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15

LIAM

Meeting with Jessica and her grandmother at the Fish Bowl last week concluded with the two of them having a very candid conversation with me about the kid’s potential auditory thresholds.

I’d bet ten to one that this woman would walk over hot coals, hang glide, and swim with sharks all on the same day. She’s an unstoppable force of hopefulness and honesty.

And I’m not sure how I feel about my fatherhood status coming to the surface. On the one hand, I can only keep the secret for so long. On the other, there will be repercussions.

I’m not a liar, but rather an avoider. I’ll stay in my lane over here where everyone drives at a safe speed and uses their blinker.

Except when I’m on the ice. I spend a lot of time there during the following days, doing my level best to forget about hearing Jessica laugh first thing in the morning when she shows up with my coffee, drawing the kid out of his shell, and somehow anticipating various things—my passport renewal documents from the Canadian embassy, a greeting card and gift for my manager who just added a baby to the family, and making sure the laundry gets done.

But that’s not the worst of it.

When we were at the Fish Bowl, while she ate the potato pucks like they were the greatest thing on earth, she wouldn’t back down, suggesting the kid see a specialist for a care plan, an ASL tutor who also happens to be a great baker—Grandma Dolly—and that I start learning a few signs.

I went on defense, telling her to keep her nose out of my business. It’s an adorable button nose, but still.

That’s where my head is now during a home game against the Reno Rebels.

Her comment to Grandma Dolly that I’m stubborn shushes through my head while I play spin-o-rama, keeping the rubber away from the goal and daring the Rebels’ left forward to try to take a shot.

Jessica is the stubborn one, not knowing when to stop pushing, trying to get me to open up, and showering me with her unrelenting smile and sunshine.

Some people like the cold and clouds—I’m among the few.

Lew gets a five-hole on Beau, shooting the puck right between his legs. The fans of the opposing team go wild because now we’re tied. Knights boo and if we’re not careful, they’ll throw dried corncobs at us.

Badaszek has us regroup, flashes a sharp side-eye in my direction, and sends Grady onto the ice, leaving me to dust the bench.

Gripping my stick and hanging my head to get it back in this game, Redd cuffs me on the shoulder. “Where you at, bro?”

“I do not negotiate with terrorists and this woman is threatening to blow up my life.”

His weight comes down on the bench next to me, inviting me to say more even though we both know I won’t. He’s here for me, but the problem is obvious. I’m thinking more about the kid and Jessica than I should.

My thoughts gather and scatter, leaving one solution. Make her quit.

Then what?

Forget about it all.

But I can’t.

Not when I return to the ice toward the end of the third. Not when we go into overtime. Not when I get a total top-shelf cheddar shot. Not when the arena erupts, chanting “Beast.”

However, the usual thrill doesn’t rip through me, affirming that all my hard work is paying off, reminding me to keep going … to push harder.

Perhaps Jessica and I aren’t that different after all.

After a shower, the guys are regrouping and I clock someone saying, “Ellis has been acting different since he got back.”

“No, he was squirrelly before he left,” Hayden says, gaze locking on mine.

Just like puck bunnies aren’t allowed in here, this is a no-gossip zone, so if someone is going to say something, they need to be able to say it to your face.

“Squirrelly, huh?” I ask.

Well, the kid sure can drive me nuts. When he was going to sleep last night, I found half a cookie under his pillow.

“What do kids like to eat?” I blurt.

It’s an out-of-character question for me to ask, however, not an entirely out-of-context inquiry since many of the guys have or are in the early stages of being in the family way.

“Do you mean kids, like baby goats?” Ted squints at me and tells a story about how when he was up in Maple Falls, Washington he met a goat named Edgar.

“Weren’t you a kid once?” Grady says.

“No, he came out of the womb bearded and surly,” Pierre quips.

I grunt.

“Ask the nutritionist what they eat,” Robo says smartly.

I jolt to my feet. Why didn’t I think of that? I don’t need Jessica’s help. I’ve got this. Wait. Was I considering her help?

Mrs. Kirby gave me a veritable childcare punch card and I only have three remaining days for her to watch the kid.

Then what?

“You’re right. He is acting different,” Jack adds, peering at me. “Somehow stressed and stirred up at the same time.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” I ask casually, tossing my gear in my bag and desperate for this line of conversation to end.

Jack shakes his head. “No, like romantic stirrings.”

“What are you talking about?”

Pierre says, “He’s full of questions. But we have one.”

“We do?” a few of the guys chorus.

Pierre smirks. “What’s her name?”

“Whose name?” I ask.

“You know who. The woman waiting for you in the hallway.” Now Hayden smirks.

Jessica? I didn’t ask her to come tonight. Why would she? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lately, you’ve been texting a lot more. Texting with a scowl on your face.” Redd smirks too.

“If I were involved with someone, wouldn’t I be smiling?” I counter.

Thankfully, Beau snorts instead of smirks. Glad one of the guys on the team is on my side. “Not you.”

Never mind.

I huff a breath because there is no chemistry between Jessica and me. I’m not interested in anything with her other than never seeing her bright eyes, dimpled smile, and plump peachy lips ever again. The best thing about her is watching her leave each day.

“Touching her butt is against the rules.”

The guys collectively gasp.

What has gotten into me? It’s like all the words the kid refuses to speak dam up behind my mouth and are pouring out. Not that he’d say that, but I did.

And. Everyone. Heard.

They Ooh and Coo , making smoochy noises.

“I meant, Bundt. She bakes.” I bolt.

However, I don’t make it out the door before Beau hollers, “We all knew. It was obvious.”

Not him too. He’s the guy I can rely on to remain mum like me. To put his full focus on the game. Then again, he got fooled into falling in love last year with a wedding planner no less. Probably a witch like Jessica.

Who is indeed waiting for me in the hallway. Her long brown hair is down and looks as smooth as silk with soft waves shifting with her movement. The woman practically hums with good vibes, radiating warmth like a human ray of sunshine.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Well, hello to you, too. Great game by the way. The other team passing the puck between your legs was superb.”

I square up with her. “I don’t think you understand how hockey works.”

She twists her lips to the side. “True, but just think of the opportunity it gives you to up your game. We grow through adversity.”

“You sound like a motivational speaker.”

“Thanks for coming to my talk. I’m offering a limited-time discount on all platinum packages. Just sign over the contents of your bank account and I’ll change your life.” She holds out a bag of licorice. “I did that once and ended up almost having to file bankruptcy. Turns out the thirty-day money-back guarantee had a loophole. Then I worked for a woman who ran such a company and almost made the worst decision of my life. Thankfully, her son eloped, so no harm done, really.”

I turn my nose up at the self-help suggestion and licorice. “No, thanks.”

“You requested it.”

“I didn’t.”

As if ignoring me, she says, “Only people who hate themselves eat black licorice. The red kind is where it’s at.”

“I don’t hate myself.”

She shrugs as if that’s up for debate. “Also, I thought we were sticking to texting to communicate. I had to update the Knights app to read your message and I have a very limited data plan. Took me half an hour to log into the Wi-Fi here.”

The pranks among the Knights are pretty mild, all things considered. I blame them. “That’s because I didn’t message you. Not through the app and not about the licorice.”

As if on cue, my teammates parade out of the locker room, surveying me and then sneaking a peek at Jessica. Grimaldi winks at her.

A primal rage burns inside. If we were football players, I’d drag him out to the turf, but before I can do the hockey version, Pierre says, “We smoked him out. I knew something was up. Someone will have to change his app password.”

A growl comes from my throat. Time to make her quit being my assistant.

Jessica’s cheeks are on fire as if she discerned what they’re implying.

“No,” I state.

“No?” she says, voice squeaky.

“Nope,” I repeat.

“But—?”

“Not a chance.”

I’m not sure if we’re having the same conversation, but for my part, I want to make it clear that despite the stunt the guys pulled—impersonating me on the app—I’m not interested in her. Not in the slightest. Not even her butt. Especially that.

“I detest cake,” I blurt.

She gapes at me. “Cakes are perfect for all occasions!”

“You can’t solve everything with cake.”

“Why not?”

“Because life isn’t a story with a happy ending.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I know that, Liam. But you could ease up on being such a rude, crude, brooding grump.”

“And you’re a ray of sunshine.”

“You say that like you’d rather stay inside with the curtains closed. By yourself.”

“At least I like my own company.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Her chin quivers.

I have to stop this now. Get her out of here so she doesn’t cry … or want to come back. “But you want to see my abs.”

Eyes cartoonish, she gasps. “I do not.”

“Admit it.” This will drive her over the edge. She’ll turn in her resignation any second now.

“My grandmother was the one who was interested.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Yet you knew about the hashtag.”

A color the exact hue of rose petals dusts her cheeks.

I step closer, narrowing the space between us until she’s nearly against the wall. “I didn’t ask for this,” I say, when what I really mean is it’s time for her to find a new job.

Except her peachy, glossy lips ripple like she’s trying to resist a smile. Like I don’t intimidate her at all. Either that, or she’s too positive and bright-eyed for her own good.

My eyes lock on hers for a long beat. Her lashes brush her cheeks, then she looks up at me, unwavering.

I feel like I’m losing my balance. She lengthens her spine, growing closer to me.

It’s like we’re both on the fritz with the question of a kiss on our lips. Not sure whether we want to shove the other into the abyss or hold on to each other for dear life.

Mouth parting, she swallows before saying, “I don’t like the way you smell.”

Breaking the moment, whatever that was, I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean against the wall. “And how is that?

“Like aftershave and ice. Cold, cold, ice. Like your heart.” With each word, she narrows her eyes and leans closer to me.

My lips pooch a little bit, preparing a retort. “What’s wrong with that? Sounds as if you like it.”

“No. Nope. Not a chance,” she echoes my comment from a few minutes ago.

Operating on too few hours of sleep and coming off an intense game, it’s like the past ten years didn’t happen. I’m temporarily my old self. Lacking impulse control and without thinking, I lean my head to one side and nuzzle her neck, breathing her in.

She yelps. “What are you doing?” Then, in a softer, distracted, delighted voice, she repeats, “What are you doing?”

“You smell like cinnamon and spice.” And everything nice under the sun. Heat travels up my neck. I love her scent.

Pulling away, she’s not wearing her ‘Everything is fine’ face anymore. More like it’s in flames with alarm. “I’m guessing you hate it as much as licorice.”

In reality, I’ve been craving cake.

She storms off, jeans tight and hips swinging. I cannot resist admiring her curves.

I run my hand down my face. What’s happening to me?

* * *

With the sheet pulled over my head, so I don’t disturb the kid, I prepare a task list for Thursday and text it to Jessica.

Me: Arrange travel for same-day return from the game in Oklahoma on Sunday.

Jessica: Done.

Me: Return call to the auto insurance company. They want an annual mileage update.

Jessica: No problem.

Me: Pick up my dry cleaning. I want the dark blue suit ready for team photos over the weekend.

Jessica: Do all athletes wear suits to games?

Me: I’m pretty sure it’s just a hockey thing.

I realize now that as the first month of her being my assistant ends, our messages have become more casual with both of us inserting questions and thoughts.

I tell myself I want to keep it simple. Straightforward and cinnamon spice-free. Probably. I mean, I prefer that flavor profile to licorice.

Me: Tell the watch brand that I only do hockey product endorsements.

Jessica: Are you seriously passing up one of those dark and gloomy luxury brand ads commonly seen on subway billboards? You have a perfectly broody look that’s just begging for the spotlight and for someone to draw a mustache on your upper lip with a permanent marker.

I do my level best not to laugh. I stopped shaving and grew out my facial hair the day she started working for me. Hopefully, she despises it.

Me: I already have a beard.

Jessica: I like it when you shave.

Me: I didn’t ask.

Jessica: By now you must realize that I offer up my opinion free of charge.

She sure does and it’s kind of growing on me. Like the beard. But if she prefers me without it …

Jessica: My favorite Liam Ellis look is in the morning before shaving. Like an eight a.m. shadow.

She has a favorite? I’m not sure what to think of that, except it sends a whoosh rushing through me.

I tell myself that I preferred life pre-Jessica Fuller. However, there’s a lot to like about her.

She’s genuine. Not fake.

Sweet. Not saccharine.

Bubbly. Not bombastic.

Scratch the last. Depending on her caffeine level, she can come in sparkling like a disco ball or bashing through my walls like a wrecking ball.

On the other side of the bed, the kid turns over, letting out a soft little snore.

I take a deep breath, realizing the last time I felt like I had any oxygen in my lungs was when I was with Jessica earlier. She and the kid were playing a patty-cake kind of game. The other day my trainer even noticed, commenting that my inhales were shallow.

What she said at the Fish Bowl floats into my mind and finally lands with a thud. Yeah, he needs to see a doctor about his hearing. I’m so out of my depth, I don’t even know where to begin. But I have to start with what’s best for him, which means I can no longer deny there’s an issue.

Me: Schedule a time for your grandmother to meet the kid.

Jessica: Seriously? She’s going to be thrilled. He’s going to adore her and learn so much. This is the best decision you’ve ever made. I’ve seen her work miracles. We’ll have to celebrate!

Before I talk myself out of it, I send a final message.

Me: In that case, make me a Bundt cake.

Jessica: I thought you’d never ask.

I’m about to shut off my phone when it vibrates with another text. But my thread with Jessica left off with her message.

The message is from Pam. The words I want him back accompany an image of part of our custody paperwork. The fine print.

A swarm of wasps fills my stomach. My face feels hot.

My phone beeps one more time.

It’s another message from Pam demanding payment.

I read the segment of the document that remains blurry from the days when I discovered I had a kid.

And there’s a deadline.