Page 61 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Dad’s eyes barely open, but they’re open. Battered face, oxygen mask in place, he looks like he got into a fight with a semi-truck.

“You look like hell,” he rasps, voice as dry as sandpaper.

East grabs Dad’s hand, rubbing his face into the palm like I’ve seen him do before—that a thing of theirs?—and squeezes it tight as if he’s trying to anchor Dad to this plane.

“You asshole. Don’t ever do that again, or I’ll kill you myself.”

I hover outside of Dad’s periphery, watching East smooth a hand over Dad’s blanket again, feeling that he’s really there, that he’s not so stricken with grief that he’s imagining this.

“How long was I out?” Dad croaks.

“A few days, and it was way too fucking long, McKinnon,” East says.

“You’re here.” He smiles at East, closing his eyes briefly as if the effort of speaking is too much.

“Of course, I am. I never left.”

I step forward, drawing both their gazes. East startles like he’s been caught doing something private. But Dad’s whole face changes. Exhausted and bandaged, with one eye swollen nearly shut, he still manages a crooked smile for me.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hey,” I answer.

“Wow, you look like shit, too. There a dress code I missed out on?”

“You need to look in a mirror, bud,” I tell him. “We were just following your lead.”

I move closer to the other side of the bed. I don’t touch him yet—I’m not ready—but I look at him. Really look. Even as shit kicked as he is, he’s happy.

“I’ve been here, watching East fawn over you,” I say.

“Did he cry?” Dad asks, and East lets out an offended sputter.

“You almost died, you fucking dick.”

Dad chuckles—barely, but enough—and that’s when I finally let the breath out.

With Dad officially on the mend, I can head back to school, but it’s not far from the hospital.

I leave campus as often as I can to help.

Dad’s vitals remain strong, so they want him up, bearing weight on his broken leg.

There’s a large rod in it now, and he thinks he’s bionic, which makes for some entertaining bickering matches between him and East.

East asks if I can stay with him on and afternoon after classes, so he can get some stuff from home.

The nurses let me take him outside, and I push him around in a wheelchair. We’ve hit February, so I’ve got him bundled up, a thick scarf around his neck, a blanket tucked around his thighs.

“You think I’ll be up in time to walk down the aisle again?” he says.

He’s been quiet. That’s his way of starting a conversation about East.

“I’ve been sleeping with my professor,” I say instead of answering him.

“Yeah, I have eyes, Ace. Kind of noticed the giant, looming presence, with hawk-like eyes that followed you everywhere. But you do something similar. You search for him every so often, making sure he’s still there, even when you’ve got your hand on him. Which you do, all the time.”

I wince. “We’re that obvious, eh?”

“Totally obvious.”

“He’s my lobster, Dad,” I blurt out.

“Then I’ll call Uncle Patrick and tell him to look the other way.”

“Um, is it really that easy?”

“Yeah, Ace. But, I’ll admit, it’s only because I’ve seen you two together and I’m going through the same thing. I don’t condone what I’ve done with East. I’m so much older than he is and his boss. It’s all kinds of wrong.”

That gets a chuckle from me. “Are you sure you’re his boss?”

I’ve had the supreme pleasure of watching Dad grit his teeth while East fusses over him. Mom didn’t even fuss over him like that. But Dad does what East says, even though I can tell he’d rather be intubated again.

“I’m definitely his boss,” Dad says with a smirk I never want explained, but then he winces. “Maybe not when it comes to post-hospital care, though. Can I live in your frat house with you until I’m healed up?”

I laugh. “Sorry, Dad. I love you, but I’m not going up against East on that one.”

The man’s already emailed me lengthy recovery programs he must have put together while Dad slept.

He’s been talking to the physiotherapist and booking home care, so that Dad can go home sooner.

And I’m pretty sure I’m only receiving the emails as a courtesy, not as a co-conspirator, though I agree with his plan.

“Guess I’m stuck with that overbearing little menace,” he says in a way that warms my insides. Dad’s in love. He’s so over the moon for East, he’s gonna let him go ahead with his brand of suffocating care.

“It seems stupid now, but I really thought you forgot about her,” I say, broaching Mom, a topic that hasn’t boded well for us in a long while.

He inhales the fresh air. “Not stupid. I … watched you break, Ace. Therapy wasn’t doing much for you—or me.

The only thing that worked for me was burying Grace a second time, in my work.

I thought it might work for you, too, if you’d just try it.

But it pushed you further away from me, so I pushed harder, scrambling to get us back to where we were. ”

I nod. “I knew that’s what you were doing, I was frustrated you wouldn’t let me grieve at my own pace. But I can see what you saw now. I was hanging onto the past so hard, there was no way I could step into my future.”

We hit the edge of a partially frozen pond, and I park the wheelchair, sitting on the bench next to him. We watch the view together, and I swear to fuck, Mom’s here with us. This would be a great time to tell them both …

“So, if say, Vancouver wanted to sign me, how many jerseys would you want?”

“Vancouver,” he breathes. “Really?”

“Yeah. They want me, fuck, honestly? Everyone wants to sign me, still, but I’m choosing Vancouver.” I haven’t even told Luke yet—or anyone. But I’m kinda glad Dad gets to know first.

Mom and Dad. I know you’re fucking here, Mom.

“Of course, they do, Ace. They’re smart. They know what you’ll bring to the team.”

“Yeah, apparently I have the stats to compete with Rhett Elkington.”

“You have more than that, son.” He reaches a shaky hand to pat my chest, right over my heart.

I take it, and hold it, so fucking grateful I haven’t lost him, too.

That I’ll get the time with him I didn’t get with Mom, because I’m going to get my head out of my ass.

I’ll never stop loving Mom as fiercely as I do, but at some point, hanging onto her like I have, shifted from grief to something heavier and harder to name.

I kept moving, kept giving, kept going, just so no one would notice I was too scared to live.

It was avoidance dressed up as distraction.

But Dad noticed.

And Luke.

Thank fuck they weren’t gonna let me spin there forever.

Mom would die a second time if I were trapped in that kind of purgatory forever.

Maybe the pain I noticed in Dad was about Mom’s death at first, but after that, it was because of me.

Having to watch me stay stuck, worried about losing who I was to grief.

And if what I saw in him was just a reflection of my grief, no wonder he was desperate to rip me out.

“You’ll be ready to walk down the aisle with East, Dad. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Oh god. Don’t tell me there’s going to be two of you.

I need you on my side. He bought sixty pounds of incense purported to help lift the healing aura, I’m gonna smell like the inside of a crystal shop run by a raccoon in a caftan.

Then, he informed me this morning that he found a company that delivers fresh, spray-free celery juice every morning and does dry brushing as a courtesy—what kind of psychopathic company does both of those horrible things? ”

“Um, what’s dry brushing?”

“He made me try it once,” he grumbles. “Utter torture. It’s supposed to be good for boosting circulation and lymphatic drainage, but it feels like exfoliating your soul with a cactus.”

“I won’t let him exfoliate your soul with a cactus, Dad,” I promise.

“Always knew you were a good son, kiddo.”

As if he could hear us conspiring, East barrels toward us in long strides, scarf flying behind him, long jacket flaring, making him look like a wizard on a mission.

“There you two are. The nurse said you’ve been gone a while now. It’s too cold out here; we need to get you back inside.”

East doesn’t get far. Dad summons the strength from somewhere to yank him onto his lap.

“Your leg!” East screeches.

“You’re on my good side.”

“ McKinnon .”

“Shhh, baby.” He coaxes East’s head into his neck.

“You almost died, Shae,” he says for the millionth time, still not in the mood to forgive him for that.

“I know, but I didn’t.”

Their foreheads touch in an intimate way that makes me feel like I should look away, but I don’t.

I want this picture burned into my memory.

Despite all the domesticity, I don’t think they were back together yet, but they are now.

This is the moment. This one. I’ll quote it in my speech at their wedding.

Dad threads his fingers into East’s freshly washed hair.

“I have a best man,” he announces.

“Did he finally ask you?” East says in my direction.

“Yes,” I lie. He didn’t exactly ask, but he didn’t need to.

I’ll be Dad’s best man, and they have my blessing.

“If it wasn’t me, I was gonna riot. But you should know, he only picked me because he thinks I’m gonna stand up for him against your militant recovery plan. You have my full support, East.”

His eyes soften, twinkling, understanding that I mean more than just support with Dad’s recovery.

“Thanks, Ace. That means a lot, and with his stubborn ass, I’m gonna need it.”

“I’m right here, you two,” Dad says. “And I’d like to remind you that stubbornness kept me here with you today.”

“No. Nuh-uh, no, sir. We are not joking about that. Now or ever,” East says, somehow managing to get closer to Dad, clinging onto his neck.

Dad winks at me from over East’s head, having won that round—East has forgotten all about escaping his lap.

I think they’re gonna be fine.

And I’m gonna be fine, too.