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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LEDGER

T he Zamboni driver is already getting to work on resurfacing the ice for tonight’s game as we walk down the tunnel toward the locker room sweaty from practice. I tug off my pads in the locker room when Neelan, one of the team assistants, pops his head in.

“Hey, Ledger, Coach says you’re needed back out on the ice real quick.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugs. “Something about a last-minute media promo?”

I groan. “Now?”

I just want to shower and go home for a few hours before I have to be back here tonight.

I feel like I haven’t gotten to see Marlee in ages even though it’s only been a day or two.

She wasn’t feeling great last week so she didn’t travel with the team when we played Las Vegas, but she’s here today.

I’m kind of hoping I can talk her into taking the afternoon off with me.

I wouldn’t mind snuggling with her for a few hours.

Or…other various exercises if that’s what she might be up for.

“You better get out there.” Griffin nudges me with his elbow. “You know how pissy Coach gets when we don’t do his media promos.”

“Yeah.” Oliver whistles. “He about chewed my head off last week when I was late getting back to the ice. Remember that?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t remember that at all.”

Griffin nods emphatically at Magallan. “Oh, yeah, I remember that. You’re right, he was pissed. Makes my asshole pucker all over again just thinking about it.”

I roll my eyes at Griffin and Oliver, perturbed that I even have to do this.

“Neelan, can Roche go in my place?”

“What?” Roche squeaks, turning around. He grabs his knee and shakes his head. “Sorry man. I think I twisted my knee a bit in that practice. I have to ice bath and have doc look at it.”

“For fuck’s sake, Pickle Pants, you were just fine five minutes ago.”

“Coach says it’s you this time, Dayne,” Neelan confirms. “Sorry man.”

Son of a bitch.

“Fine. Be right there, Neelan. Thanks.”

Wanting to get this over with as fast as possible, I march myself down the hall in my skates and walk back through the tunnel.

I skate out onto the ice in my base layer, no helmet, wondering if the extra promo work I do should be rewarded with a nice bonus, but when I catch sight of the center of the rink, I freeze.

Waiting there in the middle of the ice is what looks like a puck.

Just one lonely puck.

“What the hell?” I whisper, looking around to find nobody in the arena with me.

I skate out and come to a halt in front of the bright-pink spray-painted puck tied with a tiny bow. Balanced on top is a small note card.

Frowning, I pick it up and read, Adding new rookie to the roster.

I blink.

Another card tucked under the puck reads I’ll handle diapers if you handle faceoffs.

The corners of my mouth turn up and I look up just in time to spot Marlee stepping out from the players’ tunnel in my team hoodie, hands nervously fidgeting at her sides. Her eyes glistening, her smile is tentative—like she’s not sure I’ve connected the dots just yet.

She’s so fucking cute in my hoodie.

“Hey,” I say when she stops only a few feet onto the ice.

I stare at her, wondering why she’s not saying anything, and then I glance down at the puck in my hand. And when I look back at Marlee, I also spot the rest of my teammates lurking in the shadows of the tunnel.

And then it hits me all at once and I remember what I’m doing here with this pink puck, and these note cards. Clearly I hadn’t put it together right away but now…

“Wait. Are you—? You’re—?!” I point from the puck to Marlee.

She nods, eyes welling.

“Holy shit!” I shout with the widest smile my face can create.

Warmth radiates through my chest and there’s a sudden lightness to every one of my limbs. It’s like that moment when I score a goal in overtime and I drop my stick and slide across the ice in celebration with my brothers.

Only this time, I’m weightless and beaming, skating right into Marlee’s arms.

It worked!

It really fucking worked?

“You’re serious?! You’re pregnant?!”

She nods again, laughing through her beautiful happy tears. “I took several tests. They were all screaming yes so…” She shrugs her shoulder. “I guess I’m pregnant.”

The team whoops behind us and I glance up to find Scarlett, Layken, Ella, and Corrigan cheering with the guys, knowing smiles and happy tears on their faces as well.

I press my hand to Marlee’s belly, still stunned. “There’s…there’s a baby in there? Your baby?”

She folds her hand over mine and murmurs, “Your baby, Ledger. I’m carrying your baby.”

My baby.

Marlee Remington is having my baby.

She sniffles and then adds, “You did it.”

“We did it, Mar.” I cup her face and kiss her forehead. “You’re going to be a mom just like you’ve always wanted.”

She nods. “And you’re going to be a daddy.”

For a fleeting moment her words knock the breath right out of my chest.

I’m going to be a dad.

She’s having my child.

What if I’m not good at this?

And then, like she’s reading my mind, she fists my t-shirt and pulls me close, kissing my lips and helping me push all my anxieties out of the way so I can be present for her. “And you’re going to be amazing.”

The crowd roars as I skate down the ice, stick low, eyes tracking the puck. I started this game fired up and ready to go, knowing if nothing else, adrenaline would help drown out everything else.

But it hasn’t.

Everywhere I look on this ice, I see Marlee standing in my hoodie telling me she’s carrying my baby. And everywhere I look I see her being slammed against the boards or being pulled down the ice.

What if I can’t keep her safe?

What if I mess this baby up?

What if I yell too much?

What if I’m not patient enough?

What if they get scared of me?

What if I can’t be what Marlee needs?

What if I don’t know how to love this baby right?

“The fuck, Dayne?” Harrison shouts when I miss his pass, the puck zipping right by my stick and into the hands of the other team.

“Dammit,” I hiss, slamming my stick against the boards.

“Hey, Dayne!” Magallan shouts. “You skating with cement in your socks today or what?”

I force a breath and shake my head. “Yeah. My bad.”

“Get it together, man!”

We line up for the next face-off, Oliver Magallan crouched low. I know I’m supposed to be his defender. I know the job I’m supposed to be doing, but fuck, if my mind isn’t anywhere but here.

What if I lose control like he did?

What if this baby sees the worst in me before I even figure out who I am?

The puck drops.

The opposing center wins it clean and rockets up the ice. I chase the hell out of the puck, legs burning, heart thudding harder with every stride…but it’s not all from the exertion.

It’s straight up fear.

Alberta scores

The horn blares. Fans groan. Hunched over, I try to catch my breath, fists clenched in my gloves.

I’ve got to get off the ice.

I’m fucking up left and right.

I’m no good to my team tonight.

I skate to the bench, avoiding everyone’s eyes because I know damn well the looks I’d be getting if I glanced at anyone. Coach walks past me and claps a hand on my shoulder but doesn’t say a word.

Fuck.

Not even a “Get your shit together” from Coach?

I’m in trouble.

I plop down with a thud, pulling at my helmet strap and still trying to regulate my breathing. Darius Clayton, our trainer hands me a water bottle, but I don’t drink a thing because I’m not certain it will stay down at the moment. That’s how queasy my stomach feels.

Instead, I stare mindlessly at the ice trying to calm my fears both rational and irrational. I watch the action swirling around me but can’t for the life of me say where the puck is or was or where it’s going.

And when Ollenberg hits the boards right next to me, my gaze is pulled to a little girl in the front row on the other side of the glass.

She’s maybe six years old and wearing a mini version of my jersey.

She’s holding up a sign made with markers and blue glitter that reads GO LEDGER DAYNE! YOU’RE MY HERO!

My eyes lock on hers as she waves, beaming at me like she’s just won the fucking lottery. Like her biggest dream just came true.

Her biggest dream being to see me play hockey.

I blink hard and something in my chest cracks open. Not in fear, but in recognition.

This little girl doesn’t know me.

She doesn’t know my past.

She doesn’t care about my doubts or my fears.

She just believes in me.

Maybe…maybe that’s what my kid will do one day too.

I give her a small wave back. A real one. And when I turn to face the ice again, my shoulders are a little lighter.

Still scared, yes, but a fucking kid just gave me a sense of hope. Who would I be to not do something about that?

August nudges my shoulder next to me. “Welcome back to Earth. You good?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just uh…had to remind myself what I’m playing for.”

The rink lights have been dimmed for the night, casting long shadows over the ice.

The echo of tonight’s game has long since faded, replaced by the quiet hum of machinery and the occasional creak of settling bleachers.

It’s an oddly comforting place to be when you need to step away from it all and collect your thoughts.

My shoulders slumped, my hands laced behind my neck, my elbows on my knees, I’m trying to physically hold myself together so I can be the person Marlee needs me to be for her.

“She’s pregnant,” I mutter to myself, exhaling sharply. It’s the kind of breath that comes from my chest, not my lungs.

“She’s pregnant. What the hell do I do now?”

I huff a laugh once, it’s not a happy sound, and run a hand through my hair. And then just like earlier in tonight’s game, I stare helplessly out at the ice like I’m waiting for it to give me a goddamn answer

“I can’t screw this up.”

Footsteps echo behind me. I stiffen and quickly wipe at my face but I don’t turn around.

“You planning to adopt the Zamboni, or can I sit?”

Coach?

I chuckle dryly and nod toward the bench. “Be my guest. It’s got emotional support seating.”

Coach Hicks takes a seat, leaving a respectful amount of space between us. He doesn’t push right away. He merely sits quietly so as not to make me feel so alone, I guess. But then he breaks the ice, saying, “You look like a man trying to solve a thousand-piece puzzle without the box cover.”

“That obvious, huh?”

He grins. “Only to people who’ve been there.”

Silence settles between us again. Not a severely uncomfortable one. Just steady.

“You want to talk about it, or shall I pretend this is about your slapshot mechanics?”

For a moment I hesitate in telling Coach about my problems. What does he care anyway? But then something inside me knows he hasn’t always been the man who checks on our feelings. For some reason though, he’s checking on me.

“Marlee’s pregnant.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“With my baby.”

Coach nods slowly, processing what I’ve just said. The corner of his mouth lifts before he responds, “Well…damn.”

“I should be happy, right? I mean, she wanted to be a mom. She asked me to help her and I said yes. Easy peasy, right?”

“But?”

“But I’ve had a fucking crush on her since the day I met her and I never took my shot.

I never did anything about my feelings and now we’re together and she’s amazing.

I’m easily falling for her. I’ve been in love with her for years.

She just didn’t know it. But now here we are starting a real honest to God relationship and she’s pregnant with my baby.

It’s like we’re doing this all ass-backwards.

And not only that, I told myself I didn’t want kids.

Now all I can think about is what if I screw this up? What if I…become him?”

Coach’s eyes don’t waver as I unleash all my feelings upon him. “You mean your dad?”

I lower my head, jaw clenched, and nod. “Yeah.”

He takes a deep breath and then says, “Let me ask you something, Ledger. Are you drinking and driving with a kid in the back seat?”

“What? No. God, no.”

“Are you running away from responsibility? Did you tell her she’s on her own?”

I shake my head. “I’m literally doing the opposite of that.”

“Then you’re already doing better than he did.”

I let Coach’s words sink in for a minute. They don’t fix everything, but there’s a tiny shift inside me that I can feel.

“You’re not scared because you’re like him, Ledger. You’re scared because you’re not him. You care. That’s what’s keeping you up at night. But that’s what’ll make you a good dad.”

I stare out at the ice again, willing myself not to cry in front of my coach, but someone forgot to tell my quivering chin. “I don’t want my kid to grow up afraid of me…or worse, without me.”

“Then don’t let that happen,” Coach states, his voice stern but kind. “Simple as that.”

“Was it always that simple with Corrigan, Coach?”

He throws his head back in immediate laughter. “Oh fuck no. She’s always been a spitfire piece of work who still has me learning how to be a good father well into my late fifties.”

Well damn.

“But that’s the great thing about being a parent, Ledger,” he adds. “It’s a lot like hockey. You’ll make a few bad plays. You won’t always have a winning season. But as long as you learn from each mistake, learn and grow, well, that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

I turn my head to face him. “You mean winning The Cup every year isn’t the most important thing?”

Coach laughs again and then flips me off before he stands up. “Touche, asshole. Come on. Let’s go. You can panic again tomorrow.”