8. Dakota

With our lesson at the rink cut short by baby Max's arrival, Braxton and I didn't get the chance to meet up again before the Comets headed to the Pacific Northwest for a week-long road trip. Not one to shirk his tutoring duties, he sent over a bunch of helpful links, often used to teach youth players the basics of the game. Braxton told me to study them so that when he returned, we could hit the ice again and figure out what holes I was still missing for my research.

While he was gone, I couldn't stop thinking about the women I had met that night at the hospital. Braxton mentioned they were part of a tight-knit group. And I began to think that maybe being the "hidden family" of my dad's made it so that I didn't understand the personal side of sports figures. He had always painted the other spouses in an unfavorable light, claiming they were "toxic" and he didn't want me or Mom anywhere near them.

Nothing I witnessed in that hospital room seemed toxic. Liv and Natalie appeared close.

And then there was Jaxon claiming children that weren't his. My dad had cut me out of his life instead of inviting me into his new family.

Things weren't adding up, and I wanted to know more. Forget that family life wasn't part of my story. My characters didn't have kids; they were building a relationship, not continuing an already established one. Chalk it up to curiosity, a peek into an alternative life where my dad wasn't a dick with a God complex who slept around.

As I thought about the Slate family, it hit me that Natalie had five children—one being a newborn—and her husband was gone for the next week. I was suddenly struck with an idea.

Texting Braxton, I asked if he thought it would be a good idea if I made a meal and dropped it off for his sister-in-law while the team was out of town. His reply was instant, saying Natalie would love it and sharing their address.

Decision made, I set about the kitchen, making one of my mom's classic comfort meals. The best part was that you could assemble it cold, refrigerate it, and throw it into the oven when ready to cook. It was the perfect meal for a family with a new baby.

They had a large family, so I made two trays of the casserole, added some ready-made sides to my cooler, and headed across town to the address Braxton had provided.

Following my phone's GPS, I hit a roadblock in the form of a gatehouse.

I shouldn't have been surprised; the house I grew up in was massive, making it all the more difficult when Mom refused to sell. It was beautiful, sure—and had sentimentality as the place where she brought me home from the hospital and where I took my first steps—but it ate up most of her meager paychecks with the sky-high utility bills. Not to mention, it was the only piece of him she had left.

That house was our only asset. Had we sold, we could have afforded a smaller place with money to spare, and Mom might not have worked through the pain until it was too late to save her.

The first thing I did after Mom's passing was sell the godforsaken place. It was enough money to either cover my college tuition or start my writing career. I chose the latter and never looked back.

Pulling my car up to the manned gate, a portly man with glasses greeted me. "Name, and who are you here to see, miss?"

"Dakota Danielson for Natalie Slate."

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. I didn't know why I was nervous. She'd been so nice when we met, but that could have been the drugs talking. Braxton did mention she wasn't herself that day.

Picking up a phone inside the booth, he spoke, "Afternoon, Mrs. Slate. I have a Dakota Danielson here to see you."

Frowning, the gate attendant turned to me. "She says she doesn't know you, Ms. Danielson."

My face flamed. "Oh, um. We only met once. I'm friends with her brother-in-law, Braxton. I thought he let her know I was coming."

Natalie must have heard my reply through the receiver because the attendant nodded, saying into the phone, "I'll send her in."

Relieved and a little embarrassed, I thanked him before pulling through the gate and following the rest of the directions until I pulled up before a giant house. Peering through the windshield, I double-checked my phone to ensure I had the correct address. This place was so big it could pass for a castle, easily the largest house I had passed in the neighborhood.

My research into hockey told me it was the lowest-paid of the four major sports in the United States—football, baseball, and basketball salaries were far larger. This house was easily in the eight-figure range, more than most hockey players made in a multi-year contract. So, my curiosity grew even more.

And yes, I'd looked into Braxton's brother. Bristol hadn't been lying when she said the Slates were hockey royalty. Jaxon Slate was, without a doubt, the biggest name in professional hockey. Number one overall pick in his draft year, future Hall of Famer, and now, league champion.

But what surprised me was that most of the results on my internet search were about his activities off the ice. He spent his time volunteering in the community, making hospital visits to sick kids, and actively participating in youth hockey in Hartford.

And that was before he became a family man. The images of him with his children were so heartwarming they made my heart ache. I would have given anything for a dad like that.

It was easy to see why the fans loved him. By all appearances, he was a stand-up guy.

Exiting my car, I pulled the soft-sided cooler from the passenger seat and walked to the double doors before ringing the bell. After a few minutes, one door opened, and Natalie smiled at me from the other side, dressed only in plaid pajama pants and white camisole, a printed burp cloth slung over one shoulder where she held the baby.

"Dakota!" she exclaimed. "Come in, come in. Gotta keep this little guy out of the chill."

Jumping into action, I followed her inside, closing the door behind me.

Natalie bounced the baby as I removed my shoes. "Sorry about the gate. Sleep deprivation with a newborn is hell on your memory."

I waved her off. "No worries. I spoke to Braxton about bringing you and your kids some food while the team is away." I held up the cooler.

"Oh, well, aren't you sweet!" She walked further into the house. "The kitchen is this way."

Unable to stop myself, I took in the luxury of the home. A giant curved staircase stood out in the foyer, and I wondered what it might look like decorated for Christmas. I bet it was magical in this household during the holidays, like something out of those heartwarming movies. I could picture the love and laughter, and I barely knew these people.

Passing through the entryway, the living room featured a wall of windows overlooking a private backyard, the trees putting on a beautiful fall foliage display. Turning to where I could hear Natalie puttering about in the kitchen, I noticed every wall was filled with pictures of the happy family.

Stepping into the kitchen, which would rival some of the ones featured on home cooking shows, I placed the cooler atop the enormous marble island in the center of the room. Unzipping the top, I pulled out its contents.

"What do we have here?" Natalie asked.

The metal pans containing the casserole were covered in clear plastic wrap, and I knew they didn't look like much now, but saliva filled my mouth with the memory of the delicious aroma when they baked.

"This was my favorite dish growing up. It's like Thanksgiving in a casserole. Chicken, stuffing, Swiss cheese, and an amazing soup-based sauce pulling it all together. I also brought some microwave mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and cranberry jelly to pair with it."

Natalie moaned, closing her eyes. "That sounds amazing! Thank you so much."

"You pop it in the oven at 350 degrees for an hour, and you're all set," I instructed. "I wasn't sure how much your kids eat, so I made a double batch. If you only need one, keep the other refrigerated, and you have a meal for another night."

"Sure beats surviving on takeout," she mused.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "Are you doing okay here all alone? I can't imagine dealing with a newborn with your partner gone for a week, let alone older kids, too. I bet you have your hands full." When I gestured to the hands currently occupied by Max, we both chuckled. "I work from home, flexible hours, so if you need any help . . ."

Natalie's smile reached her warm brown eyes. "You're so kind to offer. But actually, my mother-in-law is staying with me. She went next door to visit with my nephew for a bit."

I vaguely recalled mention of her conversation with Braxton in the hospital about a nephew being born the same day as Max.

Confused, I remarked, "I didn't realize there was a third Slate sibling."

Panic set in that at any moment, Braxton's mother would walk into the house. I'd been mistaken for his girlfriend once already. Meeting his mom would surely put ideas in her head about our relationship if she caught me bringing food to his brother's family.

"Oh, no. It's only the two boys," Natalie explained. "My ex-husband's brother, Liam, lives next door. He's married to my best friend, Amy. So, I suppose it's my ex-mother-in-law, but I didn't divorce her, just her son, and she is still my older kids' grandma."

I began to breathe easier. Crisis averted.

But damn if that didn't open up a whole new set of questions about this family. Who remained friendly with their ex-husband's family? Perhaps it had been an amicable divorce? But that seemed strange, considering Jaxon adopted her kids.

It wasn't my business, so I pushed it to the back of my mind, taking it upon myself to put the food I'd brought into the refrigerator.

When I turned around, Natalie was assessing me. "So, you and Braxton?"

I shook my head. "We're just friends." Hadn't we made that clear in the hospital?

There was a pause as if she were choosing her following words carefully. "The other night was the first time I've seen him with a girl."

What? That couldn't be right. He was so flirty with me. I was sure he had girls falling all over him, if not for his good looks and charm than for his athlete status.

"Um. I don't think you understand. I'm not really looking for something right now." What more could I say?

Natalie simply smiled, patting Max on the back. "Do you think I was looking for something when Jaxon blew into my life like a hurricane? I was newly divorced, a single mom of three, and broken beyond repair—or at least, I thought so. Those Slate men have a way of burrowing into your heart whether you're ready for it or not."

My heart? She had the wrong girl.

Her tone grew hushed. "Braxton hasn't had it easy."

My eyes snapped to hers. "What do you mean?"

Lips curving into a sad smile, she said, "He's been living under a microscope for most of his life. Being Jaxon's little brother isn't easy."

Mind racing, I recalled something Braxton mentioned when we were skating. "He made a vague comment about not having a choice in playing?"

Natalie nodded. "Everyone expects him to be a carbon copy of Jaxon." She laughed. "And it doesn't help that they have the same face. But they're not the same person. And definitely not the same player out there on the ice. Braxton has been held to an impossible standard since the day he put on skates—to live up to Jaxon's legacy. Trust me when I say this, and not because of any bias with him being my husband, but Jaxon's talent is special. For some reason, he sees the game differently than other players, which sets him apart."

"Don't think any less of me, but I have looked him up," I confessed.

She shrugged. "You won't be the first, nor the last. His career accomplishments are public knowledge." Natalie paused. "Did you know Braxton was the last pick in his draft year?"

I gasped, the pieces falling into place. "And Jaxon went number one."

"Yeah . . . And if that pill wasn't hard enough to swallow, my oh-so-thoughtful husband pulled strings and made sure Braxton went to the Comets when it looked like he would go undrafted. They made a last-minute trade."

"Ouch." I winced.

"I know for a fact that Braxton would have rather gone undrafted. He's looking for a way to set himself apart, and that's hard to do while living in your brother's shadow."

I felt like a total bitch for painting him with the all-athletes-are-assholes brush. But how could I apologize to him for that when Natalie was giving me insider information?

"Braxton is very special to me," Natalie continued. "And not because he's my husband's brother. I know what it's like to be measured against a mark you will never reach, only to be found lacking. Especially when the world thinks you have it all."

Cocking my head, I stared at her. "I don't know what to say."

"You write books about people falling in love. Why not use real life as inspiration if the opportunity arises? Braxton has a good heart, but he's scared to share it—mainly because most people see him for what he produces on the ice or who he's related to. He's waiting for someone special who can see past all that to the man hidden underneath, the one screaming to be seen. And I think that person might be you."

"Me?" I squeaked, pointing a finger to my chest.

One of her shoulders rose and fell. "Eh. Maybe I'm just a sucker for a good romance. I do love my books." She threw me a wink.

I had come by to drop off dinner for a family with a new baby and left with more questions about the man I was spending time with.

All this time, I'd assumed he was pursuing me because I was a novelty—the first girl to ever turn him down. But now I was realizing that wasn't the case. He was interested because I didn't care what he did for a living. With me, he had a chance to be himself, shedding the public persona.

Was Natalie right? Did I owe it to myself to give him a chance? To see if something could develop between us?

What would one of my characters do?

Yes, I was so confused that I was seeking the advice of fictional characters derived from my own imagination. I was that desperate to figure out my next move.

A reluctant heroine with daddy issues would be cautious, so that's what I would be. But I was determined to be more open if he wanted to spend time together. Even if it scared me.

The ball was in Braxton's court—I couldn't help myself with the sports analogy, even if there was no ball in hockey. If he wanted to show me that he was different, the burden of proof rested on him.