Page 9

“Jesus, NyQuil, you’re gonna need more than a handshake to get you through this.” He wrapped me in a hug and patted my back while I regarded Elle over his shoulder. Her brittle smile barely covered the cracks. She didn’t have much confidence in me, either.

“Thanks, Elle, for staying up to feed her and giving me the crash course in parenting. And for all the stuff.” The trunk was stuffed to the gills.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come home with you?”

I waved it off, so blasé, like I learned I was a new dad every day. “I’ve got this. The agency will be sending over nanny prospects tomorrow, and hopefully one of them can start immediately.”

I was supposed to leave for an away game the day after, so I sure as hell needed childcare to be squared away by then. Which meant I would probably end up choosing the first nanny who didn’t radiate serial killer vibes.

My next moves felt weirdly robotic, the same as how I felt when Sven would watch every one of my motions on the ice in that first year of living with him.

As a professional athlete I should’ve been used to multiple peepers on me.

Coaches, players, fans, media. But this new pressure took me back to those early days learning how to play hockey under the critical eye of my father.

Pick up your toe.

Quit dragging your heel.

Not like that, you fucking idiot.

Are you sure you’re my kid?

Yeah, Sven had any number of “critiques” at the ready to spur me on to greatness.

He labored under the weird misapprehension that a six-year-old would pick it up naturally purely because of genetics.

I thought I’d moved on from that feeling, but here I was again, a bug under a glass, with everyone waiting for me to fail.

Open the door.

One more glance in the back at the kid to make sure she was locked in tight.

Maybe I should tug on the strap to check its tautness? But that would look like I didn’t trust Kershaw when he and Elle were the only reason I wasn’t completely falling apart.

Now or never. But before I could climb in, a strong voice called out, “Hold up! Wait!”

Adeline.

She bounded toward us, her dark ponytail bobbing behind her, determination in her expression. She wore jeans and a tight, fluffy lilac sweater that molded to her in ways I should not be noticing.

“I’ll head back with him and get his place set up.”

“Perfect!” Theo grinned and gave his daughter a hug.

“I’m not staying longer than an hour or two,” Adeline insisted, though no one had asked.

“Just long enough to dot the i’s and cross the t’s,” Elle said, obvious relief in her voice, expression, in her whole demeanor. “You’ll be in and out.”

Adeline turned those movie goddess eyes on me. “You okay with this?”

Her tone was, you’re taking my help whether you want it or not , which I assumed was related to that brief convo we had a couple of hours ago.

I hoped she didn’t think I’d been planting the seeds of weaponized incompetence.

While my cluelessness around babies was a real and verifiable thing, I sure as hell wasn’t using it to get Adeline to take on this gig.

“Wouldn’t dare say no with the daggers you’re shooting me right now.”

She opened her mouth, shut it quickly, then murmured, “Just want to be sure we’re on the same page.”

Strangely, I thought we were. Even more strange, I kind of liked it. And I liked this bossy version of Adeline.

To hell with it. I gave one last pull of the strap across the baby car seat, then took a proper look at the baby for what felt like the first time.

Of course I’d looked at her before, noted that cupid mouth, her apple-blossomed cheeks, those blue eyes that people insisted were copies of my own.

But this time I held her gaze and made a promise: I’ll take care of you, whether your DNA is mine or not.

That was the crux of the conversation this morning with my agent, Quinn Huxley, and the lawyer he hired to get me out of this mess.

Determine paternity, then determine next steps.

When I’d mentioned that even if she wasn’t biologically mine, I wanted to help her financially, my consiglieres had exploded in indignation.

Quinn had led the chorus. “Let’s not make any rash decisions. You don’t owe this kid or her mom a thing until the courts say so.”

“I have to agree,” the lawyer chimed in. “Information gathering first, decisions later.”

I let them think I was on board with that plan, but I’d had plenty of time to think during my sleepless night. Lying on my side, my eyes glued to the crib where a tiny human got more sleep than I did, I’d wondered why that was? Why was I awake and terrified while she was asleep and content?

Because she felt safe—and I was the reason for it.

Okay, not me specifically, but the adults taking care of her.

I hadn’t felt that when I was a kid, first being used as a pawn while my parents hammered out custody.

Then the revolving door of stepmoms and “aunts,” none of whom stayed for long enough to give me a real sense of security.

Sven and his temper would inevitably drive them away.

The whole situation made me think about Vicki and the home she’d given Mabel so far.

One where the child wasn’t wanted or could be thrown out at the drop of a hat.

Where the only father she’d ever known made his wife choose “the kid or me.” Where her mom would think that was a viable choice, just give her up to some stranger in a bar.

Stranger or not, I would still be looking after her. A scholarship or a trust fund or something along those lines, even if she weren’t mine.

Mabel babbled, like she knew all these crazy thoughts inside my head. Like she understood just how much she had upended my life: yeah, man, you are in so much trouble—and it’s all on me!

The little she-devil was hella cute, though.

I lifted my head to catch Adeline giving me what could best be termed a “soft look.” Better than the disdain-dripping darts she’d been shooting my way since I received the joyful tidings. At the same time, I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea, thinking I might be cut out for this nonsense.

I nodded my thanks to Elle and Theo, climbed into the driver’s seat, and pulled out very, very slowly.