Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Canyon

Ally is completely silent most of the flight back to L.A.

The only time she smiles is when the flight attendant brings around free headphones since we're sitting in first class. But then she puts them on, turns on a movie, and ignores me.

Great.

I spend most of the flight Googling nannies, nanny services, and babysitters.

Marty might be able to help with the latter but beyond that, I have no idea how I'm going to survive the next week. The team is leaving on a road trip Saturday, but there's no way I'll be able to go. The idea of taking a leave of absence is distasteful, but even if I find a nanny in record time, I'm still going to need time to get Ally settled.

I have to register her at school, and I don't even know what schools are around me. Or if I should put her in private school. Or what grade she's in.

Fuck.

I close my eyes for a second, and then pull out my phone to send a text to Coach Vanek.

CANYON: Hey, Coach. I've got some insanity happening in my personal life. If I don't get some help handing the situation, I'm going to have to take a leave of absence from the team, and that's the last thing I want to do. I don't even know where to ask for help. So I'm starting with you.

Re-reading the message I sent, it feels a little pathetic and needy, but I truly have no idea where to start. This is way out of my comfort zone.

Schools, doctors, legal forms, the case worker, who would be visiting and keeping an eye on us. There's a lot. I'm also going to have to talk to a lawyer about the legalities of becoming her guardian.

COACH V: Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. What do you need? How can I help?

CANYON: My sister just died, and I got custody of her eleven-year-old daughter, who doesn't know me but already hates me. We're on the plane coming back to L.A., but I don't even know what I don't know.

It seems to take him a long time to respond and my gut churns with worry.

Is he mad?

Disappointed?

Ready to kick me to the curb?

I have a contract, but if I can't play, they have just cause to trade me.

Fuck.

COACH V: Okay, I talked to Autumn. She's going to help. She and I just went through the whole process of getting my boys into a private school, so she can show you how to navigate that. She also said to come over to the house tomorrow and we can talk. Bring your niece, we'll feed you and come up with a plan. Okay? Don't panic. And don't worry about practice tomorrow. Get your niece settled, try to take a breath. One thing, one day at a time.

Relief floods my system, and I let out a long, steadying breath.

Thank fuck for Coach Vanek.

I glance over at Ally, and she's staring intently at the screen watching "Frozen." I recognize the characters, and for some reason I'm surprised. She doesn't seem the type to still watch cartoons. Of course, I know less than nothing about girls her age.

So far, all I know is that she hates chicken, hockey, and me.

I can deal with her hating hockey and me, but why chicken? It's a good, lean meat that's offensive to no one except maybe vegetarians. Which she's not, because she dug into the steak dinner the flight attendant served like she was starving.

It occurs to me I need to know what kinds of food she likes so I can order groceries, but every time I try to talk to her, she either ignores me or has something snarky to say. That's going to get old quick. Part of me wants to remind her that I don't need this bullshit—she can just go back to foster care—but then I remember who she is and what she's inevitably gone through.

I don't know for sure, but my gut tells me life with Carly wasn't easy.

I could have—should have—done more.

Even though Carly cut me out of her life.

Even though she said some hateful things to me before she left.

None of that is Ally's fault.

I glance over at her, and it's like looking back in time.

She's so much like Carly was at that age.

Petite and pretty, with big eyes, straight dark hair that falls below her shoulders, and an upturned nose.

"Hey." I touch her arm.

She slides a look in my direction before dramatically making a show of pausing her movie and taking off her headphones.

"What?" she asks.

"What grade are you in?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. "Fifth."

"What's your favorite subject?"

She hesitates. Makes a face. Finally shrugs. "I guess math. I like numbers. They make sense."

I nod. "Nice."

"We done here?"

"Look, we have a lot to talk about. We might as well start now."

"Like what? I'll crash on your couch until we find me somewhere else to go, and then I'm out of here." She starts putting on her headphones, but I stop her.

"Hey. Knock it off." I give her a look. "I'm still talking to you."

"Fine."

"You're not going anywhere else. This is where you're going to live. With me."

For the briefest second, Ally's bravado falters.

Then she puts her mask of defiance back on.

"How long?" she demands.

"Forever," I say quietly. "Where else would you go?"

She glares at me. "My mom said I can look for my dad when I'm thirteen!"

Over my dead body.

"You can," I point out as gently as I can. "But he left a long time ago. What makes you think he'll want to be in your life now?"

"Because I'm his kid."

Yeah, whatever.

That's not happening.

"Look… you can be as grumpy as you want, but at least for now, we have to co-exist. Tell me what kind of food you like so I can order groceries."

"You cook?" She arches one brow dubiously.

"Not a lot, but I like to grill. Burgers, chicken?—"

"I don't eat chicken," she interrupts. "I already told you that."

"I understand. I was just telling you what I cook. What about corn? Grilled corn with butter, salt, and garlic is the bomb."

For the first time I've piqued her interest.

Her eyes meet mine. "That sounds…okay."

"Hot dogs?"

She shrugs.

"Cereal?"

She rattles off three kinds she likes, and I quickly pull out my laptop, typing it into the grocery service I use.

"What kind of milk?" I ask.

She makes a face. "There are different kinds?"

I realize she probably has no idea about oat milk or any other trendy thing people eat or drink.

"I meant full fat or two percent or whatever."

"Oh. Full fat, I guess. That's what Mom buys."

Amazingly, she's intrigued by the service I use and eventually pulls the laptop in front of her and takes over inputting our order. For twenty minutes, it feels like we're making progress. But once I place the order she's done. Headphones back on, movie going, completely ignoring me.

Giving me time to think about all the things I've let slide the last couple of days and all the things I need to do in the near future.

Like call Saylor to let her know what's going on.

Figure out how to make a life for an eleven-year-old.

Find a balance between being a single parent to a kid I don't know and playing pro hockey.

So. Many. Things.

One step, one day at a time, I repeat to myself. It'll come together.

It has to.

And maybe one day soon I'll believe it.