Page 3

Marty

“Daddy, I’m hungry!” Five-year-old Martin, Jr. comes into the room where I’m changing sixteen-month-old Bradley’s diaper. He has his hands on his hips indignantly, brows knitted into a frown that reminds me of his mother so much it’s like a gut-punch.

“Just a minute, buddy,” I reply.

“I’m hungry!” He stomps his foot. “I want hot dogs!”

The tantrums began after his mother and I separated, but they’re worse than ever since I picked them up. I wanted to start family counseling, but my soon-to-be ex refused to sign off on it, so I go on my own. Desperate for answers to questions I don’t know to ask.

I have a hangover and my stomach’s a little off after how much partying we did at Ivan and Chey’s wedding, and I’m trying to get my shit together before leaving for the morning-after brunch. Gabe and Harper are throwing it in their back yard, a more casual and relaxed event where the happy couple will open presents before we send them off on their Australian honeymoon. Where they’re having another wedding reception for Chey’s extended Australian family.

I’m tired just thinking about it.

“Daddy, I can’t find my shoe.” Three-year-old Emma’s eyes tear up as she stands there holding one pink Mary Jane.

“Give me a second, honey.” I pull up Bradley’s shorts and hand him his pacifier. He grins and crawls away as I get to my feet.

“Martin, there are carrot sticks and juice boxes in the fridge. You know we’re going to eat when we get to the party.”

“I don’t want carrot sticks!” he yells.

“Then you’ll stay hungry until we get there.”

“I hate you!” He stomps his feet again and runs from the room.

No, I’m sure his mother had nothing to do with his sudden need to tell me he hates me every chance he gets.

I sigh as Emma watches her brother with big, tearful dark eyes. Eyes just like mine. Thank fuck one of my kids looks like me. Martin and Bradley are carbon copies of Brenna, with her blond hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. It gutted me to do it, but once I found out she was having an affair, I had paternity tests done on all three of them. Luckily, they’re mine. I don’t know what I would have done if all, or even one, weren’t.

I locate Emma’s shoe, help her put it on, and then go in search of Martin.

At this point, we’re already late for brunch. I could just give in and stay home, but that would be admitting defeat. And I’m determined to make this solo parenting thing work.

I love my kids.

More than anything.

It would be so much easier if I didn’t.

I could give Brenna primary and physical custody, let them move to Tennessee permanently, and write a check every month.

All this stress would go away. I could relax. Hang with my friends, go drinking… hook up with someone like Stevie.

I almost did something stupid last night.

Almost.

I came to my senses before anything happened, but I never wanted to kiss someone as much as I wanted to kiss Stevie last night. I think I might have hurt her feelings a little when I didn’t because she steered clear of me after that, which is disappointing. I would have liked to dance with her again, but that would be dangerous.

Because technically I’m not single.

And I have my kids.

For at least the next four weeks, they’re my priority.

A supermodel with sad blue eyes and a body that fits perfectly against mine has no place in my life.

My lawyer is working on full custody.

I’d agree to shared custody if Brenna stays in L.A., but her boyfriend—my ex-teammate Philippe—was traded to the team in Nashville, and she went with him. Taking my kids along.

She thinks I’m being unreasonable since I travel for hockey. I’d need a full-time nanny and all kinds of help because even now, when I’m not playing, taking care of them is a full-time job. It never seemed hard when Brenna was here, but I’m not stupid. I know it’s because there were two of us.

Part of me feels guilty, knowing how tough it must have been on her when I was gone for seven or ten days at a time, but she had help. A nanny. Daycare. Friends.

I don’t have any of that now.

I have friends, but a bunch of pro hockey players aren’t going to help me take care of my kids unless it’s an emergency.

I can’t hire a nanny when I don’t know if I’ll get full custody, and the temps so far have been less than impressive.

There’s so much up in the air, and as I stare at the back of Marty’s little head, I wonder what he’s thinking about as he looks out the window of my bedroom. There’s a bay window that overlooks our expansive back yard. If I get custody, I’ll keep the house. If not, I’ll have to sell it. I can’t keep up with something this big on my own, especially if I’m sending out thousands every month in both alimony and child support.

“You still mad, buddy?” I ask quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft, with a little hiccough.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He sighs, like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I hate Brenna a little more for putting us—and our babies—in this situation.

“I wish Mommy was here.”

“I know, buddy. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t like Tennessee.”

It’s better for me to never talk bad about Brenna, Philippe, or Nashville.

“I want you to stay here, with me,” I say instead.

“Mommy said you can’t take care of us because of hockey.”

Ugh.

This isn’t something one can easily discuss with a five-year-old.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” I say. “You’re going to start kindergarten and I’m going to hire a nanny.”

“Mommy said nannies are mean.”

Of course she did.

Fucking hell, Brenna. What’s wrong with you?

“I’ll find a nice one,” I promise. “You’ll see. It’ll be okay.”

“Is Mommy going to stay with Philippe? She said he’ll be our new daddy.”

Over my dead body.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen with Philippe, son, but I promise, I’m always going to be your daddy.”

He turns and looks at me. “Okay.”

“You ready to go to the party?”

“Yes.” He pauses. “Can we swim?”

“Yes. Auntie Harper said you can go in the pool.”

“Will you swim with me?”

I wasn’t planning on it, but I will because he wants me to.

“Sure, buddy.”

* * *

By the time we get to the party, brunch is almost over, but that’s okay. Harper sweeps in to make plates for Martin and Emma, while I settle at one of the tables with Bradley on my lap. He gnaws on a carrot stick while I bounce my knee. He’s really the happiest and most even-tempered of my kids, but that makes sense since he’s too little to understand what’s been going on with his mother and me.

“How’s things going?” Canyon asks me after someone puts a plate in front of me.

“Oh, you know…” I gaze over to where Martin and Emma are laughing with Ally, Canyon’s niece, who’s twelve. “Dealing with a lot of emotional bullshit, thanks to Brenna talking shit to the kids.”

Canyon grimaces. “Jesus. Bad enough she was screwing around, but she has to poison your kids too?”

“She wants them to hate me so they’ll want to stay with her.”

“When do you see the judge?”

“Not until October.”

“Until then?”

“Brenna has full custody, but I have them for another month or so. Then I drop them off in Tennessee and get ready for hockey season.”

“What has to happen for the judge to rule in your favor?” Canyon asks.

I sigh. “I have to have a nanny and show that I can take care of them when I’m working.”

There’s an awkward silence at the table.

“But how will you do that?” Connor asks, saying what the others obviously weren’t comfortable verbalizing.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I can hire two nannies, so I always have coverage. Martin starts school full-time next month, Emma’s already in half-day preschool and she can do daycare for the other half. And Bradley will be two next year, so he can start preschool as well. I mean, nothing is perfect, but I’m not letting my kids move to Tennessee.”

“Is there an alternative?” Saylor asks.

“The alternative is Brenna staying here and we share custody. But she can’t be with Phil if she does that and apparently, they want to be together.” I almost roll my eyes but manage to refrain.

“What’s best for the kids?” Connor asks.

“To have both parents in their lives,” I respond. “But she doesn’t want to stay, and I refuse to let her take them that far. I literally will never see them from September to at least April. Longer if we make the playoffs. Holidays, birthdays… I’ll miss everything.”

“Can they force her to bring them to you?”

“They can, but it’s just going to foster resentment and negativity. The kids may not notice yet, but Martin already is starting to show signs of Brenna’s negative influence, so I can’t imagine what it will be like if the judge forces her to bring them back and forth to me regularly.”

“I don’t envy you,” Saylor says quietly.

“Yeah, I don’t envy myself either.” I take a bite of a roast beef slider that’s delicious.

“Maybe it would be easier if you let Brenna have the kids,” Connor says. “I know that’s not what you want but?—”

“No.” I shake my head as I cut him off. “I know it’s hard to understand when you don’t have them, but they’re part of you. It’s hard to explain how much you’re going to love your future children.”

Connor grins. “Yeah, I guess that’s just not on my radar yet.”

“Nor should it be,” Canyon says firmly. “You have lots of time.”

“No babies in my five-year plan,” Effie says, giggling.

“Mine either.” Connor slips his arm around the back of her chair and gazes down at her adoringly.

I remember being in love like that.

What I don’t remember is when I stopped.

Had it happened so gradually I didn’t even notice?

Had I somehow failed Brenna as a husband and partner?

She said some hateful things at the end, when I caught her sending nude photos to Philippe, about how I forced her to have kids and how I manipulated her into giving up all her dreams to follow mine.

I don’t remember it that way.

I remember passion and presents and dreaming about the future.

Then, right when I thought we had it all, she ripped it away from me.

And I’m still reeling.

The custody battle is making things a million times worse.

I stuff the rest of the slider into my mouth and reach for the beer someone brought me.

I’ve just lifted it to my mouth when I see her coming out of the house.

And despite my best efforts, I’m completely mesmerized.