Page 8

September

T raining camp has been going well and the first few weeks of working alongside my grandfather have gone better than I’d anticipated.

Gemma started her sophomore year at St. Christopher Academy, and so far she hasn’t had any diabetic episodes, so I’m calling that a win.

However, what isn’t a win is the way she’s shut down on me this week.

I’m not sure what to make of her shift in her mood quite yet.

Gunner’s teacher said that he is thriving academically, but he’s been a bit shy and reserved when it comes to making new friends.

I can’t help but feel guilty for keeping him home with me for as long as I did.

After all we’d been through, I couldn’t stomach the thought of sending him to daycare.

I buckle my seatbelt and glance back at Gunner in the rearview mirror.

His light brown hair is trimmed short on the sides, leaving the wavy hair on top a bit longer.

Gemma’s hair is red like my own, however, hers is a bit of a darker auburn than mine.

The three of us just got haircuts for our upcoming picture days.

Gunner and Gemma both have school pictures next week, and I’ve got my first NHL media day headshots scheduled for tomorrow morning.

This afternoon is the team’s friends and family skate, so I suppose there’s a chance the three of us will be pictured by the team’s social media crew as well .

Gemma crosses her arms over her chest in the passenger seat beside me and pleads her case one final time for me to let her stay home.

“You can’t miss this event, Gems. Come on, it’ll be fun to get out on the ice again,” I say enthusiastically. “Besides, Gunner hasn’t had the opportunity to skate yet. I need your help to teach him how.”

Gemma used to figure skate before her diagnosis and she was beyond talented, like on track for the next Olympics talented.

Since she gave up competition last year, she hasn’t stepped foot on the ice.

It wasn’t a medical requirement that she give up the sport altogether, however, with how unsteady her sugars were, we spent months in and out of the hospital, and being the competitor she is, she decided to give up the sport when she felt she had fallen behind.

“I don’t even have skates that fit me anymore,” she counters.

“When I ordered Gunner’s skates, I got you a new pair in your size too,” I inform her.

That earns me an annoyed growl from my little sister.

“Fine! I’ll help Gunner, but don’t expect me to talk to anyone else, or pose for any stupid photos,” she grumbles.

“Deal. No talking to strangers and no photos,” I agree, winking at Gunner in the rearview when he sticks his tongue out at Gemma and makes a silly face to the back of her head.

I swallow the laughter that wants to slip out at his antics.

“I’m just going to stop by the house so we can get changed into warmer clothes, then we need to head over to the arena so we’re not late.”

This was the case the first few days of school as we adjusted to our new routine.

Being late is a horrible habit I’ve been trying to break for as long as I can remember.

My father told me growing up that it’s the one bad trait I inherited from my mother.

According to him, she was chronically fashionably late to events.

He used to tell me I had to be ready thirty minutes before we really needed to leave to try to get us out the door on time, and even in doing so, I’d still manage to make us late.

When I pull up to our gated neighborhood, I wave at Frank, the security guard on duty, as he opens the gates for us.

Living in a family home in the suburbs with a manicured lawn wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned for myself in my twenties, but I’m glad our family is fortunate enough to provide stability for Gunner and Gemma’s sake.

As we walk through the front door, I’m forced to face another bad habit of mine—I become chaotically disorganized when I’m overwhelmed, which is exactly how I’m feeling after all of the changes the past two months.

When we moved from the cabin to this house, enrolled in new schools, and started a new career path all in a matter of a few weeks, my mind shut down on me.

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed that it feels like my brain is an internet browser with hundreds of tabs open, so overwhelmed I start to short circuit, not knowing where to begin.

Looking around the main floor at all of the clutter, I make a mental note to look into hiring a housekeeper.

Growing up, my father had a live-in housekeeper who also acted as a nanny to me until I went to school.

Her name was Ruth and I loved her dearly.

She is married to my former driver, Gibson.

Shortly before my father passed away, Ruth and Gibson retired to help care for their first grandchild, but we still talk often.

I’d love to find someone as loving and caring as Ruth to help around the house and perhaps with Gemma and Gunner if I need to work late.

Once we’re changed, we head to the arena and I park in the underground parking reserved for players and management .

I grab the bag of our skates and a helmet for Gunner from the trunk of my SUV and lock it before grabbing Gunner’s hand. “You excited, Bug?” I ask him.

“Yeah, let’s do this!” he squeals. I don’t miss the small smile Gemma tries to hide when she hears the excitement in his voice.

I’m looking forward to sharing this experience with them.

Perhaps I’m even excited to see a certain someone I’ve only been able to catch glimpses of in passing this week.

It’s been boring not giving him a little hell.

Bennett

I see her copper hair flowing around her before I register anything else.

Like the small boy beside her taking timid steps onto the ice. Or the other girl with darker auburn hair, who looks to be in her teens, skating up to the two of them with a skate trainer for the boy.

Scarlett is here.

Jackson chooses this exact moment to skate up to me and spray ice that makes it all the way up to my lower stomach.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I growl at him under my breath as I dust the powder off my jacket and pants.

“Funny, I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” he throws back at me.

Letting out a sigh of annoyance, I try to subtly look over his shoulder to see if I can spot Scarlett again. I must do a shit job because Jax turns to see where I’m looking and when he spots her, he sucks in a deep breath.

“Is that Little Red Riding Hood?” he questions .

Motherfucker . This is exactly what I didn’t need today. “Who?” I ask, trying to feign ignorance.

“There.” Jax points and I train my gaze to where he’s motioning to the redhead across the rink standing beside the benches.

“Don’t know. But it wouldn’t be surprising, I guess, considering she is family to the owner of the team,” I reply with as much nonchalance as I can muster.

“Yeah, that’s definitely her. Since when does Scarlett Carlisle come to team events?” Jax asks curiously. And just as the words leave his mouth, Carson and his wife Dakota skate up to us with their twin son and daughter in tow.

Lainey and Leo Wilder are four now, but they’re able to stride on the ice without too much assistance and they’re both in full hockey gear.

Leo is the spitting image of his dad, with honey-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Lainey looks more like her mom with dark, wavy hair braided into a ponytail flowing out of her helmet, though she also has her father’s eyes.

I’m actually surprised to see Dakota on the ice, she isn’t the best skater and Carson just shared with us a few days ago that Dakota is pregnant again.

That’s likely the reason Carson is glued to her side instead of the twins’s.

I hope for their sake that it’s only one baby this time around—the thought of four kids is daunting to me, but they’re a great team so they’d probably take it in stride.

“Wait, did y’all just say Benny’s girl is here?” Carson asks in a tone that is the equivalent to what I imagine a Golden Retriever would sound like if they could talk.

“Y’all?” I quirk a brow at him in question. And for fuck’s sake I had sex with the woman over six years ago. She’s not my girl. She’s nothing but a new inconvenience.

“Yeah, y’all. I’m married to a beautiful Texan and we happen to split some of our time there. Sue me for using slang that, by the way, makes a hell of a lot more sense than saying ‘you all,’” he replies in a defensive tone.

“Touché, Carsey. Don’t let this grumpy ass bring you down; he’s just freaked out to see his one that got away show up out of the blue,” Jax explains.

Ha! He’s so fucking wrong. Though, I can’t seem to stop my gaze from veering in her direction.

And when Carson mutters, “Huh, I didn’t know she had a kid,” I can’t deny the way my stomach sinks and my chest squeezes in disappointment.

That is, until I take a better look at the young boy she’s seemingly teaching how to skate. What the fuck?

Panic consumes me when I take in his features—brown hair far too similar to my own, and as I skate closer, I see his hazel eyes look up at me with recognition.

Wait, why am I close enough to this kid that I can make out the color of his eyes?

The thought evaporates the moment he opens his mouth and shyly greets me. “Heya there.”

I kneel in front of the trainer he’s leaning on and take him in a little more. The only resemblance to Scarlett I can see in him is his slanted smile and button nose. Other than those features, he looks eerily similar to . . . me.

Clearing the anxiety from my throat, I hold my gloved fist out to the kid so he can give me knucks. “Heya there, bud. I’m Bennett. What’s your name?”

“Gunner,” he replies.

“Nice to meet you, Gunner. And how old are you?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

“I’m five. How old are you ?” he tosses back.

Somehow a chuckle slips past my lips, though I’m not sure how, considering my stomach is in knots and my throat is now even more clogged with anxiety. “I’ll be thirty-one in a few months. When’s your birthday?” I manage to choke out the question.

“March twentieth. I’ll be six then.”

I mentally tally his age and the world stands still as the numbers and dates align in my head.

Holy shit. He was likely conceived in June. Just over six years ago in June.

My head snaps up to see a skeptical Scarlett’s narrowed gaze on me.

Oh really?

“Can I have a word with you, Miss Carlisle?” I question as I stand from the ice.

“I thought we were past the formalities, Mr. Wilson ,” she replies in a snarky voice, crossing her arms over her chest. As if she has any right to be annoyed right now.

“I’d like to discuss some additional scheduling items that have recently been brought to my attention,” I tell her in a low, even tone, letting her know I mean business.

Scarlett skates over to the other girl and I miss what she says to her due to her hushed tone. The girl nods before skating over to Gunner. I wonder if she’s his nanny, though she looks a bit young for that role.

Once Gunner is out of ear’s shot, Scarlett faces me. “I’m all ears, Mr. Wilson. What is it you wanted to discuss?”

“Can we go somewhere more private?”

“Lead the way,” she says, gesturing toward the bench. I lead us off the ice to the team’s locker room, and once I’ve confirmed we’re alone, I turn to face her.

“Is he the reason you disappeared?” I ask after a moment of hesitation.

“Who? My father?” She appears taken aback.

“No, Gunner— your son ,” I bite out .

She blinks at me once, twice, before breaking out into a fit of laughter.

She’s full-on belly laughing at me right now—bent over, choking on her chuckles as she slaps her leg.

“Oh-ho my god, that’s some good shit!” Once she’s able to stand again, she bites her lip to stifle her laughter when she sees my less-than-enthused expression.

“Before you ask, no, Gunner is not your son. He’s my little brother! ”

My body stiffens even further as her words sink in. Her little brother. Meaning he’s not mine. Well, thank fuck. After seeing how much Griffin missed from the first year and a half he didn’t know Cadence existed, I couldn’t stomach missing out on five years of my child’s life.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, do you have anything else you’d like to discuss, or can I get back to my siblings so we can enjoy the family skate?

” Her haughty tone now matches the one I’d used with her.

Scarlett shoulders past me, but pauses when she gets to the double doors of the locker room.

“And to answer your question, yes, Gunner and Gemma are why I ‘disappeared’ as you put it. Becoming the sole guardian to two orphaned children at the ripe old age of twenty-two left me reeling. I think it’s pretty understandable that we took some time to ourselves to adjust to our new normal. ”

My apology is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t manage to get it out before she shoves through the doors. Now I’m the one left reeling from her confession.

I’ve gotten it all wrong for far too long when it comes to Scarlett.

For years, I’ve been under the impression that she knew exactly who I was that night.

That she hooked up with me to get a rise out of her father.

When, in reality, she didn’t have a clue as to who I was.

And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, I just accused her of having a secret baby and disappearing from the face of the earth to keep him from me.

Essentially eliminating what little progress we’d made the past few weeks.

What has gotten into me? When it comes to Scarlett, I can’t stop myself from acting like a complete fucking ass.

I decide right then and there to do anything and everything I can to make it up to her.