Ice Daddy

by June Winters

With a sigh, Lance watched himself swinging at a Fury fan, knocking the guy into next week. The video looped. Lance was stuck in an infinite cycle of alcohol-fueled violence and brutal aggression.

  Lance leaned closer to the iPad's camera. He pointed at the butterfly bandages that ran across his brow. “See this? What that video doesn't show you is that guy sucker punching me. Either the person filming just barely missed that moment, or they purposely edited it out to make me look bad.”

  “It doesn't matter, Lance. Whoever hit who first, what you need to do is contact me ASAP.”

  Lance groaned. “Really? It was a minor scuffle at a bar. These things happen all the time, guys.”

  Mr. James silently shook his head.

  “Yes, really,” Kip said. “And I sure hope these things don't happen all the time. A minor scuffle at a bar can be very bad news. I thought I made it quite clear that, in order for this to work, our relationship needs to be a two-way street of trust and communication.” He made the universal gesture for two-way street. “Anything that happens—anything at all—that could potentially hurt your reputation, you need to let me know immediately, so we can begin damage control.”

  “Okay. Got it,” Lance said curtly. “So what's your idea for damage control on this one?”

  Mr. James spoke at last. “Lance, you will go to the Nashville Police Department and request to give a statement about the bar fight.”

  “I understand, Mr. James. When should I do that?”

  “Immediately.”

  “But the team has to catch a flight to Florida tonight—”

  Mr. James shook his head. “Lance, you won't be joining the team. You are suspended until further notice—until this matter is solved.”

  “What!”

  Mr. James left the video feed. He'd said what he needed to say, apparently.

  Kip picked up where the owner had left off. “Lance, after the fight video broke, Sterling Image ran some emergency focus group testing. We found that an official statement to the Nashville police and a team-enforced suspension polled favorably—”

  “I gotta be honest, Kip. Two-way street and all that, right? I'm getting pretty sick of these focus groups. I don't see why I'm being punished. Did the guy press charges against me? No? Then why should I have to give a statement to the police? And why exactly am I being suspended? For getting punched?”

  “Going to the police shows responsibility, Lance. It also proves that you're not afraid of investigation, which will support your claim. The suspension proves that the Brawlers organization will not accept that kind of behavior from their players, and that you won't be treated specially just because you're a star. Whoever started the fight doesn't matter.”

  “Alright. Whatever. I'll do it.”

  Lance managed to tune out Kip Sterling's bullshit during the rest of the video call. It was hard not to be bitter or disappointed by the way events had unfolded. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong—his only crime was being caught on camera. Okay, maybe he shouldn't have swung back on that guy. But that was more instinct than anything. Out on the ice, you have to be willing to stand up and defend yourself. You can't let someone sock you in the face and get away with it. You had to show that you wouldn't be bullied around.

  But … he wanted to be captain. And that meant being held to a higher standard than the rest of his teammates.

  When the call was over, Lance walked back to his room. His teammates were leaving their rooms, heading downstairs to catch the bus to the airport. It felt weird not joining them. He'd never been suspended before. Almost made him feel lost.

  Lance entered his room and frowned. Paige had already left.

  If nothing else, it would've been nice to have her company. Someone to talk to about Kip Sterling. The trouble of trying to be captain. All that.

  Lance cracked a grin. It wasn't like him to miss a girl.

  He set his bag down and left the room, hailed a cab, and headed to the Nashville Police Department.

  ***

  If Lance wasn't sure why he had to go to the local precinct, the Nashville PD weren't much more helpful.

  He was taken to a room with two other officers. The police hadn't heard about the incident at Zickell's. No phone calls, no police reports. Lance showed them the video and explained his case.

  “So you said this guy hit you first?” one of the officers asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Do you know who he is?” the other one asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Looks like some drunk. I'd say you tuned him up pretty good. Are you wanting to press charges?”

  “No. I really don't care.”

  The officers looked at each other. “If you don't care, why are you here?”

  “Hell if I know. I'm supposed to give a statement. Can we do that or not?”

  “Well … alright …” the first officer shuffled some papers around, then passed Lance a blank sheet. “Can you sign this first, by the way? It's for my son. He's a big hockey fan.”

  “Sure.”

  Lance gave his statement and was out the door a little while later.

  Well, that was pointless.

  He made it back to his hotel room shortly after 1 AM. When he saw his empty bed, and disappointment rippled in his belly once more, he couldn't help but think of Paige again. Yeah, it was late, but who knows, maybe she'd be up?

  He dug out his cell phone and dialed the number she'd entered. It went straight to voicemail.

  “Hi, this is Paige. Leave a message!”

  Lance smiled at the melody of her Tennessee twang. He loved listening to her speak. Her voice made him think of warm honey. Or holding his palms up to a crackling camp fire on a freezing fall night. Or cozying up with a mug full of steaming hot cocoa after a long day out on the frozen pond, like when he was a kid.

  Something about her accent was so heart warming. He wanted to hear it again.

  He dialed the number once more.

  “Hi, this is Paige. Leave a message!”

  Chapter 14

  Paige

  It was a long night for Paige. She tossed and turned in bed for hours, mentally drafting the speech she'd give to Lance Couture when she finally told him about his daughter.

  An hour and a half before Paige had to wake up, she finally stumbled into a deep sleep and began to dream. They were dreams that might as well have lasted lifetimes. She dreamt of Lance, naturally. Sometimes, he was the fantasy she badly wanted him to be: the loving husband and father to Irie, who just so happened to be a famous hockey star. Then the dream landscape would shift, and Lance morphed into the playboy millionaire who tucked his tail and skated away from responsibility. He left Paige crying at the altar, and Irie, too.

  When her alarm finally went off, Paige felt more drained and exhausted than ever. Nevertheless, she had to get ready for her morning shift at the Burger Stand.

  It was hard not to think of Emily's words—your Burger Stand days are over, sister!—as Paige sleepily rushed through her morning routine. First, Irie would have to be cajoled, fed, changed and clothed. But Irie was having a tough morning and getting the inconsolable child ready for her day took longer than usual.

  “You want to wear Daddy's sweater again today, sweetheart? Would that make you feel better?” Paige cooed as she pulled the mini-sized Boston Brawlers jersey over Irie's head.

  She looked adorable in it, no doubt. But Paige still felt a sense of guilt. Irie wasn't old enough to understand 'Daddy,' of course, but it still seemed dangerous and irresponsible to jinx the situation by talking that way. Murphy's Law—anything that can go wrong, will. After everything she'd been through in the past two years, Paige knew better than to tempt fate. What if Lance wanted nothing to do with her? What if he even refused to take a paternity test? He might not ever be Irie's Daddy.

  Banishing those thoughts, Paige had just enough time to hop in the shower for a quick rinse. There would be no time for her own breakfast, however. Paige hurried Irie out to her car and began
the drive to her parents' house.

  At least I can eat real quick at work, Paige thought as her empty stomach gurgled in bumper-to-bumper traffic. One of the perks of working at a restaurant, I guess.

  You had to look on the bright side.

  ***

  Last night's events, and the lack of quality sleep, caught up to Paige during her shift.

  The day lacked rhythm—the restaurant would become packed, then clear out, only to fill up again later—which made a long shift seem that much longer.

  But at least she was almost done.

  Paige had settled all her remaining tables, and was nearly done with her end-of-shift chores, when one of the hostesses grabbed her attention.

  “Um, hey, Paige. I just seated a gentleman for you at table twelve.”

  “You did? But I'm almost out of here. You should give him to one of the evening servers instead.”

  “I told him that, but he didn't care. He specifically asked to be seated in your section or he wouldn't eat here. He was cute, but honestly, kind of a pain about it.”

  Paige clucked her tongue. “Alright. Thanks. I'll let him know I'm going home.”

  Some men mistook professional politeness for what—a real connection? Paige didn't know; she certainly didn't understand it. The busty Burger Stand uniform didn't do her any favors in that regard either. But it was true, some regulars would only sit in her section. It was always slightly awkward having to tell them that, yes, they could in fact be served by the restaurant's other wait staff. The guys always looked like they'd been told that you wanted to start seeing other people.

  Paige decided to make table twelve wait until she first finished the last of her end-of-shift chores.

  With a sigh, she made her way through the crowded restaurant to table twelve. And when she saw who the cute-but-a-pain guy was, she gasped.

  “Lance?”

  The hockey player, dressed in another one of his dashing suits, glanced up with his piano-key teeth and that ever-present cocky glint in his eye.

  “Hey there, Paige,” he said smoothly. “Care to join me for dinner?”

  Paige didn't speak; her head was swimming with questions. She took off her apron and silently slid into the booth opposite him.

  “So what's good here?” Lance asked as he browsed the menu.

  “Lance, what are you doing here?”

  “Well, I thought I'd visit you at the ol' Burger Stand.” His eyes lowered to the restaurant name on her t-shirt. Or her cleavage. Whichever.

  “I can see that.” Paige paused. “But aren't you supposed to be in Florida right now?”

  “Yeah, well, that fell through.” Lance forced a strained smile. “And now I got myself a little vacation.”

  Paige remembered how Lance's boss had banged on his hotel door last night and basically yelled at him. She bit her lip with worry. “Lance, did you get fired?”

  Lance snickered. “No. I can't get fired. That's the beauty of a guaranteed contract. … but I did get suspended.”

  “It's not because of me, is it?”

  “No. The fight at Zickell's.” Lance gave a small shrug of his shoulder. “Anyway, enough about that. The point is, the team traveled without me, so now I've got a little free time and I thought I'd come pick you up.”

  “To do what …?” Paige asked breathlessly.

  He reached across the table and squeezed her hand between his mitts. “Come with me to Boston.”

  She stole her hands back. “I can't, Lance.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have a job here, for one.”

  Lance laughed and gave her a look as if she didn't understand what exactly was being offered. “Babe. Wait until you see my place. I own a condo in the Port of Boston, right on the waterfront. Indoor pool, private hot tub, rooftop bar. Fantastic view of the Boston skyline at night. Matt Damon and Tom Brady live right next door to me, believe it or not.”

  Lance studied Paige, waiting to see how she'd react to that information. She wasn't exactly swayed, so he continued the pitch.

  “Breakfast, lunch and dinner at the finest restaurants Boston's got to offer. At night, we'll party at the city's most exclusive clubs.” A spark of confidence glittered in his eye. “But if last night's anything to go by, I think we'll make our own fun. I'm telling you, Paige, you'll have the time of your life.” He paused and looked around. “Look, I think it's cool that you're such a loyal employee to this place, but … c'mon.”

  Of course, objectively, Paige understood that all those things sounded amazing and absolutely should impress her. But Lance might as well have been describing the features of an alien planet. What did any of it matter to her, when she knew that she couldn't possibly drop her responsibilities and run away with him?

  Paige buried her face in her hands. “I can't, Lance. I can't go.”

  “But why not? Give me one good reason and I'll stop asking.”

  She stared at him. Lost in thought, she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth.

  At last, she spoke. “Do you remember that cheesy pickup line you used on me the night at Zickell's?”

  “Huh. Hold on.” Lance paused to remember, then recited: “Paige's have numbers, but I don't have yours?”

  Paige stuck out her tongue as if she were gagging. “Ugh, still awful. But no, I meant the other one.”

  Lance thought harder. “Oh! I remember: If your name is Paige, then I'm gonna need a bookmark so I don't lose you.”

  “That's the one,” Paige said.

  “Why do you bring that up?”

  She steeled herself, ready to drop 'the bomb,' as Emily called it. There was no turning back from this point.

  “Lance, I have a daughter.”

  Chapter 15

  Paige

  “Uh. Wait.” Lance's body tensed and all expression was wiped clean off his face. He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Are you married?”

  “No …!” Paige growled, taking offense to the question. Did he seriously not understand what she was trying to tell him?

  Lance let out a breath of relief. “Just making sure. I don't mess around with married chicks. It's bad karma. Plus, jeez, I'd probably have to let that Kip Sterling guy know about it …”

  Her patience was running out. “Tell what to who?”

  “Never mind.” Lance shook his head. “So you've got a daughter, huh. Well, okay. How old is she?”

  “Fifteen months.”

  “That's pretty young.” Lance must not have been very good at math, because it didn't look like that bit of information made the wheels in his head turn at all. “Where's her father at?”

  Paige buried her face in her hands again. “Oh my God … really? Are you serious?”

  “What? Did I say something? Shit, is it rude to ask that question or something? I didn't know.”

  “I have to go pick her up. She's at my parents' house right now. Do you want to come meet her?”

  Paige was sure that Lance would say no. And when he did, she'd tell him that he ought to meet her, because the girl was, in fact, his.

  But as luck would have it, Lance gave a careless shrug. “Meet your daughter? Yeah, I'm up for it. Why not, right? I don't have anything else going on. And kids can be cute, I guess.”

  Paige's mouth hung open. She had a half a mind to blurt it out anyway—she'd gotten herself so mentally prepared to tell him.

  “Wait, you will?” she stammered.

  “Yeah. Is it really that big of a surprise?”

  It was a surprise, actually. She was used to prospective dates calling her daughter a 'deal breaker,' after all. Even if Lance wasn't romantically interested in Paige, the fact that he was open to even meeting her daughter was a complete shock.

  And a very good sign, actually, she thought to herself.

  Lance began to slide out of the booth. “You ready or what?”

  Paige nodded, somewhat numb. “Ready.”

  ***

  Lance struggled with the passenger doo
r to Paige's beat-up, rusted-out Civic. The door had to be coaxed into closing a certain way, and wasn't kind to strangers. After several tries, and with Paige's guidance, Lance finally managed to shut the door.

  Paige turned the key and the Civic's engine coughed into life. She was sure that the millionaire athlete who lived on the waterfront next to Matt Damon was thoroughly repulsed.

  “Sorry my car's a shit-heap,” she apologized self-consciously.

  “Aw, don't worry, Paige.” He touched her shoulder reassuringly. “I'm all caught up on my tetanus shots.”

  Paige laughed, and she laughed way too hard. She couldn't help it. The situation was so absurd, and her embarrassment so intense. She ended up wiping a tear from her eye.

  “I'm going to guess you probably drive some fancy sports car?” she managed to choke out, her fit winding down at last.

  “It's a Lambo,” he answered nonchalantly, as if it were a common car for people to own.

  “A Lamborghini? Seriously? With the slide-up doors and everything?”

  “You know it. She's my baby.”

  Paige laughed again. “Is she?”

  “Yep. Limited edition 2010 Murciélago LP 670-4 SV.”

  All those letters and numbers meant nothing to Paige, of course. She just couldn't get over the idea of Lance calling a car his baby, and another laughing fit struck her.

  Lance looked at her strangely. “Man, you're really giggly today, aren't you?”

  “I sure am!” Paige said with a great cheer.

  “Why?”

  “It's just funny. You're talking about a car being your baby. And …” Paige trailed off, covering her mouth again.

  “—and here we are, driving out to see your real baby,” Lance said. “Yeah, I see why that's kinda funny. So what's your kid's name?”

  “Irie. Irie McMillan.”

  “Hey, that's a cute name.”

  She gave him a sincere smile. “I'm so glad you think so.”

  That was one less major disagreement between parents, after all. And come to think of it, Irie Couture has a nice ring to it, too.

  “Can I ask you a question, Paige?”