Page 23

21

LIAM

I half expected Jessica to shed a tear when she parted ways with Shy Eye Good Guy, or bake a cake to celebrate, but she remained surprisingly cool during the transaction.

We head back to Cobbiton, her in the Infiniti’s driver seat, maneuvering carefully like she’s handling a baby foal and not a vehicle built with four-wheel drive. Not only is it a safer option during inclement weather, but it could also handle some off-roading.

While she focuses, I can’t stop asking myself why I didn’t tell Larry the loan guy that Jessica is just my assistant.

But perhaps she’s more than that.

I guess.

Maybe.

She clears her throat and says, “I’m going to line up KJ’s appointments. There might be a few you’ll want to come to, but if you’re at work, I can bring Grandma Dolly.”

“The kid loves her.” Even though I’ve had a rough start to fatherhood, I can no longer deny my affection for my son. It’s been hard to know how to show it without coming off as a total dweeb, not that KJ would care, but still. My memories of my father are good with few exceptions, but he was often gone playing hockey and kind of obsessed with my brother and me making progress in the sport when he was around. It worked out well, but what kind of father do I want to be to the kid?

“I’m guessing they got into plenty of trouble today. But, um, I’m guessing the specialists are going to have some questions about his background.”

“We can have my primary care and sports physicians send my history over if necessary. They’ll see that I’m quite the specimen.”

The corners of Jessica’s lips curve in a private smile but then fall as she turns onto Main Street. Maybe she needs more coffee. “It would also be helpful to have information about KJ’s mother.”

Except for the increasingly chaotic and somewhat threatening texts she’s been sending, when I think about that role, Jessica is the only person who fits the profile.

“In addition to health history, there might need to be some documents signed, sometimes custody comes into play,” Jessica speaks carefully, almost nervously.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll give authorization. I have full custody of the kid.”

For now.

“Great. Any information, records, and such that you have on file would also be helpful.”

I shake my head. “He only came with a note.”

The meaning of this batters me like an entire fleet of hockey players armed with sticks and pucks. If only I’d known about the kid, I could’ve done something sooner to help. “I don’t know if he went for regular checkups and had his hearing evaluated, or if it was overlooked entirely.”

She shifts as if uncomfortable.

Swallowing back a thick lump in my throat, I say, “Thanks, Jessica.”

She nods and then pats the steering wheel as if wanting to change the subject. “Thank you for this. I think I’ll name him Bigfoot.”

“How about not?”

“That’s no fun. Life is about relationships.”

“You can’t have a relationship with a vehicle.”

“Tell that to Shy Eye Good Guy. We made a lot of memories together.”

She starts to tell me about them, including how once a duck jumped into the passenger seat like she was a cab driver.

Jessica breezes past my moods like nothing can bring her down. Not that I’m trying to diminish her. But it’s impressive how she just keeps on smiling. Must live a charmed life.

For the next few days, I have one boot on the ground and the other on the ice until we travel to Pennsylvania for a game against the Generals. They’re a decent team and I need to keep my head in the game.

The front line is relentless, reminding me of Jessica. Beau refuses to let the puck in the net. Our defense is tight with speed and agility. ‘Bama and Hayden each get goals. The Generals do too and the game is tied at the close so we go into a sudden-death overtime with three on three.

Pierre gets the job done.

Unfortunately, our flight back is delayed due to a band of storms dipping down from Canada. I take the opportunity to call my parents who gloat about having moved from Brookking Sound northwest of Toronto to sunny San Diego, at least during the winter months.

They’re both on speakerphone, encouraging me to visit. Little do they know me is now a we . A trio, if I add my assistant and nanny, Jessica.

I brush my hand down my face, wishing I were at home with them in Nebraska. However, with the chill in the air, I wouldn’t say no to a family trip out west.

So why haven’t I told Mom and Dad that I’m a father?

My mother asks, “When is your next game in Los Angeles?”

“We’ll come up,” Dad says.

“My assistant will let you know.”

“Oh, Jessica? She’s a darling,” Mom says.

My jaw smashes into the worn linoleum floor of the airport. “What?”

“She and I swapped recipes.”

“When? Where? Why?” This is news to me. I immediately start pacing because of what this could mean.

Mom answers, “She wanted to know when your birthday is.”

“But how’d she get your number? She must’ve gone on my phone. That sneaky little rule breaker.” My voice is tight.

“Can you really be mad since she was being thoughtful?”

Mom knows I’m not a big birthday guy.

Fear pierces my gut. “Did she say anything else? Mention any other birthdays?”

My mother laughs. “She wanted to know what kind of cake you like.”

Dad says, “Your mother said she has a marvelous Bundt.”

With his German accent, it sounds like he says butt .

“She does.” I clap my hand over my eyes. “I mean the cake.”

“Well, of course. I tried her recipe and I think the secret is the temperature of the eggs when combined with the sugar for a silky consistency. If that gal is as genius with baking as she is with managing your life, I’d say she’s a keeper.”

I stagger like the airport was struck by a meteor, or maybe that’s just me because everything surrounding me remains still. However, I feel like the earth was thrown off its axis.

“She’s a very helpful young lady. Keeping you on the edge of your blades,” my dad adds with a hint in his tone.

“You can say that again,” I mutter.

“I was just reviewing the schedule and it looks like you have a game in Toronto next month. We’ll be in Brookking Sound for Grannie Bell’s birthday, so we’ll see you then for sure.”

“I do love watching my boys play together,” Dad says.

I’ve given up on reminding him that we’re on opposing teams—Hendrix plays for the Titans. It’s less of a together situation and more of an against .

“And don’t be shy about bringing a guest.” Mom’s tone is light, airy, and suggestive.

My stomach clenches. They can’t mean the kid. Jessica wouldn’t have mentioned him. She knows the rules. So why did she and my mother exchange cake recipes?

* * *

Games bookend the week as we countdown to the playoffs which begin at the end of the month.

I’m just coming off the ice after we trounced the Oklahoma Thunder, which, to be fair, isn’t hard to do, when I spot a familiar face in the hallway at the Ice Palace.

Cara waves at her best friend as she rushes into Pierre’s arms. Even after the exhausting slugfest on the ice, he still manages to lift her up and spin her around.

I warily approach Jessica who holds the kid’s hand and wonder what they’re doing here.

She beams a smile. “We couldn’t wait until you got home.”

“There’s nothing that couldn’t wait.” My tone is harsher than I mean, but if anyone puts two and two together, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Her expression flattens and then quickly reconfigures to her usual cheerful smile.

The kid hops up and down.

“Go. We can talk later.” I don’t dare say home , lest I give myself away. If anyone finds out this kid is mine, it’ll change the game entirely.

However, the kid, my son, signs something that I vaguely translate as pig or bear. Donkey? That would be me. A great big wild beast.

Giving my head a shake, I repeat, “I’ll see you later.”

Jessica doesn’t move for a long beat. Her nostrils flare. If she were the witch from Hansel and Gretel, she’d bake me into a cake. Her mouth opens and then closes as if she’s debating giving me a piece of her mind. Then with a shake of her head that’s more disappointment than disapproval, she turns on her heel.

It’s then I notice that she and the kid are both wearing Knights jerseys. My last name, our last name, is emblazoned across the kid’s. On Jessica’s back are the letters G-R-I-M-A-L-D-I.

Magma builds inside, threatening to erupt with volcanic ferocity, and from behind, I grip her shoulder and growl, “Take that off.”

Startled, she turns around. “What are you talking about?”

“Take off the jersey.” I burn holes in the shiny material with my stare.

Jessica tilts her head to the side. “Why? I borrowed it from Grandma Dolly. It was closest to my size. She has one for nearly every player on the team. Figured you’d be happy to see us supporting the Knights.” Her tone is innocent, but if she spends another second wearing Grimaldi’s last name on her back, I will be very, very guilty.

“Take. It. Off,” I repeat.

“I’m only wearing a camisole underneath, Liam. What else should I put on?”

I tear my jersey off and shove it toward her.

“What has gotten into you?” Then, like a lightbulb going off, she seems to understand. Her jaw lowers at my audacity.

My expression sharpens.

The kid must sense the tension because he gets wiggly. The last thing I need is for anyone to notice them, least of all Jessica wearing that jersey ... or the camisole. My pulse is already high and threatens to blow off the roof which would be a shame since this is a new building.

“Put it on.”

“Who’s being bossy now?” she gripes, struggling to discretely change tops.

“If you’re going to wear anyone’s jersey. It’s mine.”

“What about the rules?” she asks as her head pops through the neckline.

My lips press together because she’s got me there. I recall ordering her never to wear my jersey. I don’t know where my head was then and I have no idea where it is now except incensed that Jessica was in Grimaldi’s number.

“Stop with your questions,” I bark.

Our gazes meet. A long moment passes between us, stretching, lengthening, morphing.

Fluffing her hair out from the collar, she says, “Or I could ask more. Double down. What has you so peeved when you could be happy to see us? Why are you being irrational? You could explain yourself. How can you be so attractive when you’re mad?” Her eyes widen as if surprised at having said the last one out loud.

She shouldn’t think I’m attractive, but the heat rising along my neck suggests I liked hearing that. My fist grips the air and tightens.

Her gaze drops to it.

I grit my teeth. I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life.

I want to kiss this woman, but I have to resist.

Her lips part and her eyes dip to my mouth. “Oh,” she breathes as if realizing something.

Before either one of us can do anything stupid, I give the kid a high five and turn to leave, then with a grunt, say, “Get out of here.”

But I have to stay away from her.

If I don’t, I will lose control.

This whole thing was a mistake.

Except, when I’m around Jessica, when I smell her and hear her laugh there is no denying the rushing, sweeping, whooshing feeling like in those seconds as the puck races toward the net. It’s anticipation and uncertainty. Excitement and hope. But even better.

I have to out skate it.