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Another forlorn glance over her shoulder. Her dark hair, like spilled ink, was in a messy ponytail, little wisps laying damp against her neck. She wore jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt with a setting sun on the front.

“Yeah, great.”

“Your photos were amazing. You have a great eye.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You saw my photos?”

“Your dad was always showing them, usually over dinner at your place.” Looking at them, I’d felt like I was right there in the thick of a Turkish bazaar or a religious procession through narrow, cobblestoned Italian streets.

She weighed that observation for a moment but remained silent. Jesus, this shouldn’t be so hard.

“Those songs, too. For Tilly.”

Another share from Kershaw. Adeline and her little sister were very close, and one of their ways of connecting was through funny little songs about butterflies and birds. I didn’t pay as much attention to those, but I recall being struck by Adeline’s voice, sweet and clear.

“Just silliness.”

“Good to be home, I bet. You must have missed everyone.”

Her eyes took on a subtle tilt, like some movie goddess from the forties.

“I did. But it was good for me to get away.”

Another awkward pause. Maybe I should let her off the hook.

“I’m guessing you have other people you want to talk to.”

She shook her head, color high on her cheekbones that not even her sun-kissed skin could mask. “Sorry, Lars. As you can probably guess, travel hasn’t made me any less awkward in my dealings with other humans. I’m still a weirdo.”

“Sure, but the world needs weirdos.”

That loosened her up, might even have reminded her of a conversation we had years ago at a Rebels holiday party about embracing her weird and carving her own path. Her shoulders relaxed and I got the sense she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she was a couple of minutes ago. Her next words confirmed it:

“I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

“Thanks. No love lost, though.” Everyone was aware of our estrangement, but I needed her to be clear on it.

Sven Nyquist was an asshole and I’m nothing like him.

“That probably made it all the harder.” She placed a soft hand on my forearm and squeezed. Shockwaves sizzled through me at that skin-to-skin contact, and I froze, barely able to reckon with how her sympathy practically undid me.

Seeming to recognize her effect, she withdrew her hand and changed the subject.

“So are we going to address the elephant in the room?”

Finally. This was good. Lay it out there and clear the air, which was now polluted by an unearthly squall in the distance that sounded like a baby.

“Are you still thinking about that?” I tried to infuse it with casual, maybe even a touch of absurdity that it would be on anyone’s mind at all.

The prettiest blush suffused her cheeks and that gulp in the slender column of her throat? I shouldn’t have been enjoying that at all.

“It was kind of embarrassing.”

“Nah. Anyway, we’ve all grown and moved on, right?” Taking joint responsibility seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.

The corner of her mouth hooked like an inverted comma.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that word. Grown. Because Adeline certainly had since I saw her last. Still serious, but self-effacing with it. A touch of the been there, done that about her. Not the kind of girl who carried a torch for an ancient, broken-down athlete.

“Yep. We have.” That mobile mouth curved into a smile that hit me square in the solar plexus. Dazzling in its intensity. And those movie goddess eyes ... “So, we’re good?”

We should have been. I should have been thrilled we’d smoothed over the awkwardness. Her dad and I had to work together, and it was likely I’d see more of Adeline in the coming months. I didn’t need the hassle of his daughter crushing on me. This year was too important.

“Yeah, we’re good.” I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t get my lips to curve.

My pulse had picked up. My hands felt clammy, the back of my neck hot.

Was I disappointed that absence had not made her heart grow fonder?

Surely, I wasn’t so desperate for female attention that Adeline’s mature handling of our reunion was irritating me.

This was my captain’s kid we were talking about.

Speaking of kids, the baby was on an absolute crying jag now, and people were starting to send dirty looks in the poor infant’s direction. I couldn’t see it, but it felt close, and what the fuck was a baby doing in the Empty Net?

I cast a quick look toward the bar because now the skate was on the other foot and I wanted out. Kershaw was talking to Rebels D-man, Rowan MacFarlane. With two glasses in his hands, he was evidently trying to escape but MacFarlane had him pinned.

I didn’t like that guy. Since his trade in right before the playoffs last season, he’d had his eye on my spot in the Kershaw-Nyquist ’ship, and while he was a decent D-man, no way in hell was I giving up my position in the final year of Theo’s career.

As if the dickhead knew I was thinking uncharitable thoughts, he sent a scowl my way. I sent it right back with interest.

Pro-hockey dynamics. Welcome to middle school.

Baby-in-the-bar status update: still acting like a baby.

“Looks like you’re gonna be thirsty for a while.”

“That’s my dad, friend to all.”

Someone appeared at my shoulder, a little too close for comfort. Pretty standard in the Empty Net post-game, so I shifted a step closer to Adeline and turned.

The first thing I saw was a baby, likely the baby.

And this baby was pissed.

The appearance of this red-faced, mewling alien in my orbit was good.

I was annoyed at my reaction to Adeline and could have done with the distraction of giving whoever brought a baby into a bar a piece of my mind.

I raised my gaze to the responsible adult, a blonde with a great rack, and got the shock of my life.

I knew this woman.

Let me back up a bit here. I’d met her about a year and half ago in this very bar.

I’d like to say we made it out of the bar to a bed, but the bathroom was as good as any for what we both had in mind.

I rarely messed about on my own doorstep, but my father had just fucked up again in a very public way.

I was in a foul mood, and this woman was there, all comfort and curves.

I didn’t take much persuading and when I asked for her number afterwards, more polite formality than true interest, she informed me that she was married.

Now, if I’d been possessed of this information, I would have run the other direction.

My dad was notorious for messing about with otherwise-occupied women while he himself was also occupied.

No way was I going down that road. So we parted amicably and I vowed to be more careful in the future.

(I now had a questionnaire for all potential bedmates.)

Seeing her after all this time—and damn if I could remember her name—was jarring. Even more jarring was that Adeline was standing there, completely over me, which was more irksome than it should have been.

“Hello …?”

“Vicki,” she said with a touch of affront.

“Right. Vicki.”

“Can you hold her a second?”

A quick glance around to see if I was being punked. No one was paying attention except Adeline who was regarding the situation with the same healthy suspicion as me.

“Um—”

Vicki was already bundling the kid into my arms. I truly believe she would have dropped her if I didn’t play ball.

The baby was young, maybe six months. Or ten. I knew nothing about baby ages. Weirdly, the second she landed in my arms, she stopped crying and stared up at me with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

“Oh good, she likes you!” Vicki unshouldered a carry-all bag and dumped it at my feet. “Here’s the thing, Lars. I can’t do this right now.”

My gaze snapped to hers as a sense of foreboding overcame me, or more than what I’d experienced the second I laid eyes on my one-night stand and wondered what the hell she was doing here.

“Do what?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out earlier.”

Dread seeped deeper into my bones.

“What’s going on here?” The words sounded muffled, like I was speaking underwater.

“She’s yours, Lars. Meet your daughter.”