Page 5 of Cross-Checked

The condo across the hall from me—the last door on the right—was for sale last month, and I halfway considered buying it since it’s a mirror image of mine, taking up the corner opposite me. Our condos share a wall from the end of the hallway all the way to the balconies along the exterior of the building.

If I’d bought it, I could have opened the wall between the two units and made an incredibly sweet six-bedroom, four-bath place for Abby and me. But it didn’t make sense to purchase it since I don’t even know if I’m staying in Boston.

So the condo sold, and the people who lived there moved out without so much as a goodbye. I’ve never even met my new neighbors. The anonymity of living in an insanely expensive building in a big city used to be something I loved. I could come and go without anyone bothering me. I could bring home women whenever I felt like it, and there was no one to judge me. I could retreat in solitude when that’s what I needed, but the lights and parties of the city were right outside my doorstep if that’s what I was looking for.

Now that I’m a dad, it all grates on me—the bustle and the noise outside, and how quiet and lonely it is inside once Abby goes to sleep. I want to live in a place where I have family close by, where I can sit on my front porch and know the people living in my neighborhood, and where my daughter can learn to ride her bike on the street in front of our house.

And that condo across the hall with the nameless, faceless neighbors—who, if the sound of the door opening and shutting is any indication, come home late and leave early in the morning—has gradually become the perfect example of why I want to move.

With a quick glance at the 1706 on their door, I turn toward my condo, number 1705, and push my key into the lock. When I make it to the living room, I find Lucy is sitting on the couch with Abby curled up against her chest. Lucy’s eyes are closed and they’re both breathing steadily, and for a moment, I’m taken back to the first time Lucy met Abby, when she came to interview for the summer nanny job.

She seemed like she loved babies when I first met her—the perfect person to fill in for the summer, between my last nannyleaving to move to a new state, and the new nanny I’ll hire once I know where I’m playing next season. Now, I know what she loves is that I pay well enough that she can hang with her rich boyfriend and his trust-fund friends as if she actually comes from money herself.

I clear my throat, and Lucy’s head whips to the side. “Oh good,” she says quietly, hugging Abby to her chest as she stands. At least she’s trying not to wake her. “You’re here. She needs her dad.”

I eye Abby, whose cheeks do look a little pink, but it could be thanks to the heavy blanket Lucy has her wrapped up in like it’s the middle of winter.

“She looks okay to me,” I say, not because I don’t want to be here with my daughter, but because I’m annoyed that Lucy had me rush home.

Management already knows I hate doing PR shit off the ice—the visits to hospitals and schools, the media appearances, the charity work—and the last thing I want in the midst of contract negotiation is to act in a way that reinforces the narrative that I’m not a team player. Andthisdoesn’t seem like the emergency she claimed it was.

“Well, she’s not. I’m going to let you take over from here because I need to go pick up my boyfriend.”

Lucy’s boyfriend lives in a penthouse condo that makes mine look like a hovel and drives a sports car that costs more than my first year’s salary as a hockey player in the AHL.

“He couldn’t just drive himself?”

“My car’s in the shop, so I have his car,” Lucy says, and it occurs to me that, because I left my car with the valet so I could get up here as quickly as possible, I didn’t see his car parked in the spot beside mine that I let Lucy use.

If that prick doesn’t have more than one car, I’d be shocked. And Iknowhe has access to a driver, or could just grab a ride through a rideshare app, the same way any of us do.

He doesn’tneedher to come get him; shewantsto go.

“I see.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And would needing to go get him have anything to do with why I had to come home?”

“What?” She sounds shocked, her eyebrows pinching. “No, I just told him that since you’re coming home, I could pick him up before we go out to dinner. Oh, and”—she reaches her arms out to hand me my sleeping daughter—“not this weekend, but next, I’m going to need a couple days off to go to Nantucket with Tim’s family. It’s his grandmother’s birthday, so not something we can miss.”

I take Abby and bring her up to my chest, where she opens her eyes and fusses for a moment. Snuggling her into me, I sway back and forth from one foot to the other, humming her favorite song as I breathe in her baby scent. She settles right down, closing her eyes. Her lips are turned up at the corners, like she’s realized Daddy’s home and she can relax.

God, I hate being away from her.

“Uhh, that’s not how this whole nannying thing works, Lucy. That weekend will be the start of Round 3 of the playoffs, and I’ll need you here with Abby,” I tell her. Even though we are just starting this series, we’re already dominating.

Our goalie, Colt, just broke Carolina’s best player’s nose so he’ll be out for at least a couple of games. If we don’t wrap this series up while we’re in Carolina this weekend, I’ll be shocked. But even if we have to play into next week to clinch the division title, I can’t fathom a situation in which we’re not moving on to the next round.

“Okay,” she says breezily. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“The only way it’ll work out is if you’re here when I need you to be here.” I don’t want the words to come out in the low, almost menacing way they do, but I can’t help it. I don’t have anyone else to watch Abby, not even during the day while I’m at practice, much less overnight, and she knows it.

“Okay, I’ll find out the details and let you know,” she says, giving me a broad smile, like she just knows she’s going to get her way. I don’t think she understands that work is supposed to come first, especially when your job is caring for a baby.

“Alright. I’ll see you back here tomorrow, right?” It makes me nervous that I even need to ask this. She’s staying here with Abby for the next five days. After tomorrow afternoon’s game, we’re flying south to play our next two games against Carolina at their home arena.

“Yeah, of course. But what if she’s sick?”

“Then you’ll need to take care of her, and maybe take her to the doctor. You can handle it. You’ve taken her to the pediatrician before.”

She inhales a shaky breath, and not for the first time, I wonder if I made a huge mistake hiring a college kid to take care of my baby on her summer vacation. A month ago, she seemed like she was going to be perfect. Now I’ve got serious reservations, but no alternative.

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