Chapter 3

three

brYCE

Two weeks. Two weeks to do everything most people take nine months to do. Paint a room pink. Buy and assemble white, little-girl furniture. Everything I have will tower over a little girl—tall dressers, beds and cabinets built for people above six feet tall.

It’s still hard for me to grasp that I’m a father—not that I doubted it, but I still asked Francesca to prove it. We hurried the DNA test, and it confirmed that Jolie is my daughter and she’ll be arriving shortly.

I’ve had groceries delivered. And every cabinet has cartoon characters smiling back at me. Reed and Brooke have offered their support. Cannon is six, so they promised to bring him over to play soon.

The buzzer sounds, and I press the listen button. “Yes.”

“Sir, Mrs. Gustafson is here with a special little girl.”

My shoulders rise as I expel a deep breath. “Send them up.” Do I wait at the elevator in my foyer? Or do I let them wander in? I walk toward the elevator. My knee bounces as I wait. My stomach flips and flops, and I’ve not been this nervous since the Frozen Four Championship game in college or my first game as a rookie in the league.

It’s coming. I hear the elevator lock in place, and the doors open. Will she like me? Will I be able to take care of her? Damn it, why did Francesca keep this from me? This would be a lot easier if I had held her as a baby.

She’s tiny. I don’t think I realized how little a five-year-old is. I mean I see Reed’s kids quite a bit since he got traded here. “Hi, Jolie.” My voice sounds like a twelve-year-old boy as words fight their way out.

She has her royal-blue bear in a headlock as she looks left and right before her eyes land on mine, then quickly dart away. “Do you like cookies? I have…”

Francesca says, “Jolie, say hello. Remember your manners.”

I almost choke. Francesca’s teaching manners? Is it proper to fuck your way through a locker room?

My daughter timidly releases her hand from the bear’s neck. Francesca’s lips form into a thin line. This isn’t going like she planned. How did she think it would go? She’s leaving her child with a man completely foreign to Jolie.

I crouch down in front of her. “Do you want to see your room?”

When she doesn’t say anything, Francesca’s voice is layered with frustration and annoyance. “Jolie. Mommy has to go soon. Please answer your dad.”

She’s practically body checking her little girl into me.

“It’s okay. Call me Bryce,” I say, quieter. “Your choice. Would you like to see your new room or have cookies?”

Timid, she nervously fidgets with the satin bow around the bear’s neck as her body wilts into itself as if she’s trying to blend in with the surroundings.

“Give one blink for cookies and two blinks to see your room.”

Jolie blinks twice, and she follows me upstairs to see her new bedroom. I gesture for her to come in, but she’s frozen like a fragile butterfly in a photo when the wings are static. Unsure what to do or say, I ask, “Do you like pink?” I know she does. Francesca told me it was her favorite color.

Jolie blinks once.

“Is one for yes?”

She blinks twice.

“Okay, so two blinks are yes.” I’m confusing myself when she remains silent. “Let’s do one blink for No and two blinks for yes, okay?”

She blinks twice.

Now I can’t remember how many times she blinked at my question. “Look around and whatever else you need or want, tell me.”

Her small hand grabs the hem of her dress as she hesitates before she nods up and down in the affirmative. Why didn’t I just say shake your head up and down for yes and side to side for no. That would be much easier.

Francesca tugs me out into the hallway. “I have to go. I’m going to slip out without saying goodbye. Goodbyes are hard and seem final so… anyway, when Lukas and I get a sitter, this is how we handled it.”

Creases stretch across my forehead as I whisper, “But when you get a sitter, you come back. You’re not coming back… for months… or ever.” I understand people you love not coming back, and I don’t want my little girl to go through it.

“I’m coming back. Lukas will finish his season in a few months, and we’ll come back during the offseason.” Francesca walks backward toward the stairs as she speaks. Lukas’ contract ends on the last day of February, so actually four months until she sees her mother again. “She loves movies. Just let her watch what she wants, and she’ll be an angel. Bye. I’ll call her once we get settled.”

Unable to leave Jolie upstairs by herself in a new house with unfamiliar toys, I let Francesca leave. I watch her sneak out of my house—not from me but from her daughter.

Francesca has no business with a child. But do I?

I don’t have one inkling about how to raise a child, much less a girl. I never had a sister. With my palm against the wall, I look into Jolie’s room. She still has a firm grip on her bear. Without touching anything, she walks from one thing to the next. First, a nightstand that has a princess lamp and a picture book. Second, to the bed with more princess sheets and comforter. Her eyes peer down below her feet, taking off her shoes. She wiggles her toes into the plush flower rug. A hint of a smile tips her mouth before it fades.

“How about those cookies?”

She blinks twice. That’s a yes.

Her arm reaches up to hold the rail on the way down the stairs, but when she can’t get her fingers around it, she puts her whole palm on the glass all the way down the steps. Marking her territory, Jolie lives here now, and these tiny handprints are proof.

After nibbling on one cookie, I sit her on the couch and click the remote to a streaming app that has kid movies, which I don’t currently have, so I have to sign up. It takes a few minutes, but Jolie sits cross-legged, tinkering with her bear, being patient.

Are five-year-old’s always this patient?

I hand her the remote, and she scrolls through the movies swiftly like she’s done it a thousand times. Breathing a sigh of relief, I lean my head back on the couch, attempting to shut off the doubts I can’t handle this.

As I cross the street to the park, I realize that I can’t go running—there’s a small human being in my apartment by herself. Jolie’s so quiet, I forgot she was here. Sprinting back, the doorman greets me. “That was quick.”

A growl escapes my chest as I use my key card to take the elevator that only stops on the penthouse, my house. Well, it stops at the spa/pool floor too, but no one can get to my floor using this elevator. Thirty-five floors take forever. When I open the door, it’s quiet. I tiptoe up to her room, and she’s sleeping. Thank God. I let out a sigh of relief.

Can I go for a run if I leave her a note?

The answer is no.

Can she read?

There’s so much I don’t know.

I work out in my home gym and check on her every thirty minutes until she wakes.

“Eggs? Toast? Cereal?”

Finally, I get two blinks, so I take out five boxes, and she points to the cereal she wants. I make her a bowl, while I eat a banana and eggs .

I have to be at the arena in two hours for our Saturday afternoon game and I haven’t even thought of what I’ll do with Jolie. I type out a message to Reed.

Me: Will Brooke be at the game today?

Reed: No, the kids all have games today. I hate Saturday afternoon games.

Me: Fuck.

Reed: Why?

Me: Francesca dropped off Jolie yesterday. I don’t know what to do with her.

Reed: Ask Belinda if she can watch her.

Belinda is the sports information director intern and the owner’s daughter.

Me: Good idea, thanks.

I’ve known Belinda since she was about twelve; now she’s twenty. In fact, I think she may have been the first one to call me a grump.

I pick up Jolie, throw her on my back, and sit her in my room to watch television while I shower. She doesn’t protest. But when I walk back into the bedroom, freshly showered, dressed in a suit, her nose scrunches in the center.

“Hey, let’s get you dressed. Do you have something special you wear to hockey games? ”

She blinks once. No.

“Okay, let’s see what clothes your mother packed.”

Her suitcase is filled with dresses. No pants or shirts. Her mom takes her to the hockey arena in dresses–where it’s cold? There’s a pair of tights, and I have to help her wiggle them on. Then she holds up her arms up, and I slide the red dress over them until it’s in place.

My driver takes us to the arena and as we walk in, heads turn, and eyes open wide, shocked at seeing me with a child. Reed was the only one I confided in about Francesca and my little girl, but in a matter of minutes, the whole team will know.

Knocking on the owner’s open door, I ask, “Is Belinda here?”

“Belinda?” he asks, scrutinizing me and the little girl beside me. “No, why?”

“Do you remember Lukas Gustafson?” He nods. “He married Francesca. We both… you know… around the same time.” I cover Jolie’s ears. “Lukas thought she was his, but we just found out that Jolie is my daughter.”

His brows rise close to his gray hairline. “I see.”

“I was hoping Belinda could watch Jolie until I have time to make arrangements.”

“Go down to marketing and ask Terrence if she’s coming. I can’t keep up with her; the girl goes a hundred miles per hour.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

He hands Jolie a piece of chocolate, but she squeezes her bear, so I take it from him to give to her later. “Good luck, Wynward. Girls aren’t easy. The worrying is constant. ”

As we’re walking down the hallway, I spot my teammate, Roman Rustavelli.

He used to be lighthearted according to his former teammates but since he’s been here this year, he’s serious most of the time. He should be happy he’s on the same team as Cross and me.

He bends down in front of her. “Who is this pretty little girl?”

“This is my daughter Jolie. Jolie, this is my teammate Rustavelli.”

She swings her torso but still doesn’t speak. He stands up. “Didn’t know you had a child.”

“I didn’t either until two weeks ago. You wouldn’t happen to have a girlfriend coming to the game, would you? I need someone to watch Jolie.”

“Ah, so now you need me.” He lifts a brow, and a tiny grin curves at his lips.

“Never mind.” I say, annoyed.

“No girlfriend, but my sister is coming. Let me call her. She’s a child counselor, so you don’t have to worry about her being qualified.”

Who knew that my ex-rival, who I’ve hated for the past twelve years, may be the one coming to my rescue. I overhear him explaining the situation. He never tells her which hockey player, probably because she knows how heated our rivalry was in college and has carried through to the professional ranks until now.

“My sister will be here as soon as she can. She just moved, so she has a task list a mile long.”

“Thanks. I have a feeling I need to make one.” I can’t take her into the locker room full of half-naked men. I do know that much. “Can you stay with her while I change into pre-game, then I’ll come out to lace up.”

“Sure.”

When I come out of the locker room, Jolie and Rustavelli are sitting in the penalty box. It makes me chuckle inside. Based on Jolie’s actions over the past nineteen hours, she’ll never be in trouble at school or at home. She’s so well behaved.

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

He knocks against the boards and heads into the locker room. I have a feeling he’ll take me up on it at the most inconvenient time.

Once my skates are on, I ask Jolie, “Have you ever been ice skating?”

One blink. No.

What the fuck? If Lukas thought she was his kid, why wouldn’t he take her on the ice?

“Well, let’s go.” I pick her up and put her on my hip, open the half-door and step onto the ice. Jolie holds on tight as I skate slowly around the perimeter of the ice. Pre-game is about warming up our muscles, so this will do the trick for a few minutes until the other guys get out here. I’m always early.

Her little fingers dig into my neck as we take a turn a little lower than I should have. When you’ve played hockey as long as I have, it’s all muscle memory. I do a figure eight. Sharp edges spraying ice is the only noise in the arena.

“Do you like ice skating? Do you want me to teach you to ice skate? You can do twists and twirls like a ballerina but on ice.”

One blink. No .

I rotate on my blades a few times, and her little blue bear drops from her hands. A piercing screech echoes in the mostly empty arena as she cries out.

She’s really attached to this bear.

As I bend down to pick it up, my teammates fill up the ice. Reed comes over, touches the bear, and says, “Hi! I have little girls. Maybe you can come over to our house and play.”

No response. I’m going to have to call Francesca. Why won’t she talk? Is she mute?

Roman motions for me to come to the bench. “My sister is here, so I’ll take Jolie to her. You’ve been summoned to the coach’s office.” He grins at Jolie and says, “Do you want to meet the coolest girl in the world?”

I see a flicker of interest in Jolie’s eyes as I set her on her feet in a pretty little dress, and Roman takes her hand. Shit, I should have held her hand when we were walking in.

Coach gives me instructions and what he expects for our team to accomplish. During warmups, I don’t see Jolie anywhere. Reed skates beside me as we drop to our knees to do our groin stretches. “Don’t worry. Roman’s sister is walking around the concourse or getting her something to eat.”

“I don’t want to lose my daughter on my first day as a dad.”

“Parenting means you are at the mercy of children, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

He pats me on the back as we start our routine and skate our warmups before going back to the locker room to put on our pads. I’m ninety percent focused on the game, but ten percent of me is concerned about Jolie. Not just what Roman’s sister is doing with her, but why she won’t talk. What really happened with Lukas to make him give her up? I can’t imagine if I had a child for five years, not seeing her for four months. Why wouldn’t they take her with them overseas?

When the game starts, the arena is full. I couldn’t pick Jolie out in this crowd unless they were in the first couple of rows. I look around but don’t see her. Okay, get your head in the game. Reed’s my left winger, and Roman is my right winger. When the puck drops, I fight for control and sweep it left to Reed, who takes off down the lane, slicing through the ice.

The Dallas Rattlers defenseman slams him into the wall and gains control of the puck. Reed doesn’t give up and skates around his left side, slinging the puck to Roman. He tries to pass it to me, but the puck is deflected behind the net. Reed swoops in and scores with an impossible angle. The horn sounds, and the crowd erupts as the Jets score a goal.

Our teammates circle around Reed, thumping his helmet with their gloves. “That’s going to be in the top ten plays tonight,” I say. “So glad you landed here.”

“Like old times,” Reed says with an ear-splitting grin. It’s hard to remember Reed with demons and anger.

Roman also scores, but our team defense gives us the opportunity for the shutout.

After the game, I follow Roman to the area where his sister waits, wearing a white baseball cap with a bit of hair sticking out in a bun. She’s crouched down in front of Jolie, who hugs her. Actually, hugs her.

I clear my throat. “Jolie, did you have fun?”

Nothing .

“Sis, this is Bryce Wynward.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says with a humorous tone as she stands up.

I bet she has.

My hand reaches out for Jolie’s, but instead, I grasp his sister’s fingers by accident. In an instant, a powerful jolt of energy surges through me, enveloping my mind in a blinding white streak. A chaotic flurry of sensations overwhelms me like a vibrant burst of colors merging.

What the hell?

Did she feel it too? Her eyes are shadowed and shielded from the cap, but I see the slight hitch in her breath.

“Whatever your brother has said about me isn’t true.” My voice comes out rough, trying to make sense of what just happened to my body when we touched and quite possibly pissed off that I can’t explore the connection I’m having with my teammate’s sister.

She shakes her head, ignoring my comment. “I’m Emmaline. Thanks for letting me hang out with Jolie. She’s sweet.”

A hum sneaks up my throat. “Can I have your number in case I need a babysitter?” This may be the first time I’ve asked a woman for her number. Then as if I’m helping my case in a strained but quiet voice, I say, “She was unexpected.” Why the fuck am I rambling?

Emmaline’s head tips to the left, and her finger taps her lips. “Roman will give it to you.” She pauses, and I find myself staring at her lips. “I learned the hard way that sometimes, the unexpected is the greatest gift.”

“So, you like surprises?” I ask.