As he moved about the house, he tried not only to ignore the imposing Jack shrine but surprising mini ones that seemed to be scattered everywhere.
Hours after Daisy’s stomach bug had first started wreaking havoc inside her, Lily had him run a load of laundry while she helped Daisy through another puking jag. How so much could come out of one small girl was beyond him, but eventually the hurling and heaving stopped, and she fell asleep in her bed, exhausted, cradled in her mother’s arms.
It must have been four in the morning—he didn’t dare check—and he sat facing them in a too-small rocking chair. Surveying the room, he found nothing else that needed to be done. “Can I get you anything?” he whispered to Lily, who looked as exhausted as Daisy. She shook her head and closed her eyes, mouthing, “Thank you,” a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
Leaning his forearms on his thighs, he watched the pair, searching for a sign they needed him to do something, anything. The peaceful picture touched him deep inside, turning his gut as gooey as glucose gel.
When they didn’t stir after several minutes, he stood and pulled the comforter around Lily’s shoulders and sat back down, wedging himself in the uncomfortable chair.
Next thing he knew, Lily was whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder, her hair tickling his ear. “Gage? Gage?”
“Mmmph?” As he came to, he tried to shift, but the chair was hugging his hips, and his neck was on fire from being bent over.
“You fell asleep, Gage. I didn’t mean to make you stay.”
He blinked at the vision standing beside him. It occurred to him she hadn’t called him Professor, and he liked the sound of his name on her lips. “You didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to stay. How’s Daisy?”
Lily nodded toward the bed. “I think she’s through the worst of it.”
“Good,” he mumbled.
“You can probably guess I won’t be bringing her to hockey this morning.”
Shit. Mites. That’s right.
He pressed the heels of his hands into eyes that felt like they’d been sandpapered. “Good,” he mumbled again. Wrestling the chair off himself, he stood and steered Lily out of the room. “Now her mom needs to get some sleep.”
Lily went quietly, letting him lead her to her bedroom, where she climbed under the covers and sighed into the pillows. He didn’t allow himself to linger. Just tucked her in, leaned down to kiss her forehead, and crept out the front door, pulling the locked doorknob behind him.
Late that afternoon, after a nap and a shower, he returned to Lily’s—no warning, taking a chance—armed with three different soups he’d picked up at a favorite restaurant. It paid off because, Jesus Christ, the smile she gave him when she opened the door made him feel like he was a damn superhero.
Sudden nerves made him shuffle with awkwardness, and he thrust the bags at her. “I thought Daisy might like some chicken noodle … or turkey and wild rice. The guy said this other one’s good for the stomach flu too—it’s something like miso.”
Lily took the packages from him, beckoning him inside with a head tilt, and he followed her into the kitchen.
“What she’d really like, Mr. Cage, is for you to read to her again. It’s all she can talk about.” She gave him a backward glance as she unloaded the soup containers.
His eyes popped wide. “Seriously?” Lily nodded. “So she didn’t freak out over me being here?” he whisper-shouted. Lily’s head shook. “Or playing tonsil hockey with her mom?”
A laugh burst from her as she pivoted and faced him. “Tonsil hockey? That’s a new one on me. But no, catching her mom and Mr. Cage playing tonsil hockey didn’t seem to faze her. In fact, she asked if you could come over for dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“So she’s not sick anymore?” How was that possible? Christ, he’d seen the volumes that had erupted from that little girl’s body.
“Nope. Just napping. I’m pretty sure it was the arena food that didn’t sit well. She bounced right back once it was out of her system. Children are resilient like that.” Lily gave him that sassy pose that made his inner caveman want to drag her off to his lair. “So, Mr. Cage, are you staying for dinner? Looks like we’re having soup.” She winked at him.
Oh, this made him all kinds of happy, and he was sure he wore a shit-eating grin that broadcast it. He pulled her into his arms. “I might need some convincing.”
She looped her arms around his neck and wiggled her eyebrows. “I can do that.”
Chapter 26
You Know What They Say About Assuming
Weeks went by in a blissful blur. When he wasn’t training, playing on the road, or playing at home, Gage spent every spare minute with Lily and Daisy. Trips to the zoo and the aquarium, sitting through Disney on Ice, and outings to all kinds of kid-oriented places he never knew existed. The Butterfly Pavilion. Santa’s Village. Who knew? He even spent a few entertaining hours in Daisy’s kindergarten class for Career Day, where she put him on display and declared that she too would be a “hockey player like Mr. Cage” someday.
Life was sweet. In-fucking-credible. He devoured it whole.
Idle time that wasn’t consumed by hanging with “his girls” was expended in one of Gage’s favorite pastimes: lingering in bed with Lily. Morning and afternoon delight when Daisy was in school, with a rare whole night of delight whenever Daisy stayed with family. Gage paid little attention to the timing of these interludes, simply taking advantage of every chance to make love to Lily. The day before a game, the night before, an hour before. Didn’t matter. He was like a dry camel, drinking his fill, and life was damn good.
Lily seemed to be warming to the idea of a “we.” Even so, Gage
