Page 71 of Icebound

“Sometimes… Fuck. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a dad. She deserves someone better,” he says like he’s shoving the words from his mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I love Betty, more than anything in this world, but this isn’t what I thought my life would look like at twenty-six, and it’s so damn hard being a single parent. I thought it would be easy because I love her so much, but it’s not.”

His voice cracks, so I tighten my grip on his shoulder. “I’m not a father, so I can’t offer much advice, but I know that little girl is lucky to have you as a dad. I thought my life would look more like yours at thirty-three. Want to trade?”

That gets me a genuine laugh, but then he sighs. “No. I’d never trade lives, even when it’s hard. But when I’m on the ice, I feel like I should be with her. Then, when I’m with her, I miss being on the ice because it’s where I feel the most like myself. It’s like the only thing I’m good at is fucking up.”

“Hey, that’s not true.”

“All I can say is don’t have kids unless you’re sure about the person you want to raise them with because parenting sucks. Don’t tell anyone I said that though because I have to act like I love everything about it.”

Patty goes off on a tangent, talking about all the parts of fatherhood he normally keeps hidden.

Yeah, I’ve changed a few diapers, and I drove Wyn to golf lessons growing up, but I haven’t seen the gritty parts of being a father—the struggles with giving up your identity as a man. I don’t know my identity without hockey, so I’m not sure how I can be a dad to someone when I barely know myself.

Patty looks up with green eyes rimmed with red. “Anyway, enough of that. Distract me with something else, so I don’t start bawling like Betty before the team comes back. What’s going on with your girl? Every time she walks into a room, you track her like a puck.”

I rub my face like that’ll scrub her from my brain. “She’s in my head, but it makes me feel like an ass because I know this won’t go anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“She’s leaving for Argentina in July. I might want her, but it doesn’t mean I can have her, and I’m way too old for her. Cruz points it out all the damn time. We’d never work long-term. We’re too different.”

Patty shrugs. “Then fuck her out of your system.”

“What? No. There’s no chance I’m doing that.”

“Look, I know this’ll make me sound like a dick, but in my experience, if you can’t get someone out of your head, it’s best to get them out of your system.”

I keep my voice low in case someone hears, whispering my deepest thought. “What if that doesn’t work?”

“Then, you’re fucked because it’ll just make you want more of what you can’t have.”

“I’ll be honest, that’s some really shitty advice, man.”

He tosses me a glower. “What? Am I supposed to be perfect all the time ‘cause I’m a parent? Fuck that. I’m allowed to make mistakes. I’ve got years before I have to give Betty dating advice. I’ll figure out something more poetic by that point.”

“I’d listen to you wax poetic with that country twang any day.” I slap his shoulder, pulling him closer. “All jokes aside, though… I’m not a dad, but you know I’m always here for you, alright? You need a babysitter? I got you. You need someone to listen? I’ve got big ears. League or not, I’m here.”

We sniff, wiping our eyes like real men.

“Why you gotta say shit like that, Tremblay? You know I cry all the damn time now. Come on, there’s gonna be a stampede in here soon, and I don’t want to deal with Cruz seeing me all weepy. We’ve still got media interviews, and they’re gonna give me shit for that tripping penalty.”

My molars grind together. The mention of Cruz brings Nina back to the forefront of my mind. That feisty, sarcastic girl gnaws at the edges of my thoughts for the next hour as I go through my postgame routine.

Patty’s wrong. I shouldn’t fuck her into the mattress just to get her out of my system—no matter how hard I get at the thought.

I'm at a stage where I need to settle down, not go off globetrotting to Argentina, even though it’d be nice to travel for fun instead of going from city to city and never stepping foot outside an arena. She’s in her twenties. She should be living it up, but that’s not who I am anymore.

I shower, answer bullshit media questions, and get reamed by Coach, who’s rightfully angry. Monday morning practice is going to be hell on steroids.

After the reporters bombard me with retirement questions, I slap Patty’s shoulder. “Alright, I’m heading out. Watch out for that new reporter in the bowtie. He’s a jackass.”

“You figure out what you’re doing with your girl?”

“She’s not mine, and I’m not listening to your advice, that’s for sure,” I call over my shoulder.

Grabbing my gym bag, I stride out of the locker room in my navy game-day suit and the flower tie Wyn gave me, set on avoiding Nina, but then, I see her in the hallway, laughing, smiling right next to Cruz.

My entire body heats, and this intense shot of possession jolts through me. I’ve never felt anything like it before.