“Colorado, we’ve already delayed the flight by an hour,” Coach reminded me. Sternly. I pulled the sheer, too-small robe around my bare middle, to try to stop the wide-eyed stares from the two people about to take my daughter—alleged daughter—away from me. Bet they hated tats. And piercings. They probably thought my nose stud was stupid and I was unfit to even take care of an emu, which, yeah, okay, I had been but… shit. I’d lost Kricker and now my kid. Maybe I was a shit parent like my birth father Liberty after all.
“Then go. I’ll shower and go to whatever lab these two automatons suggest then I’ll join you in Vegas. Tell the press I had a family matter to attend to.” With that, I spun on my heel, gave Madeline’s soft cheek a gentle caress, and went upstairs to wash off my old life. It might’ve taken a power washer but hey, who needed skin?
As it turned out, I needed skin and luck and a brain that wasn’t back in Arizona.
Shame I didn’t have any of those things. My time in Vegas had not been filled with good graces from Lady Luck. That cold-hearted bitch had refused to blow on my dice or follow me to my crease. It didn’t seem to matter that I’d followed my warm-up routine on each of the two games in Sin City: skate out, touch the pipes, study the crease, skate around the net, arm circle left arm then arm circle right arm, shoot one puck at the net, and then make another lap in the opposite direction. I knew better than to diddle with the routine. One small thing—like improper arm circles—could result in a shitty game. So, in order to charm Lady Luck, I did what I thought she liked. Most women loved me. Obviously, she was hard to gauge because she wasn’t being really attentive.
As a matter of fact, she seemed to be avoiding me like I had the clap. I’d done it all by the books once I’d arrived in Vegas with Vlad at my side. The big twit had refused to leave Tucson until I had. Whether he’d been told to escort my ass to the barn by Coach in case I made a mad dash to Mexico after stealing back my daughter—alleged daughter—or he just felt bad for me I didn’t know. Nor did I care.
I’d made a righteous nuisance of myself calling the lab and Child Services on an hourly basis. The longer it took, which was fucking insulting to anyone waiting for results to sit on their thumbs for five motherfucking days, the more agitated I became. The first game against Vegas was shaky, and I’d let in two soft goals. I’d chalked that one up to my fractured state of mind. The problem was that my head was still filled with clattering shards of the pottery that’d been my life. Now everything that I’d known was like a shattered tea pot that someone—Fate, that cruel incubus—had swept up and tossed into the dryer to tumble dry.
I’d not been worried about the backup, Andre LeMans, a sweet-faced blond kid with enormous blue eyes from Bromont, Quebec, taking over in that first game. Coach knew I’d pull it together. Now that there were only ten minutes left in game two and we were down by three goals, I wasn’t so sure my spot as the starting goalie was quite so secure. My focus was shot. I couldn’t pull my head into my zone. I was stuck back in Arizona, freaking out over where Madeline was and who had her. Was she being taken care of or abused by some sicko freak?
“… watch him on the face-off.” I blinked at the sweat in my eyes as Ryker skated by during a TV time out.
“Right, totally,” I replied without a clue as to who or what he was talking about.
I hunkered down into my hybrid stance, resting on my heels, the roar of the crowd and the shouts of my teammates floating into the rafters. When I got home I’d need a nursery. And a nanny. I had two jobs after all, good jobs, with nice money. That should impress the social workers. A mansion, lots of cash, a nanny from some reputable firm… The puck hit me right in the mask, startling me from visions of white cribs and polka dot drapes. A snap popped so I shook my mask off. Tyler Parks, a forward for Vegas, had decided to take a shot even though I was mask-less and the whistles to end play were blowing up and down the ice. I threw up a shoulder to block the late shot but was instantly furious. If that had hit me in the face or throat it could have killed me. And then where would Madeline have been? She’d never have a home with a loving father.
“Hey, you fucking walking stool sample!” I shouted, threw my paddle aside, and charged out of the crease and tackled Parks to the ice. I’d gotten a few good shots in before I was yanked off the bewildered center in red and silver. Ryker and Alex pushed me back to the net, their mouths going. Parks took a swing at Vlad, clipping him in the back of the head, and earning the asshole a roughing penalty.
“You good?” Ryker asked, patting my shoulder as I huffed and puffed.
Red haze filled my vision as I watched Parks skate towards the penalty box. “Yeah, I’ll be fucking great in a second.” I chucked my blocker and catching mitt aside then made a beeline to the sin bin. Parks glanced back just as he entered the box.
