Skater

by Samantha Whiskey

  “Hey, they came with the house!” No, seriously, they had.

  “Sure they did.” Rory winked. “And they’ll be great for making sure you keep the right...form in all manners of exercise.”

  “Stop teasing him,” Bailey ordered, wagging her finger.

  “Oh, come on. He’s like the little brother I never had...or wanted,” Rory finished with a grin. “What’s up next?”

  Paige ran her finger down the list she’d made this morning. “Hmm. I think we have everything covered. Once we’re done here, and Gage finishes installing the media stuff we’re ready to head out. We’ll even have you guys in bed nice and early so you’re refreshed for practice in the morning.”

  “In that case, Warren, let’s help Gage. I like the whole early-to-bed proposal.” He winked at his wife and headed over to the living room where Gage was neck-deep in tech.

  “I can’t thank you guys enough for this. I never imagined you’d get us moved in and set up this quickly.” They’d worked miracles. I figured we’d still be in boxes through playoffs, but they’d somehow gotten it all done, down to Hannah’s backpack hanging in the mudroom, all set up with her rain gear to head to that new preschool I’d enrolled her in. She’d just missed the kindergarten cut off for this year, but she’d start in the fall.

  “It’s what family is for,” Bailey stated like it was assumed.

  Maybe for someone who’d grown up with a dependable family, it was, but to me, it was a miracle. They were all miracles, every single person who had shown up today to help us.

  “Absolutely. Oh, and I already put a few meals into your freezer,” Jeanine added. “You might want to consider getting a secondary freezer so it’s not so hectic during the season, or even hiring a cook to prep for you.”

  Mental note: buy freezer.

  “Right! And you definitely want to stock snacks. With girls at Hannah’s age there’s always some kind of impromptu playdate or something you signed up to bring for some soccer game that you will inevitably forget,” Bailey added as she slipped a stack of plates into the cabinet.

  “Uh, those plates?” I’d never seen them before.

  “A little housewarming present from Gage and I. Trust me, you’ll want these. Kids can drop them forty-billion times and they don’t shatter.”

  “Thank you.” Shatter-proof plates. Gotcha.

  “Oh, and meds!” Paige suggested. “You definitely need to keep a ready supply of kids meds for fevers and coughs, that kind of thing. You never know when they’ll pop up with some allergy for something random and then you’re dealing with an itchy rash at two a.m.”

  “And fever medication will help that?” I asked, my head starting to spin in an exorcist kind of way.

  “No, silly! That’s Benadryl. You’ll want to grab that, too.”

  “Snacks. Meals. Meds. Shatterproof plates. Got it.”

  But did I? Did I, really? I mean, sure, it had been a crazy month adjusting to be a full-time parent, but nothing crazy like that had happened. Was that stuff an inevitability? Was I as ill-prepared as these women saw me? Was I giving Hannah what she needed? Sure, I’d gotten her into preschool, but soccer?

  Was she supposed to play soccer?

  Couldn’t I just order out if we were running late?

  How many snacks were enough snacks?

  Holy shit, I was going to fail at this before I’d even gotten a chance to try.

  “You know what? How about I make you a list? We’ll all make you a list,” Paige said softly as if she’d seen the panic in my eyes.

  “It’s a lot,” I admitted, running a hand over my hair, and grabbing the nearest box.

  Wine glasses. Was I allowed to have wine in the house anymore? Maybe I needed a wine frig with a lock on it or something. Maybe that’s where I was supposed to keep all of those medications, too.

  “It is.” Bailey took the box from my hands and put it on the island. “And we’re happy to tell you everything we’ve learned as moms, but you have to know that there’s no right or wrong way to do the parenthood thing. We all do just our best, and honestly, Paige, Nine and I don’t even agree on everything.”

  “We don’t,” Jeanine echoed. “Really. I only believe in organics, and Paige likes to expose Daphne to exotic, weird foods. Bailey likes to knock out vaccinations, and I like the delayed schedule.”

  “True.” Paige stopped scribbling on the list. “Point is, you kind of listen to advice and then decide if you want to follow it. As long as she’s not dealing drugs or on the stripper pole by five-years old, I think you’re doing just fine. And trust me, she’s great. You’re doing great.”

  But I didn’t have snacks other than the gogurts Hannah was obsessed with, or meds on reserve, and what the fuck did I know about a vaccination schedule?

  “Oh, is that a parenthood list?” Gage asked, looking over Paige’s shoulder as he came into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, it’s a little comprehensive,” Bailey answered, sending her husband a look that I couldn’t decipher.

  “Ahh. Ok. Well, why don’t you add the number of our pediatrician and call it a day?”

  “I can do that.” Bailey smiled at him and then turned back to me. “Connor, let us finish this up. If we can’t reach something, we’ll get one of the guys.”

  “You shouldn’t have to put my whole kitchen together,” I protested.

  Jeanine shot me a look. “So help me God, if you finish that with ‘because a woman isn’t responsible for the kitchen,’ thing, I’m coming over this counter at you. Trust me, I’m not in here because I have a vagina, I’m in here because you have zero fucking clue what to do in this arena, and I do. If I was assembling a hockey rink at my house, I assume you’d show up and do it. Got it?”

  “Run,” Warren suggested. “Quickly.”

  Gage nodded toward the stairs, and I followed him. I liked these steps at the back of the kitchen. They weren’t for show, but function. For family. For midnight snacks and early-morning rushes. Not that I didn’t like the front set of steps that swept down to the foyer. They were nice to look at if you came in the front door. But these felt like barefoot afternoons and calling out for dinner.

  “Ok, here’s the deal,” he said about halfway up the steps, not pausing as I followed him up. “You’re going to fuck up. She’s going to fall and break a bone. She’s going to get a fever. You’ll forget the T-ball snacks. You’ll be up at three a.m. walking the floor and wondering if you should call the pediatrician, and then you’ll google symptoms until the internet has convinced you that she has cancer and is dying.”

  We reached the top of the steps and walked into the hallway. To our right, Ivy made up the guest bedroom with Faith and Pepper as Eric swore at something in the closet.

  “And then you’ll feel stupid. Because girls don’t just always go for pants and shirts. There are skirts and dresses, and then there’s the fucking tights and boots and mary janes, and capris—because apparently the world needed a length between shorts and pants. Because I’m pretty sure girls are more emotionally mature at five-years old than most men are at twenty-five.”

  “True story,” I agreed as we made our way down the hall past an empty bedroom and toward Hannah’s.

  “Right. But, at the end of the day, if she’s fed, and loved, and cared for, and knows that you’ll protect her no matter what comes her way, then the rest of the shit on that list is just sprinkles. You’ve already got the cupcake right there.”

  We paused in Hannah’s doorway, watching her instruct Porter on the exact spots she wanted her butterfly wall lamps to hang. My heart thrummed, watching her give orders and then inspect the work being done by a multi-million-a-year NHL player. At her confidence and self-assurance when her life had literally been pulled out from under her.

  “Is that what you do?” I asked Gage quietly. “Protect Scarlett from everything?”

  “All the things she can’t do herself,” he admitted. “And I’m not going to lie. It was tough on my own until Bailey came
back, and thank God she loves Lettie like she’s her own. But you’re not alone in this, Connor, and looking back, neither was I. This team will stand behind you—behind her.”

  “Even if her mother is an addict?”

  “Have you ever met my ex?” Gage asked, cringing.

  “No, but I’ve heard enough stories about the origins of our rivalry with Ontario,” I admitted.

  “Then you see. You mess with one Shark, and the others come out with teeth bared. And that little girl right there?” he motioned toward where Hannah stood, telling Porter that the lamp needed to be an inch higher. “She’s a Shark, not just by blood, but by choice, which from watching Bailey and Lettie, I’ve learned can be even stronger.”

  I nodded, unable to form words. Gage had done it on his own for years, raising Lettie, and then Ethan when he came, handling the NHL, balancing both of his lives in a way that made him one of the top players in the NHL but pretty much the best dad in the world.

  I could do this because I wouldn’t let anything happen to crack Hannah’s world ever again. Even if Jess walked in right now and swore she’d never leave—never use again. I was going to fight her, and win. But what would the cost be to Hannah?

  “How do you tell the difference between the things she needs protection from and the things she doesn’t?” I asked.

  “Shit, that’s the question dads have been asking since the dawn of time. You use your best judgment, pray you’re right, and when all else fails, you ask her. She’ll know her own strength—especially with you raising her.”

  “And when she tells you she can handle it?”

  Gage grinned and slapped me on the back. “You get the hell out of her way and watch her shine.”

  “Uncle Connor!” Hannah exclaimed, seeing us for the first time. “You have to see this!”

  “Show me what you’ve got!” I called back.

  She skirted the giant pink canopy that hung over her bed—no doubt the present Ivy had ordered—and pulled her curtains shut, blocking out the dying afternoon sunlight.

  “Hit it!” she told Porter.

  He must have pressed a button, because the butterfly lamps came to life, as did the wall behind her bed. It was one of those glitter wallpapers Ivy had talked me into, swearing it was necessary. The windows hadn’t given it the right light, but the butterflies did, sending sparkles all over the wall that reflected onto Hannah’s face as she looked up at me with an impish grin.

  She shined. Even under circumstances that would break grown men and women, my Hannah shined. I wasn’t going to fuck this up because she’d never let me.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” she asked, her little voice filled with the kind of wonder reserved for Disney World, or some other childhood moment of bliss.

  “It is,” I agreed.

  And so was she.

  “I’m glad you stayed for dinner,” I told Ivy as I loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. Not that there were many. Hannah had demanded we order Chinese food because ‘everyone should know their fortune in a new house.’

  “Me, too,” Ivy answered. “She was out like a light by seven-thirty.”

  “Big day.” I shut the dishwasher and dried my hands, turning to look where Ivy sat perched on the counter again. Pretty soon I wasn’t going to be able stand in this kitchen without thinking about her even when she wasn’t here.

  “It was,” she agreed. “But it was great.”

  “True story. I still can’t believe I own it, or that everyone showed up to help.”

  “They care about you. Hannah, too, of course, but you know they’d go to war for you.” She sighed deeply, her exhaustion showing in the slight dishevelment of her hair, and her half-mast eyes, but nothing else.

  She looked...real. Not the Ivy I’d first met at the party in the fall, all polished and shiny. She looked softer, authentic, and infinitely more touchable.

  “Everything smells so new. Not in a bad way, just in a fresh, clean paint scent,” she finished, looking at the finished kitchen.

  “That’s why I wanted new construction,” I admitted. “Not the smell. I can definitely live without wondering if I’m going to get high on fumes. But the fresh start. I didn’t want to buy a place with someone else’s bad memories attached. Everything this house sees will be of our own creation.” I looked around the space, imagining what would happen in here over the years. “It’s so white, though. I like the whole minimalist thing, I do, but it feels a little catalogue right now.”

  “You’ll make it your own,” Ivy assured me.

  “Yeah. I’m just thinking we might have to mess up the counters or something. It’s way too Williams-Sonoma in here.”

  “That’s Jeanine,” Ivy said hopping down from the counter. She padded past me to the little built-in desk and opened the second drawer down, pulling out a few sheets of paper. “This,” she said as she passed me again, stopping at the frig, “is you and Hannah.” She clipped a few of Hannah’s drawings to the refrigerator door with the Shark magnets I’d grabbed from my old place out of nostalgia.

  The huge expanse of stainless steel suddenly felt like home with just that dose of color Hannah’s art gave it.

  “See?” Ivy asked, smiling back at me.

  I walked over, looking at the picture. One was a unicorn, another the Space Needle, and the last was a big hockey rink with three stick figures labeled, “Uncle Connor, Me, Ivy.”

  “Looks like it’s you, too.” God, she was everywhere. My kitchen, my niece's heart, and my fucking head.

  She was fucking inside me.

  “Huh, I guess it is.” She tilted her head to the side, her smile softening.

  “Sometimes I hate that about you,” I admitted.

  “What?” she asked, her eyes flying wide.

  “Your ability to know exactly what she needs. What I need.” My voice was quiet despite my words. “The way you somehow make everything...better without even trying.”

  She blinked. “I’d think that would be a good thing.” She turned, putting her back to the counter.

  “It could be.” I followed her.

  “Except we don’t like each other,” she reminded me, tilting her chin up at me.

  I took the step that separated us until she had to crane her neck to meet my eyes. “Right. We don’t like each other.”

  Her lips parted and the air between us charged to an electric frequency. “It’s kind of a loathing thing.”

  Damn it. I wanted her.

  “Definitely borders on disdain.” My hands reached for her hips before my brain could tell them not to, and I lifted her to the counter. She weighed nothing but was all soft curves and sharp tongue—an addicting combination.

  “That’s because you’re an irreverent, judgy asshole,” she whispered, her eyes dropping to my mouth. Her breath hitched, and my hands flexed where they’d stayed on her hips, knowing if I moved them—let her go, I might never feel her under them again.

  I leaned in slowly, letting my mouth brush her cheek.

  “Judgy? Irreverent?” I spoke the words slowly, letting my lips drag across her smooth, soft skin. Then I slid back slightly so I could look into those eyes for some kind of hint, a clue, a sign that she wanted this, too. “I was thinking irresistible.”

  She snorted, and damn, that was cute, too.

  “You think you’re irresistible?” Her hands rested on my chest, but to tease or to push? Her gaze went to those hands and then back to my eyes, full of fire and desire? Or simmering hatred? God, we’d been enemies so long I wasn’t sure the two were too far apart.

  “No. I think you’re irresistible, and it’s infuriating as hell.” My hands flexed on her hips, digging into the soft flesh.

  Her knees parted, and I was done fighting it. The want. The need. The persistent ache that came with the relentless desire to know how she tasted.

  My mouth met hers at the same time I stepped between her thighs and pulled her against me.

  Her lips were crazy soft, and when they
parted on a surprised gasp, I took complete and utter advantage, sliding my tongue against hers, tasting the mint chocolate chip she’d had after dinner and something even sweeter—Ivy.

  She whimpered and arched, tangling her hands in my hair and tugging me closer.

  Hell. Yes.

  The kiss exploded, turning carnal as she returned it, her tongue moving with mine like smooth, warm silk. She was intoxicating. Smoother than whiskey. Sweeter than rum. Potent as tequila.

  I changed the angle, taking her deeper, releasing one of my hands from her hip to cradle her neck. Fuck, I was never coming back from this. I would have to live here the rest of my life, between her soft, denim-clad thighs, held prisoner by her hands, her lips, and those tiny, throaty sounds she made when my tongue retreated only to get a sigh when I slid back home.

  “Connor,” she moaned against my mouth.

  I was dreaming. I had to be because hearing my name on her lips like that was straight out of my biggest fantasy. Her nails dug into my scalp, and I kissed her again, ignoring the need to go further, to find out if she tasted as sweet between her thighs as she did between her lips. I ground my dick against the hardwood of the cabinet, sending him a silent signal to calm the fuck down. Then I used my mouth like I meant it, using every trick I had to make sure she’d never forget this, that she’d crave it long after we parted.

  If I could ever drag my mouth from hers.

  She writhed against me, her breasts pressed against my chest, her thighs gripping the sides of my hips, her hands drifting down my neck to my chest.

  She didn’t just have a fiery temper, she flat-out was fire. Hot, sweet, and dancing on the edge of something I knew would pull me under if she ever used it against me.

  Fuck it, she could use it all she wanted—do whatever she wanted as long—

  She went rigid in my arms, and her hands pushed against my chest at the same moment that she ripped her mouth from mine, turning her head.

  “Ivy?” I asked, my breath heaving like I was an out-of-shape middle-aged man instead of a professional athlete.

  “Let me go.” Her voice was something I’d never heard before: small.