Page 12

The trip to Vancouver is quiet, the engines humming steadily as we cut through the clouds. I’m staring out the window, trying to keep my head clear, but it’s not working. Lily is all I can think about—Rachel and Lily and everything that’s happened in the last few days. I keep replaying the conversation between Rachel and me in my head, her voice guarded, full of hesitancy. I’m barely aware of the other guys around me, not paying any attention to the low chatter from my teammates.

The plane finally lands in Vancouver, and I barely notice. I’m the last one off the plane because I wasn’t paying attention. I make my way through the terminal. I need to get to the hotel, clear my head, figure out how to focus on our upcoming game. But before I even reach the exit, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see Rachel’s name flashing on the screen.

“Hey, Oren,” she says, her voice cautious, like she's about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, a little confused, trying to keep my voice steady but failing.

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can almost hear her taking a deep breath. “I told Ziggy that Lily’s father is now in the picture and that he plans to be involved. I’m not telling them the whole truth yet, until I know that this doesn’t get fucked up,” she says, her voice firm but defensive.

And there it is. “I believe what you’re trying to say is, until you make sure I don’t fuck it up.” I snap, feeling my frustration boiling over.

Her tone sharpens. “Oh, come on. I’m not trying to be mean. I just need to be sure. It’s not hurting anyone!”

I feel my anger flare again, hotter this time. “Not hurting anyone? Are you kidding me? It’s not fucking harmless, Rachel. That’s bullshit. It hurts me. It hurts our daughter, as in you and me.”

She sighs, a frustrated sound that cuts through the phone like a knife. “Oren, I’m not trying to hurt you, just protecting her.”

“Protect her from what?” My voice is louder than I intended. “From knowing me? You think that’s going to make her life easier?”

“No, Oren,” she retorts, her voice rising to match mine. “I think it’s going to make her life more normal. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to be in the spotlight because of who you are!”

“Wow,” I feel a pang of hurt at her words, but I push it down. “And what about me, Rachel? I told you that I will be there for her. That means being in her life. What about my right to do that, to be her father? Don’t I get a say in that?”

“You do,” she insists, but there’s a crack in her voice now, a hint of uncertainty. “But this isn’t just about you, Oren. It’s about what’s best for her, and right now, I’m trying to do what I think is right.”

I run a hand through my hair, storming through the airport, trying to keep myself from shouting. “Yeah, by keeping me at arm’s length!”

“I’m not keeping you at arm’s length!” she yells back, frustration seeping into every word. “I’m just… I’m trying to handle this the best way possible. Do you think I want this, Oren? Do you think I want to do this alone?”

“Then don’t!” I fire back. “Let me be there. Let me be a part of this. Stop trying to control everything and let me in!”

She goes quiet for a moment, and I can hear her breathing hard on the other end, trying to steady herself. I bite back a wave of guilt, knowing that she is just trying to figure out how this will work. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, to find the right words.

Her voice hardens, and I can feel the distance growing between us. “I don’t know, Oren.”

Her response cuts deep. “So what, am I not good enough?”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “What do you think, Oren? You never wanted this and I don’t need you swooping in to play hero now that you’ve decided you want to be involved.”

“That’s not fair,” I growl. “I didn’t know. You didn’t even tell me. I had no choice.”

“And do you blame me?” she fires back. “Look at us now, Oren. Look at this mess. I’m trying to protect Lily from all the chaos that comes with you.”

“Chaos that comes with me?” I echo, stunned by the accusation. “You think I’m nothing but chaos? I just want to be a part of her life. I want to know my daughter.”

“No, Oren,” she snaps, her voice shaking. “You aren’t just chaos, but your life sure comes with that. And this only works if you understand that I’m doing this the best way I know how. What I think is best. I don’t owe anyone, including you, a public announcement who Lily’s father is. Not yet. Not when I’m still trying to figure out how to protect her from all of this.”

I grit my teeth, my jaw clenching so hard it hurts. “Fine,” I say shortly, knowing this conversation is going nowhere.

I hang up, still fuming, my hand gripping the phone so tightly I feel the plastic strain beneath my fingers. Her words cut deeper than I want to admit. The anger sits in my chest like a stone, heavy and hot, mixing with the ache of something else—something like regret, like loss. I can’t shake it. And I don’t know how to fix it.

By the time the next morning rolls around, my anger hasn’t dissipated. But I’ve got to let it go whether I like it or not. I might physically be on the ice for warm-ups, but my head isn’t in the game. I should be dialed in, but instead, I feel like I’m skating through mud. Coach watches me like a hawk, I know he can see it. How far off my game I am. My passes are sloppy, my precision non-existent. All I can focus on is how everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control. Everyone knows something’s wrong. They can sense it, even if they don’t know what it is.

The game starts, and I’m still in a fog, my skates cutting, my stick moving automatically. But I feel like I’m watching myself from the stands, disconnected from my own body. Every check feels half-hearted, my instincts, usually sharp, are dulled by the thoughts spinning around in my head. I see the puck coming toward me, but I’m a split second late, and it's snatched away.

Coach Wilder is yelling from the bench, “Oren! Get your head in the game!”

But his words barely register, my mind miles away, back in Atlanta, back with Rachel and Lily. I can’t stop thinking about our fight. I feel a hot surge of anger, directed at everything and nothing, and I break my stick against the boards, the sound echoing through the arena. I’ve always been the one they could count on, the one who kept his cool, who knew how to handle pressure. But right now, I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. I’m one wrong move away from losing it completely.

The puck drops again, and I push forward until I collide with an opposing player, harder than necessary, and we both go down. He shoves me as he gets up, and I feel that spark of anger flare to life. I get to my feet, my fists clenched, ready to throw a punch, to let it all out. But I catch myself, just barely, and skate away, shaking my head. I know I can’t afford to lose it. Not now.

Then, it happens. A guy who’s been chirping at me all game, and something in me snaps. Before I know it, I’m in his face, shoving him hard. He shoves me back, and suddenly, it’s on. My mitts drop and we’re swinging at each other. The crowd goes wild, the sound of their cheers and jeers filling the arena. Right now, I can barely hear them over the roar of blood in my ears.

I feel my knuckles connect with his jaw, the sharp pain shooting up my arm, but that doesn’t stop me. I just want to keep hitting something, anything, to release all this pent-up rage that’s been building inside me. The refs rush in, pulling us apart, and I’m dragged to the penalty box, my chest heaving and knuckles bloody.

I sit down, breathing hard, realizing how far off course I’ve gone. I’m not handling this well. I’m letting everything get to me, letting it mess with my head, with my game. I can’t seem to control myself. The penalty box does nothing to help me. It feels like a cage. The walls close in on me as I watch the game unfold from behind the glass. I know I’m not in control right now. I know I’m a mess.

I glance over at the bench, catching Coach Wilder’s eyes full of fire and directly on me. He’s beyond pissed. As soon as the penalty time is up, I skate back to the bench, and before I can even sit down, he grabs me by the arm, pulling me close.

“Oren, what the fuck?” he demands, his voice low but intense. “You’re all over the place out there.”

I snap back to reality, my anger still simmering just below the surface. “I’m fine,” I lie, unconvincingly, but I know he’s not buying it. “Just… had a rough night.”

Coach narrows his eyes, not letting go of my arm. “It seems like a hell of a lot more than a rough night?” he repeats, his tone skeptical. “I’m not going to pretend like I know what is going on, but you need to get your head in the game, Samuels. You’re no good to us like this.”

I nod, trying to keep my face neutral, but I feel a surge of frustration bubbling up inside me. “I know, Coach,” I mutter, pulling away slightly.

“That’s not good enough, Oren. You’re supposed to lead the defense out there. You think your teammates don’t see you losing it? You think they don’t notice when you’re playing like your head’s somewhere else?” He snaps back.

I grit my teeth, feeling the sting of his words. “I said I’m fine,” I repeat, forcefully, but it sounds hollow, even to me.

After the game, I sit on the bench, my knuckles throbbing, and my jaw so tight I can feel the pressure radiating up my head. The rink is empty now, the crowd long gone. Tonight’s fight was pointless; all it did was leave me more pissed off. And of course, I only have myself to blame, my own actions resulted in spending the rest of the night sitting on my ass, doing nothing but watching my team play without me. And we lost. Which fucking sucks and is also probably my fault.

The other guys have already come and gone, some shooting me looks of concern, others just shaking their heads. I know what they're thinking: that I've lost it, that I can't keep my shit together. And maybe they’re right. I sit there, alone, lost in my own head. The sweat dries on my skin and my muscles ache from the hits I took during what little play time I had, but all I can think about is Rachel. How her face is always in my mind, how I see her every time I close my eyes, every time I try to focus on anything else. It’s affecting my game, my focus, my everything.

I finally force myself to stand, to drag my tired ass to the showers, but my mind is far from tired. My thoughts spin around violently, still stuck on the same loop. Stripping down, I toss my gear into my locker with more force than necessary, and head to the shower. Once I step under the hot spray, the water hits me, stinging against my skin. I lean my forehead against the cool tile and close my eyes as the water pours over me.

My uncontrollable thoughts of Rachel shift. In the steam of the shower, she is no longer the woman that kept a huge secret from me. She is the sexiest woman I've ever seen, standing in front of me, a guarded look in her dark brown eyes that only makes me want to strip away every barrier between us.

I can almost feel her under my fingertips, the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin. I imagine her here with me, her skin glistening from the water rolling down her flesh, her body so close to mine. Her lips parting in a gasp as I press her against the wall, my hands sliding over her taut nipples, my fingers exploring every inch of her wet cunt, her breath catching as I slide into her, filling her completely.

I can't stop myself as I grip my heavy erection. Just imagining Rachel is enough to get me hard as hell, close to the edge. Letting out a soft groan as I pump my hand up and down my length, I imagine the feel of her pressed against the shower wall, my hips pounding into her. I imagine the sounds she made with me, the way her body responded to mine. I can feel the pressure building, the need to get off, to get rid of this pent-up desire that’s been gnawing at me. If fucking my hand in the shower of the locker room releases more than just my cum all over the tile tonight, I might leave here a little bit better off.

My breathing gets more labored as my hand moves faster. I let myself get lost in the fantasy of Rachel flushed, and screaming my name. My muscles start to tense. I can feel her fingers pulling my hair, bringing me closer, the heat of her skin flush against me. I grit my teeth, my hips bucking forward as I picture Rachel's face. I can’t stop, can’t hold back.

I let out a loud, guttural moan, as the hot ropes of my cum shoot into the stream of the shower. The release I’ve been craving quickly washes away as the evidence of my desperation slips down the drain. I turn and lean back against the tile, trying to regulate my breathing, my heart pounding in my chest, the sound of the water still roaring in my ears.

There’s a sense of relief, a brief moment of calm. The potential that this release was all I needed is short lived because just as quickly, it fades, replaced by the same gnawing emptiness, the same feeling that I’m losing everything that matters. The same sense of anger and uncertainty that was there before.

I dry off quickly, my hands still trembling a little, and grab my phone from my locker. The screen lights up, and my heart drops as I read the messages.

Rachel: Hey, I know you

are mad at me but

wanted you to know

that Lily isn’t feeling well

and can’t keep anything down.

I’m going to call the doctor.

Rachel: The doctor is concerned

and wants me to bring

her into his office.

Just keeping you posted.

Rachel: Hey, Lily is being

taken to the hospital.

Shit. I feel panic rising in my chest, my pulse quickening. My eyes dart to the final message.

Rachel: Please call me.

I hit the call button immediately, my unsteady hands barely holding the phone. It rings once, then Rachel answers, her voice shaky but trying to sound calm.

“Oren,” she says, and I can hear how tired she is in her voice.

“What’s going on?” I ask, unable to hide my worry. “What happened? Is Lily okay?”

“She’s fine,” Rachel says quickly, sensing my panic. “She just got sick, and the doctor wanted to make sure she’s staying hydrated. They’re just giving her some fluids at the hospital. It’s nothing too serious, but I thought you should know.”

I feel a wave of relief, but still on edge. “I’m coming,” I say without hesitation. “I need to be there.”

“No,” Rachel’s voice is firm. “You don’t need to come, Oren. She’s okay. We’ll be heading back home in an hour or two. There’s no need for you to fly all the way here for this.”

I can feel my frustration rising. “Rachel, she’s my daughter. I want to be there.”

“I know,” she says, softer now. “But this isn’t about keeping you from her. It’s just unnecessary. She’s fine, really. You don’t need to drop everything and come. I promise, if it was serious, I would tell you to come.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to argue. “At least let me know when you’re heading home,” I say finally, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Of course,” she agrees. “I’ll text you as soon as we’re leaving the hospital.”

“Okay,” I say, though I’m still not happy about it. “Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Will do,” she says, her voice softer. “And…thanks, Oren. For being here after our argument.”

I hang up, still feeling the anxiety gnawing at me. I know she’s telling the truth, that Lily is fine. But it doesn’t make it any easier. I feel helpless, sitting here, unable to do anything. I want to be there, to make sure they’re both okay, to do something. I rush back to my hotel room, pulling out my phone to order food to be delivered to the apartment for Rachel. I pick out stuff that’s easy to heat up, comfort food that might help take a little stress off her shoulders.

Not long after, I get a text from Rachel saying they’re on their way home, and a few minutes later, she calls me on video chat. I answer, my heart pounding against my ribs as her face fills the screen. She looks tired, but relieved. I see Lily in her arms, her little eyes drooping, fighting sleep.

“Hey,” Rachel says, giving me a small smile. “We’re back home. Lily’s already feeling a bit better.”

“Good,” I say, feeling a rush of relief. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah,” she nods, then turns the phone to Lily. “Hey, Lily, look who it is. It’s Daddy.”

Lily looks at the screen, her tiny face lighting up with a tired smile. I feel my heart swell in my chest. “Hey, little one,” I say softly. “How are you feeling?”

She just looks at me, her eyes heavy with sleep. I keep talking, telling her how much I miss her, how brave she is. I keep my voice soft, soothing, and calming, and before I know it, she’s asleep.

Rachel turns the phone back to herself, her expression softer now. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.

“For what?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“For the food,” she says.

“Anytime,” I say, my voice rough. “There’s no point in you worrying about food with all that going on.”

She nods, looking down for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Thank you, Oren. Really.”

I swallow hard, feeling a tightness in my chest. “No need to thank me, Rachel. I’m just… I’m trying to help. You’re a great mom.”

She smiles, just a little, and it’s the most genuine smile I’ve seen from her in days. “Thanks,” she whispers. “That… that means a lot.”