Chapter 7

The next morning,I made breakfast mechanically, my thoughts not on the scrambled eggs or the toast, but somehow, after yet another restless night, I was replaying the attack, and the blood, and the hateful threats to Joe, plus a whole load of other things that left me feeling antsy. In among all that were green eyes and a tired smile and stubble, and hell, only Daisy and Scarlett chatting about their plans for the weekend with Jamie stopped my thoughts from spiraling, their voices a comforting buzz in the background.

"Daddy, you're burning the eggs!" Daisy's voice cut through my thoughts.

I snapped back to the present and stared at the pan, where the once yellow eggs had taken on a decidedly brown tinge.

"Ah, shoot," I muttered, taking the pan off the heat and scraping the contents into the garbage. "Sorry, Daisy. Guess I got a bit distracted."

Daisy climbed onto a stool at the kitchen counter, her feet swinging.

"It's okay. Can I have cereal instead?" she asked, her bright smile enough to brush away all the dark parts.

I tried to avoid too much sugary cereal for them, but hell, I'd burned the damn eggs, so cereal was a good option.

"Of course, munchkin," I replied, ruffling her blonde hair as I reached for the cereal box with its colorful cartoon character on the front.

I poured her a bowl, guided her as she added milk, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration, and watched her dive in with enthusiasm.

"Did you burn the eggs, Dad?" Scarlett asked from the door, dramatically sniffing the air like a detective on the trail of a culinary crime.

I turned from the blackened skillet, feigning shock. "Burned? No, these are just… well, extra crispy. A new recipe I'm trying out," I said with a grin, hoping she'd buy into my playful excuse and give me one of her smiles, the same as Daisy had.

She eyed me, then smirked. "Extra crispy, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?"

Oh, the sass was strong in this one, and I loved it.

"Yeah, it's a delicacy in some places, you know? I'm just bringing you the finest dining experience. Only the best for my girls." I opened the window to let out some of the smoke, and Scarlett laughed, her earlier pretend investigation dissolving into giggles.

"Next time, can we try the not burned experience?" Scarlett asked.

I nodded in mock solemnity. "Absolutely, chef's promise. Now, how about some expertly poured cereal instead?"

She nodded, still chuckling. "I think that's a safer bet, Dad."

As I watched her take her seat at the table, the burnt breakfast incident already turning into a shared joke, I leaned against the counter with my coffee, grateful for this moment of normalcy, for Daisy's forgiveness over something as simple as breakfast.

All too soon, it was time to go to the airport to pick up Jamie. The girls were hyper, so excited to see Uncle Jamie, and their enthusiasm was infectious. I leaned against the barrier at Arrivals, Daisy and Scarlett bouncing on the balls of their feet beside me, their excitement practically electric in the air. Their eyes were wide, scanning the sliding doors every time they parted.

"There he is!" Scarlett squealed, her voice rising over the hum of the crowded airport as Jamie finally emerged. His dark hair was a little longer than the last photo he'd sent us, and he was wearing his ‘I'm English Where's The Tea' T-shirt. He was also apologizing—a lot, even by his British standards—as he attempted to guide a cart with at least six precariously balanced suitcases and to not kill any of his fellow passengers.

The girls ran toward him before I could say a word, wrapping Jamie in an embrace that nearly bowled him over. His laugh, warm and loud, filled the surrounding space, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Uncle Jamie, did you bring us anything?" Daisy's voice was muffled against Jamie's chest, as she refused to let go.

"Did you see any kangaroos?" Scarlett's question followed immediately.

Jamie set his bags down and knelt to their level, opening his arms to enclose both girls in a giant hug. "I might have a thing or two in my suitcases." He winked at Daisy, then turned to Scarlett. "And yes, loads of kangaroos." His clipped British vowels were music to my ears. God, I'd missed him.

The girls erupted into giggles, peppering him with more questions, their words tumbling over one another in their haste to be heard.

I watched, my heart full, as Jamie answered each question with the patience and enthusiasm that made him such a beloved figure in their lives. He might have started as their nanny, but he was the fun uncle now. When it was my turn to get close, I hugged him so hard it was a wonder I didn't break him. I was taller, and where I was all hard and angled, he was softer, slimmer, quieter, with bright-as-a-button blue eyes and the widest smile. I think I lifted him off his feet.

He wriggled. "Bloody hell, you giant," he muttered in my ear. "Get off me!" I let him down, and he thumped my arm. "Guess you all missed me, then?"

I took the cart, and moving it out of the way, used every single one of my muscles. What was in these cases? Bricks?

Back at the car, with the girls in their seats, I opened the trunk and stared at the space and then at the cases. "You're only staying a week, you know," I teased. Jamie was never one to travel light, but six cases, and heavy ones at that?

"Actually, there's a thing," he began, then faltered.

"What is it?" I asked, while struggling to fit the third case into a space it wasn't designed for.

"Your place has a spare room, right?"

I huffed with exertion. "Of course, you don't think I'd make you sleep on the floor!"

"I don't mean that, Oli." He sounded so serious.

For the first time, I properly looked at him, at his nervous expression. "What's wrong?" All kinds of horrific things came to mind—he was ill, he was dying, he was?—

"I was hoping it would be okay to stay longer than a week."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Of course. You said maybe two weeks, and that's cool with me. The girls will love having you."

He glanced at the last cases on the cart. "How about longer than that? Like, what if I'd finally broken up with Sean-the-asshole because he was cheating on me, and worse, he stole some of my research? And what if, maybe, I was moving to LA for a research project, and I see you and the girls all the time? Get my own place, of course, after a while, but for now?—"

I cut him off with another hug. I didn't have any words, just held him close. I couldn't say I was sorry about Sean—Jamie and I may well have kissed once and then fallen about laughing that we were best off staying friends, but that didn't mean I liked whom he'd been dating for the past year. Sean had been a complete waste of space and treated Jamie like shit, so yeah, I was glad he was out of the picture.

Everything fell into place—Jamie was the part of New York I'd missed most, and I needed my friend right now. I could tell him what happened at the clinic and get his support, chat about my nerves about being on the team, and hell, maybe even cover a certain green-eyed cop who took up too much space in my head.

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's tell the girls their Uncle Jamie is moving in!"

* * *

It was three days later,every muscle aching from practice this morning, when I walked into the clinic's side room. Coach had had me and Ash facing off against Charles, with his wingers, and all three of them, plus damn cones placed all over the rink, meant my legs were doing the jelly thing, totally gassed. I had one meeting here now, and then, I had it in mind that I'd message Jackson again. Maybe get him to meet for coffee somewhere? To ask about the case, obviously.

Who am I kidding? I want to see the man again for a million other reasons.

Like kissing, maybe?

"Morning," I called as I got closer to Lazlo.

"Hey," he murmured, but there was no ready smile, no usual display of pep and cheer.

"You okay?"

He sighed with added drama and spun in his chair a full three-sixty before facing me again as he scrubbed his eyes.

"Cops were back," he said under his voice, glancing out at the reception area where a small group of adults had gathered in one corner for the next session I was running, plus some other patients in the hard seats. My heart leaped at the idea that Jackson might still be in the building.

"Is he here? I mean, are they here? The cops, I mean… not just the one… both of them…" Wow, way to make things weird, which I clearly had, given Lazlo's expression.

"The detectives left just now."

And somehow, that had made the eternally smiling Lazlo lose his smile?

"Did they find out anything? Do they know who hurt Joe? Oh god, is it Joe? Is he okay?"

"Nope, nope, and Joe's still under." He sighed again. "It's just, I dug out a photo of Joe at his desk and it had the missing picture in it, but it's blurred, and the cops are asking about the picture again with all the people, and I'm stuck going through boxes because the idiot before me never filed anything, and it was so many volunteers, and I can't track half of them down, and I hate the reminder that Joe isn't here to ask." Everything spilled out in a rush, and my heart ached for the kid who I think saw Joe as more of a father figure than a boss. "He's always looking out for us, and we can't do anything."

I thumbed behind me. "You're keeping the place ticking over. That's what you're doing for Joe, and you know how much this place means to him."

He was thoughtful, and then he nodded. "I don't know what else to do."

Heloise came to stand next to us, then leaned over the counter. "Are you okay?" she asked Lazlo, and he nodded. "If you need my help, I can stay after. I'll call my husband and let him know."

She glanced at me, her blue eyes already tearing up, and I caught Lazlo's compassionate gaze.

"It's all good, Heloise, I promise."

She gave us a watery smile, and I frowned after her.

"Maybe we should get her to talk to someone?"

Lazlo nodded. "I'll mention it to Kev—he's the on-call therapist we share with Mercy."

"Cool. And you know if I can help…"

Lazlo shrugged. "It'll be faster if I do it—I know what I'm looking for."

The door opened and a small family with a squalling baby came in and headed straight for the front desk. Lazlo smiled then, and no one would realize the smile wasn't wholly real.

"Welcome. How can I help?" he asked.

I backed away and headed into the small conference room with its oval table and ten chairs rammed around it. It was a plain space with a whiteboard and some medical posters on the wall. Two sets of parents were already in there, looking tired, but attentive. Nurse Maggie was ready to talk serious medical routines, and I was tagged in.

"Hi, everyone," I waved and took a seat near Maggie.

Everyone said a hello, and I could immediately tell one of the dads knew who I was when he mumbled something to the guy sitting next to him, then sneered at me.

Hell, I was used to that.

"This is Oliver," Maggie carried on. "He'll be talking about the practical uses of the glucose monitor."

I lifted my sleeve, showing them the device in my arm. "This is a CGM, continuous glucose monitor," I began, then lifted one out of a box in front of me to demonstrate. "It's not a big thing, but it can alert you to low sugars while your children are sleeping."

The moms listened, nodding slowly, taking it all in. The dads, though, they were a tougher crowd, their faces etched with a mix of skepticism and something like frustration.

One of the dads, the same one who'd recognized me, a broad-shouldered guy with tired eyes, cut me off. "Is this just a one-day charity thing you do to feel good about yourself, Mr. Hockey Star? My daughter is two! She's a baby, and you're sitting there telling us it's just a tiny thing when we know it's not! You don't know shit!" There was an edge to his voice, a challenge.

Before I could respond, Maggie gave him a sharp glare. "Steve," she hissed, a clear warning in her voice.

I got it, though. It was hard to accept that your kid had a lifelong condition; it could make anyone lash out.

"I don't know your daughter, sir," I replied, keeping eye contact, "but I'm here because I know what it's like. I've known the three a.m. scares and the hospital trips. This," I said, holding up the monitor, "could make a real difference for your children, if you try it."

The room was silent for a moment, the lone sound the hum of the overhead lights. Steve relaxed a bit. The nurse jumped in to explain the daily insulin routines, and I sat down with the families to talk more about living with diabetes. It wasn't just about dropping in as a sports figure; it was personal. I was there to help because I understood what they were facing, and maybe could make their lives easier if they needed financial support.

Not that they'd know the last bit, but still, I was giving back the best way I knew.

"Mr. Cowan?"

Steve was the last person out of the room, and I got the sense he wanted to talk to me.

"Hi?" I waited to see what came next. Sometimes, a person never saw the bits of me that weren't hockey, but I always lived in hope.

"I…" He offered a hand. "I'm sorry for my outburst."

"It's all good," I said and shook his hand warmly.

"I'm on my own, you know, my wife… she's gone, and it's just me, and I feel so overwhelmed, and I don't know what to do."

"I have an hour; would you like to chat in here? Or get a coffee?"

His eyes widened. "You'd do that?"

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course. Let's go."

This is what I did best, a beast in the game, but understanding and kind when I was off the ice.

My only regret? That I never got to ask Jackson to meet for coffee.