn’t respond.

Bowie Jane started school and seems to be settling in fine. She’s always been a good student with a thirst for learning. When she’s in school, sometimes Mazzy will leave the house for the day and I have no clue where she goes or what she does with her time. I suspect she might be over at her parents’ or maybe even hanging out with friends. Or perhaps she has a boyfriend. I haven’t asked that question nor am I going to. None of my business.

Sometimes she stays at the house though. Although I’ve asked her not to, she maintains the household. She organized my pantry and cleaned out the fridge one day. She insisted on taking over the grocery shopping since she’ll mostly be the one cooking for Bowie Jane.

Of the time we have spent around each other, we’ve developed an easy friendship. I know I’m her employer and that she’s working for me to care for my child, but it’s hard to be formal around a woman such as Mazzy. She’s a stickler for the rules and can be stern with Bowie Jane, as well as me when needed, but those times are rare. She’s mostly always laughing with a funny joke or quip on the tip of her tongue, and I appreciate it so much because it’s been nice to hear my child laugh as much as she has over the last several days. Lord knows her mother has not given her much reason to, offering little but a cold shoulder.

Sandra can deny it until she’s blue in the face, but I know she thinks Bowie Jane said something to the judge that caused him to rule in my favor.

While I have not asked Bowie Jane what she talked to the judge about, because I believe that to be sacred and private, she volunteered it to me. Even though she’s only ten years old, she’s not stupid. She knows her mom assumes she said something bad and is punishing her by lack of contact.

Night before last, Bowie Jane and I were watching a movie on the couch and she sort of blurted it all out to me.

“Daddy… I think Mom is mad at me for what I said to the judge, but I didn’t say anything bad about her. I swear.”

I want to be reassuring but I also want the blame for this to lie with Sandra. “What you and the judge talked about is private and nobody’s business. Your mom will get over it.”

“I don’t think she will. She hardly ever calls. And every time she does, Chet is always there. Such a stupid name. Chet.”

Chuckling, I put my arm around her and drew her in tight. “Chet is a completely stupid name,” I say, a tiny white lie. I don’t think it’s a stupid name, but she needs somebody on her side right now.

Luckily, Bowie Jane hasn’t been too low into the doldrums and that’s probably credited to Mazzy who is so completely engaged with my kid when they’re together. I know she feels seen, cared for and secure. The proof is in the fact that my daughter is sleeping in Mazzy’s arms, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“How about we get this rug rat to bed,” I say to Mazzy as I reach to take Bowie Jane from her lap. She settles easily in my arms and rests her head against my shoulder.

Mazzy rises from the couch and Kiera stands with her. The two women hug and Mazzy says, “It was lovely to meet you.”

“It was great meeting you too. We’ll get together soon.”

Mazzy follows me out of the family lounge and we walk side by side toward the players’ garage. “Kiera’s great. Did you get to meet any of the other hockey wives or girlfriends?”

“No, but Brienne Norcross came in and introduced herself. I was so nervous but she’s really nice.”

“She’s a pretty regular person like you and me. Just has billions of dollars.”

“Yes,” Mazzy drawls sarcastically. “We are equal peers.” She then seems to consider something before adding, “But gosh, she was so genuine. Told me that she would have me and Bowie Jane up to the owner’s box soon.”

We enter the garage and head toward Mazzy’s Audi. I’d asked her how she afforded such a nice car and she reminded me of the insane salary I pay her and the fact she has no other bills.

I actually caught a ride with Camden to the arena today since I had to be here so early for the game, and I gave Mazzy the parking deck code so she could park in my spot and I’d ride home with her. It’s Friday night—no better place for Bowie Jane to be than watching her dad play a little hockey.

“Hey, Foster,” a voice calls out, and I turn to see King along with Rafferty Abrams standing in the doorway. “Aren’t you coming out for some beers?”

I would very much love to go out to celebrate the end of training camp, but I feel compelled to go home because of my daughter. I shake my head. “Going to take the munchkin home.”

“Don’t do that,” Mazzy says, and I turn to face her. “That’s what you have me for. Let me take her home and you go out for a drink. You can catch an Uber when you’re done.”

“But I want to spend time with my kid. Things are different now that she’s with me.”

“She’s sound asleep, Foster. I’m going to pour her right into bed dressed just the way she is so I don’t wake her up. She’s not even going to know you’re not there.”

I hold a finger up to the guys to indicate for them to wait a second while I mull this over. I frown at Mazzy. “None of the other fathers come out with the single guys. It doesn’t seem like I should be doing that.”

I get the famous Mazzy Archer eye roll. “Since when does Foster McInnis do what everybody else does? All you have to do is what’s right. And I think hanging with your teammates to celebrate the end of preseason is a good reason to go get a beer and leave your kid in my care. Besides…” Mazzy leans in close and I get a whiff of her perfume, which smells way too good. She lowers her voice. “You forget that I’ve got your daughter severely drugged. She won’t move until morning.”

A sense of acceptance washes through me as I realize she’s absolutely correct. There’s nothing wrong with me going out and having a few beers with my buddies on occasion, especially given the fact that my daughter is sound asleep and in good hands.

Admittedly, there was a small part of me that was looking forward to the rest of the evening with Mazzy. We’ve settled into sort of a routine after Bowie Jane falls asleep of sitting in the living room together and watching recorded late-night shows, howling with laughter.

But my decision is made. Tonight is a good night to hang with my mates. I call back to the two men waiting for me. “Hold up.”

Mazzy opens the trunk of her car so I can toss my bag in. “Just a minute. I need to move my guitar.”

To my surprise, she moves a hard guitar case further back to make room for my bag in the trunk.

As I’m putting Bowie Jane into the car, I ask, “You play guitar?”

Her smile is broad and her eyes sparkle. “Been playing since I was about seven. I play piano too but that’s not as easy to transport as a guitar. I haven’t brought any of them over to your house yet because I didn’t want to bother you with my playing. I’ve been going to my parents’ house or playing with a friend. But I mentioned it to Bowie Jane yesterday and she said she wants to learn, so I thought I would bring it over and teach her a little.”

I’m utterly amazed. Mazzy plays an instrument—more than one—and I had no clue. I’m also incredibly excited by the prospect of her teaching Bowie Jane how to play.

“For the record, it will never be a bother to hear you play.” I pause and let a sly grin take hold. “That is unless you’re bad. If you’re bad, you can only play when I’m not there.”

“I’m pretty decent.” Mazzy laughs.

“Looking forward to hearing you.” And I really am. In fact, for some reason, I want to tell King and Rafferty to go on without me. I’ll go home instead and listen to Mazzy play the guitar.

What the fuck?I shake my head, forcing away such thoughts to concentrate on getting my kid buckled in. When I gently close the door, she immediately slumps against it, still sleeping hard.

I don’t think twice about walking around to the driver’s side and opening Mazzy’s door for her. “Be careful driving home. I won’t be long.”

It just seems like the right thing to do and being close to her isn’t unpleasant.

She slides into the driver’s seat, grabbing at her seat belt. “Take all the time in the world. Just… if you get drunk and come home and start throwing up, I am not holding your hair.”

I bark out a laugh. “I don’t have enough hair for that to matter. You, on the other hand, have tons and I will be gallant and if you ever get drunk and start vomiting, I will gladly hold your hair.” The thought of having all those soft red locks in my hands is a very nice thought indeed.

Another eye roll which makes me want to kiss her.

Stop it, pervert. You cannot be thinking of Mazzy like that.

She puts on one of her stern looks that has probably been leveled more at me than at Bowie Jane. I started to drink OJ straight from the container the other day and the look she gave me had me reaching for a glass.

“You’re my employer,” Mazzy says as she snaps the buckle into place, and for a split moment, I think she has the power to read my mind and I flush hot. But then she quips, “I’m in charge of your kid. The last thing you will ever see me is drunk.”

Laughing mostly with relief, I start to shut the door but not before I say, “Fair enough. Drive safe.”

“Always,” she says.

I wait for her to back out of the spot before I head over to the guys waiting for me. I’m good for a few beers and I’ll get an Uber home. Maybe Mazzy will still be up when I get there.