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CHAPTER THREE

LEDGER

“ T hat’s it, bud! Keep it going. Just a flick of the wrist and then let the force of the hit against the puck do the work for you.”

Eleven-year-old Evan takes his turn trying to hit his puck into the net as the line continues behind him.

Each of the boys here this morning are members of Harrison Meers’ summer youth hockey league, Pucks & Blades, practicing maneuvers to strengthen their scoring ability.

Evan heeds every word I tell him and then punches the air with his fist when his puck slides effortlessly into the net.

“Yeah!”

A proud smile unfolds across my face and I reach my fisted hand out to bump his when he skates toward me. The happy little grin on his face tells me he’s pretty damn proud of himself too. “That’s how it’s done, champ. Way to go!”

“Better than you, right, Mr. Dayne?”

I raise a brow. “I mean, let’s not go too far, kid.”

He laughs. “Okay, okay. But can I do it again?”

I gesture to the line with my chin. “Of course. Get yourself back in that line and give it another go.”

He skates off to join his peers and my chest does this uncomfortable flutter as I watch him.

He reminds me a lot of myself when I played hockey for the first time.

The feeling almost has me bringing a hand to my chest but then Harrison skates over after cheering on a few of the other boys and distracts me from my thoughts.

“He’s a cute kid, huh?” he says with a nudge.

I turn his direction. “Evan?”

“Yeah.”

I let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah. Don’t let him fool you though. He’s ornery as fuck, but I like the kid. And he’s got some skill too.”

“Agreed. He’s got some potential. Hopefully he doesn’t get thrown around the system so hard that he stops coming.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” My brows furrow as his words sink in. “What?”

“I’m just saying, if he gets moved through the system and he’s out of the area, it’ll suck if he doesn’t get to come back.”

“Wait. The system…do you mean foster care? Are you saying Evan is a foster kid?”

Harrison nods. “Yeah. He’s with his third or fourth family in two years if I remember correctly.”

I turn back to watch Evan just as he lines himself up in front of the net and flicks his wrist like a goddamn pro, cheering with his teammates when his puck slides into the net once again.

“There ya go, Evan! Great job!”

I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head, mumbling, “I knew it.”

Harrison glances at me questioningly, folding his arms across his own chest. “Knew what?”

“He’s like me.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah. He’s a foster kid.”

Harrison cocks his head. “You were a foster kid?”

“Yep.” I nod. “Moved around the system till I was in eighth grade.”

“No shit,” he says. “How have I never known that?”

I lift my shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t talk about it much anymore because I’ve been with Nick and Rebecca since I was thirteen. They’re the ones who raised me. They’re the ones who gave me hockey. As far as I’m concerned, they’re the family I’ve always had.”

Harrison claps me on the shoulder. “I’d love to hear about this, Ledger. About how you grew up. How you found hockey. I never knew any of this about you.” He cringes slightly. “But also?—”

“Yeah.” I pass him an understanding smirk. “Time and place, and this isn’t it. Totally get it. Convo for another time.”

“Hundred percent. But thanks for sharing with me, bro.”

“You know me,” I tell him, winking. “My life is an open book.”

He huffs a laugh. “Right. Tell me that when you’ve asked out Marlee Remington.”

I want to tell him that I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. Especially since the wedding. I want to tell him about what Layken said to Marlee when we were dancing. I want to tell him everything and get his take on it, but he skates away before I get the chance to say anything.

Probably for the best.

We’re here for the kids.

My gaze slides back to the enthusiastic kid wearing the number thirteen jersey. The kid I just learned I have something more in common with.

The kid I have a soft spot for and now I guess I know why.

I turn my back and take a quick study of the parents seated in the stands or standing around the wall watching their kids.

The moms with their expensive purses and designer jackets or the dads with the latest expensive cell phone in their hands and I wonder if any of these wealthy-looking adults are Evan’s foster parents.

Harrison blows the whistle, bringing the boys into a huddle to talk to them before dismissing them for the day.

I watch as Evan skates off the ice and heads toward a surly teenage boy who can’t be more than seventeen.

He’s busy with his cellphone and doesn’t give much attention to my new friend, just aimlessly scrolls while Evan takes off his gear.

“Hey Evan!” I shout as I glide across the ice, stopping at the wall next to where he’s seated.

He looks up at me as he unlaces his skates. “Yeah?”

“Really great job today, bro. I’m proud of you. You keep up the hard work and you’ll be skating circles around me in no time.”

The kid beams from ear to ear. I don’t miss it when his eyes slide to the older teen paying no attention to the fact I just told his foster brother that he’s going to be a great hockey player one day.

His shoulders fall a bit but he tries to hide his disappointment.

I know exactly what that feels like.

Eyeing the distracted teen, I’ve never wanted to slap a guy so fucking hard in my life.

Dude, just pay the kid a little attention.

It’s not that hard.

But then again, it must be.

Because the same thing happened to me.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Keep your head up, yeah? Kick some ass this week and I’ll see you right back here on Thursday.”

His smile returns and he nods. “Yes, sir.”

I tap the edge of the wall two times with my hand and then skate off, leaving him to grab his gear and head out of the arena. The teen never once speaks to him.

I hope I’ve given him a little something to look forward to.

And now I can’t wait for the next Pucks & Blades day so I can shower more positive encouragement over my new friend.

Also, he’s giving me something else to think about besides Marlee Remington.

Yeah, I don’t know who I was trying to fool because Marlee Remington is the only one invading my thoughts today. Standing in my shower, she’s the first and only person to cross my mind.

I can’t even help it.

Her face just pops right into my brain when I’m naked and warm and…my dick is in my hand.

Fuck.

I’ve got it bad.

Why don’t you just ask her out?

You guys would make cute babies.

She’s single. You’re single.

Now’s the chance man.

Do something about it.

Stop being such a pussy and ask her already.

The voices of my Anaheim family live rent free in my head as their comments and suggestions play on repeat while I stand under the hot water.

I don’t know why I don’t just buck up and ask Marlee out.

I’m a good guy. I genuinely care about people and I know if she were mine, I’d make it my life’s purpose to take care of her.

Taking care of people is what I do best.

Not that she needs anyone taking care of her.

She’s a strong ass woman.

But still, I know I could make her happy so I don’t know what I’m so fucking afraid of.

Well, that’s not true.

Not now anyway.

Being with Marlee and loving her until the end of my days is something I can see myself doing in a heartbeat. I fantasize about her all the fucking time already.

But when Layken suggested to Marlee that I be the father of her children, it was all I could do to stay calm until I was alone that night so no one would see me in full-fledged panic mode.

Me, a father?

With actual dad-like responsibilities?

I wouldn’t even know where to start.

I didn’t have a loving father figure in my life.

I didn’t have anyone teaching me how to fight my battles.

I didn’t have anyone calming the demons in my head.

At least not in the early childhood years when I needed it most.

The only thing I know of my father is that he killed my mother and that’s what put me into the spiraling do-se-do of foster families until I was thirteen. And the constant dance was what caused me to get into all kinds of trouble at any school I was forced to go to.

I became the troubled kid.

The angry one.

The one who would pick fights with other kids.

The one who got blamed for everything because it was easier to just accept fault and punishment than it was to argue my innocence. At least when I was being punished at school I was put by myself. I didn’t have to worry about what other kids were going to say or do then.

I was the one who would get suspended from school and then end up locked in a bedroom while my foster parents did God knows what during the day.

Some of them went to work. Some of them slept all day so they could work at night.

One of my foster moms had sex numerous times a day and always with different men.

That wasn’t fun to listen to.

So yeah, I blame my birth father for everything bad that happened to me before I found my forever family. And obviously if he was a terrible enough man to actually kill my mother, I don’t ever want to be like him.

And I don’t ever want to know anything more about him.

But what if I’m more like him than I know?

It’s one of my biggest fears now that I’m an adult.

What if he passed on all of his horrible traits and they’re just suppressed and waiting to explode out of me?

I don’t want to pass any of his attributes to a helpless child.

Where’s the fairness in that?

If I don’t have kids, then any negative killer-like tendencies can die with me.

My back sufficiently red from the heat of my shower water, I glance down at my now very limp dick resting in my hand.

Well…guess that’s not happening now.

My phone dings in my bedroom so I turn off the shower and grab my towel, wrapping it around my waist. I go through my regular nightly routine of brushing my teeth and going to the bathroom one last time and then refill the empty glass on my nightstand with water.

I don’t bother slipping on a pair of boxers since I’m all alone tonight, much like every night thanks to my irrational fear of starting something with Marlee coupled with a complete disinterest in any other female who isn’t her.

Flipping off the light, I finally fall into bed and then reach for my phone to check the text message waiting for me.

Marlee

Hey Ledger, I've got quite a plea. Like a slapshot, it’s quick and carefree. I don’t need a loan, just some sperm of your own. Would you donate your orgasm to me?

I know full well this message should not be giving me the visceral reaction it’s giving me but seeing a text from Marlee Remington asking me for an orgasm has my dick harder than an ice rink on game day.

I bolt up in my bed and lean against the headboard, studying the text message and reading it over and over again.

What the hell is she doing?

Wait…could this be a prank?

Is that actually Marlee’s number?

Her name is on the screen but is it possible someone tampered with my phone?

Is this Griffin trying to prank me?

Fuck, it has to be.

This has him written all over it.

Let’s double check the number.

I tap into my contacts and double check that the text is, indeed, coming from Marlee’s number.

Yep. That’s it.

What compelled her to text me something like this?

She’s never texted me for anything non-work related.

Maybe she’s drunk?

Does she drunk-text?

Does she even drink?

Yeah, she drinks. She was drinking at the wedding.

Would she actually drunk-text something like this to me though?

Could one of her friends have her phone?

What the hell am I supposed to say to a message like this?

Is she waiting for my reply?

What does she want me to say?

Fuck.

What do I do?

Griffin would know what to do.

Maybe I should see if he’s still awake and tell him what’s going on.

Ugh, no. I can’t do that.

I don’t want to embarrass Marlee.

Shit. I need to say something.

I’m taking too long.

What do I say?

Think, Ledge!

Quickly, before I can stop myself, I type out a reply and then hit send.

Me

Uh…Is this really Marlee or does someone else have her phone? Layken is that you? Are you drunk?

I cringe rereading my message. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Three little dots appear before I have the chance to apologize and then finally a message pops up on the screen.

Marlee

Aww hell. No, it’s not Layken. And sadly, no, not drunk. It’s really me. I’m sorry. That was really stupid of me. I was trying to be cute and I failed miserably.

Relaxing a bit, I smile at my phone and then type out a reply.

Me

You could never fail at being cute, Marlee. Also, your rhyming prowess is impressive.

Marlee

Thanks. It took me a while to come up with all those words. And if I’m being honest, a little extra bravery to even hit send. Now I kind of wish I was drunk.

Me

I admit it caught me a little off guard. I definitely wasn’t expecting to hear from you.

Marlee

Yeah. I’m sorry. Really, I am. I don’t know what I was thinking.

I’ve just been a little caught up with all this baby nonsense and talked myself into texting you and then I second guessed myself about one hundred times, and then I said fuck it and just did it before I could stop myself.

Please don’t take it seriously. I have plenty of other avenues I can try.

I’m so sorry to have bothered you. Goodnight, Ledger.

Whoa!

Wait!

Other avenues?

What does she mean by that?

Did she seriously just ask me to be her sperm donor?

And now she’s back peddling?

Does she want to ask someone else?

Fuck that.

If she thinks I’m going to let some other guy’s sperm anywhere near her body…

I can’t let this conversation end.

I don’t want it to end.

I’ll do anything to keep talking to her.

My fingers act of their own accord as they swipe across the screen and before I know it, I’ve let my all my fears and anxieties about fathering a child fly out the window because I’ll be damned if another man or any part of him gets anywhere close to Marlee Remington.

Fuck it. She needs me and I refuse to even consider letting her down.

Me

Whatever you need, I’m in.