“No, I can’t say that I did.”
I don’t know where she gets it from, but Max loves to Google random facts and trivia. She knows more useless facts than anyone my age, let alone hers. Max loves to tell me about the things she’s read online. Even her teachers have mentioned her unusual curiosity to me during parent-teacher meetings.
She takes the puck from my lap and juggles it. “Can we put my puck in the freezer?”
Her request makes me chuckle. “Your puck is plastic. The ones you’ll use for youth league are made of rubber. I don’t know how much good it will do to freeze plastic.”
“Daddy says I should simulate the real thing as much as possible.”
“Of course, he did,” I deadpan with a forced smile.
If it were up to Ted, I would have an entire freezer filled with plastic pucks. Our house was a mess when we lived together.
“Where’s Daddy?” Max glances over at the clock on the wall and frowns. “He’s late.” Her bottom lip quivers when she looks at me. “I want to call him.”
Max knows her way around a phone better than me. I drop my cell phone into her tiny palm, and she dials Ted’s number. It rings and rings, eventually going to voicemail. She hangs up and tries him again with the same result. My heart sinks to my stomach when I look into her eyes. I wish I could take her to the game. If Ted had given us a heads up, we could have planned around his schedule. Instead, he’s subjecting Max to even more disappointment than usual.
“Daddy,” Max says into the phone. “It’s me, Max. Where are you?” She sniffs, holding back her tears, and I have to do everything in my power not to cry. “We’re supposed to go to the game. Did you forget about me… again?”
After Max hangs up, I slide my arm across the back of her neck and turn on the television. “How about we watch the game until Daddy gets here?”
“Okay,” she chokes out. “He’s not coming.” She’s smart enough to know this is another one of Ted’s stunts. “Is he?”
I shake my head. “No, baby, I don’t think so. But it’s okay. We can watch the game here, and I’ll make you some chocolate chip cookies. How does that sound?”
She glances up at me with a few tears sliding down her cheeks. “Can I have extra chocolate chips?”
I wipe her fallen tears away with my thumb. “Yeah, baby, you can have as many as you want. You can even help me make them.”
She beams with excitement.
We watch the announcers, who are talking about Duke Baldwin and his suspension. His picture appears on the screen, and my throat just about closes up. Duke is hot with a capital H. His tanned skin, dirty blond hair, and bright blue eyes practically pop off my screen. His shoulders are massive in his picture, his bulky arms filling out every inch of his uniform.
“That’s Daddy’s favorite player,” Max says with her finger pointed at Duke. “He’s good. He’s our captain. Daddy says he’s the best defenseman in the NHL.”
“He’s my favorite, too,” I admit, though I would never tell Duke that.
I’ve watched enough of Duke’s fights over the past few years to get a little hot and bothered afterward. Seeing him in the flesh this week only makes it harder to get him out of my head. Until I met Duke, I never wanted to cross the line with a patient.
Chapter Seven
Duke
I hate sitting at home, watching my team play from the comfort of my couch. This is pure fucking torture. My guys are fighting for possession of the puck, struggling to score, and I could have helped them if I were there. Suspension sucks.
The Bruins are on fire tonight, making my team look like dogs chasing their tails. This is an embarrassing loss to have at home. With a few minutes left on the game clock, my cell phone rings. I set my beer on the table and glance at the screen. It’s my sister, probably calling to yell at me again.
“Hey, Kit-Kat,” I say, holding the phone to my ear.
“Denny,” she breathes. “We need to talk.”
“Look, Kat, I’m sorry about… Well, about everything. I fucked up.”
“You bet your ass you did,” she snaps. “Dean’s face is still messed up.”
“And what a pretty face he has,” I deadpan.
“Don’t do that,” she groans. An awkward silence passes between us before she says, “How’s your therapy going?”
“It’s going, I guess. I had my first session a few days ago.”
“Dad told me you’re seeing a woman doctor.”
“Dr. Devine is a woman.”
“She’s your age, right?”
“Give or take.”
“I hope you didn’t hit on her or do anything stupid that will jeopardize your career. Dad is worried about you. We all are.”
“Kat, I’m fine. This suspension is nothing. I’ll be back on the ice in a few months.”
“Dad had to pull a lot of strings to keep you with the Caps. He won’t tell you that, but I will. You messed up big time, Denny.” She sniffs into the phone. “And you hurt Dean. You hurt me. And you still haven’t apologized to Dean!”
“Kat, I’m sorry. I know you hate me.”
My stomach hurts having this conversation. I hate that I have caused her so much pain.
“I don’t hate you,” she declares. “I could never hate you. But I can be mad at you. I want to forgive you.”
I lean my head back on a stack of cushions and stare up at the ceiling. “Tell me what to do, Kat. I want to make things right with you. I want to be there for you and the baby.”
“Call Dean and apologize. You can say sorry to me all you want, but without telling the person you hurt most, it doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Fine, I’ll call Dean.”
“He has off on Friday. Call him then.”
“How are you feeling? Is the baby okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she sighs. “A little tired. And sick. The morning sickness is kind of kicking my ass. I practically live in the bathroom.”
“I can come home and help out.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m moving soon. I told Dean I would live with him.”
“I’m happy if you’re happy, Kat. But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t do what mom did. You need to have your own life and your own career. She gave up everything to raise us.”
“Mom didn’t regret it,” she challenges.
“I know she didn’t, but just promise me, okay?”
Before my mom died, she asked me to watch over my brothers and sister. She made me promise her that I wouldn’t let Kat repeat her past. Our mom was a partner in a successful law firm when she met our dad. They had a whirlwind romance that swept both of them off their feet. Within a few short months, they were married. I came along not long after. My mom gave up everything to be with my dad. He became her world, and when she got sick, my dad couldn’t handle the thought of losing her.
Instead of being there for her, for all of us, he stayed away. I’m close to my dad, but that’s one thing I will never forgive him for. It’s hard to forget the years I spent at my mother’s bedside while I watched her slowly die. And it’s even harder to forget that my dad left two teenagers to raise his children. He forgot about all of us, throwing himself into hockey more than ever.
“After I have the baby,” Kat says, “I plan to look for an internship in Philly. I’m not giving up on my dreams. Mom wouldn’t want that, and I don’t either.”
"As long as we're on the same page."
"Just so you know, I didn't see Dean in secret," she says. "We kissed at a party at the end of senior year. It was a dare. And after we kissed, it was impossible to go back to being friends."
It’s hard to imagine my little sister as a woman who is months away from having a baby. In my mind, she will always be the tomboy with scrapes all over her knees from playing hockey without pads. The little girl who wrapped her tiny fingers around mine and begged me to play hockey with her.
Our dad taught her the basics, t
he same as he did with the rest of us, but Kat was different. She was the only girl in a house full of boys. We did our best to treat her like a girl. Except Kat wanted nothing more than to be one of the guys. So, it was no surprise when she brought Dean home, claiming he was her best friend from college.
“If he breaks your heart—”
“You’ll break his face,” she finishes with laughter in her voice.
“I’ll break more than his face. Consider him a dead man.”
“Dean is one of the good ones,” she says with confidence.
I groan at the final score that pops up on my television screen. “This blows.”
“I assume you’re watching the game.”
“Yeah. My guys are playing like shit. All of this is my fault.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it,” she counters. “So, don’t beat yourself up. Focus on getting better instead of worrying about all of the things you could have done differently.”
“You sound like Austin.”
She chuckles. “Where do you think I get it from? He’s the most levelheaded of all of us. Austin has been a big help lately. He took me to my doctor appointment yesterday. He’s excited about the baby. He can’t wait to be an uncle.”
“Me, too.”
“You don’t seem like it.”
“I’m still getting used to the fact you’re pregnant. But I’m excited about being an uncle. I always knew it would happen, just not so soon.”
“Hey, Denny,” she groans. “Dean is clicking in on the other line. Can I talk to you later?”
“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll see you soon.”
She says her final goodbye, and then the line goes dead. I have to fix all of the shit I have broken. According to Dr. Devine, that change has to start with me, and I’m not looking forward to it.
Chapter Eight
Delilah
Duke leans back, his big arms flexing against the couch. My eyes and mind wander for a second before I pull myself together. None of my patients has ever had this effect on me. Duke is the first patient I ever fantasized about before I met them.
“You okay, Doc?” Duke tilts his head to the side, and a strand a hair falls in front of his eyes. “You seem… distracted.” A wicked smirk crosses his lips.
I straighten up, unable to meet his gaze. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just listening.”
“Funny,” he says with a hint of sarcasm, “because I haven’t spoken a word in a few minutes. I’ve just been watching you watch me. And like I said, you seem a little distracted.”
Duke’s legs are spread wide, and when he moves his big hand to his inner thigh, my eyes bug out of my head. He’s not wearing underwear again.
“Moving on,” I say, pretending he doesn’t affect me. “How did you feel when Kat said you hurt her?”
My question rips the smug look from his handsome face. He blows out a deep breath and threads his fingers together behind his head.
“I felt like shit,” he admits. “Like I screwed up worse than normal.”
“And what do you consider normal screwing up?”
“You know, the usual.”
“Such as?”
I try to keep my voice level, even though he’s annoying the crap out of me. Duke doesn’t make our sessions easy. He makes me beg and dig for every answer. Some patients are like this. They either don’t want to be here, which is Duke’s case, or they don’t know how to express their feelings and thoughts verbally. People like Duke usually bottle their emotions, hide their true selves from the world, and then all of the anger eventually comes to the surface.
“Such as accidentally breaking my cell phone,” Duke says with a defiant attitude. “Such as punching assholes who deserve it in the face.” He leans forward, his elbows rested on his muscular thighs, his piercing stare fixed on me. “Do you want me to keep going?”
When Duke looks at you, it’s as if he’s looking through you. It’s slightly terrifying.
“Do you want me to tell you about all of the concussions I’ve handed out over the years? Or that I just like hitting people. It makes me feel better. Is that what you’re looking for, Doc?”
“I’m not looking for anything, Duke. I want to understand you better.”
“What’s there to understand?” He rolls his shoulders. “I’m a guy. We’re not that complicated.”
“I think you are,” I say with confidence. “I think there are a lot of things about you that people don’t know, and it’s because you close yourself off from them. I think you want people to understand you, but you don’t know how to communicate your feelings.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Doc?” He clicks his tongue as he says Doc. “You think I should open up more? That I should get all mushy and talk to people?”
I can see the fire brewing in his eyes. Duke Baldwin is like a bomb ready to detonate, and if I don’t get to the source of his anger, I’m afraid he will live the rest of his life this way. I got into this profession to help people. It’s what makes me happy. I’ve had patients like Duke in the past. They’re tough nuts to crack, and I doubt two months with him will be enough. I just have to find out what makes him tick.
So far, it seems his family and hockey are the only things he cares about. Duke has teammates but not real friends. He keeps everyone outside of his closed-off world. Only those in his inner circle, which is composed only of family, know anything about him.
“Tell me about your dad,” I say. “What was it like growing up surrounded by your father’s fame?”
“It was…” He sighs. “I don’t know. Like being the child of a famous hockey player. I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“Do you think you were given certain advantages because of his fame?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “If you’re insinuating that I got selected by the Caps because of my dad, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I busted my ass to get where I am.”
I hold up my hand and give him a warm, friendly smile that says, don’t bite my head off. “No, not at all. I don’t doubt that you worked hard to get into the NHL. I’m impressed.”
An evil smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t try to charm me, Doc. I’m uncharmable.”
“I didn’t think you could be charmed,” I counter, biting back laughter. “I was merely stating a fact. You had a better chance of winning the lottery than becoming a professional athlete. But you obviously have good breeding and…”
Oh, my God. What am I saying?
His expression turns from stony to interested. “Go ahead, Doc. Finish that thought for me.”
Shit.
“I was going to say that you also have the talent. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made it this far, no matter who your dad is.”
Staring down at the notepad on my lap, I contemplate my next question.
“What are your personal relationships like?”
His eyes widen. “You mean with my family?”
“No, I mean with people outside of your family.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Like my teammates?”
“Yes, for starters.”
“And women?” He stares at me so hard it sends a shiver down my arms. “If you want to know if I’m single, Doc, just ask. You don’t have to beat around the bush.”
“I’m not asking if you’re single. I noticed that you don’t have any personal relationships with anyone outside of your team or family.”
“What’s wrong with that? I have all of the relationships I need.”
“What about women?”
“What about them?”
“You don’t date.”
“That’s a statement, not a question, Doc.”
We stare at each other for a long, hard minute. My breath catches in my throat when Duke runs his thumb along his bottom lip. Does he know how much this is turning me on? Probably. Ted and Duke have a lot in common. Men like Duke and Ted wear their confidence on their sleeves. They practically radiate it. And
they don’t miss a beat, especially not when it comes to women.
“You want to know if I fuck women?”
I gasp at his question. He’s still playing with his bottom lip, driving me completely insane. You’re the doctor, Delilah! Get a handle on the situation. You have to control the conversation.
Men like Duke will manipulate the conversation if given a chance. He thinks he’s winning, getting under my skin. Well, I guess he is to some extent. But that can’t happen.
“What you do in the bedroom is your business,” I say, trying to regain control. “I’m more interested in your relationships with women.”
“You mean sex?”
“No, Duke. Sex is part of a relationship, but that’s not what creates the bond between two people.”
“I don’t date,” he shoots back.
“How come?”
“Because I don’t want to,” he says, somewhat annoyed. “What difference does it make?”
“It makes a lot of difference.”
“I don’t have time,” he says in his defense, which I know is just to get me off his back. “Hockey is my life.”
“Plenty of your teammates are married with kids. If they can find the time to have a family, you could do the same… if that’s what you want.”
“What is your problem, Doc?” He glares at me. “Why do you care what I do with women?”
“Because it’s the one part of your life that seems to be lacking, and I’m curious if your anger has anything to do with it.”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just because I don’t parade the women I fuck around town doesn’t mean anything.”
“They’re not meaningful relationships,” I point out.
“Some people prefer to have meaningless relationships with the opposite sex.”
“In my professional experience, it’s because the person is guarded and closing themselves off from the world. It’s a defense mechanism.”
“If you say so, Doc,” he deadpans.
“You’re close to your sister, Kat.”
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