Page 6 of Cross-Checked

I absolutely hate feeling like I might not be doing what’s best for Abby, but I have a contract, and I have to be there to play. I’m the leader of that team, and showing up for work seems like the bare minimum, especially when so many of my teammates also have kids. None of them are single dads, though.

“Okay,” she says, heading for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

I really hope she shows up.

Chapter Three

AJ

“Can someone please tell me why the hell we haven’t taken off yet?” I grumble, wondering why we’re still sitting on the tarmac. I need this plane in the air so I can get my laptop on WiFi. I don’t have time to waste sitting here doing nothing.

“We’re waiting on McCabe,” Charlie Wilcott, our head coach, says from across the aisle. He must see something on my face, because he adds, “He’ll be here in five minutes. It’s fine.”

“Why wasn’t he on the bus from the arena after the game, like everyone else?” In the cabin behind us, Walsh is blasting the song the team always plays after a win, and the guys are singing along at the top of their lungs.

“Apparently, his nanny’s car is in the shop and she borrowed someone’s car, so she didn’t have Abby’s car seat. Since he’s gone for the next five days, the nanny needed him to bring her the car seat he had in his car.”

I sigh.

McCabe had texted me last night to let me know that he’d needed to leave the hospital early yesterday because his daughter was sick, and now he’s delaying our flight. I’m a “family first” kind of general manager, and I know he’s a single dad andall, but I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t think it’s a big deal that he left early yesterday and is making the whole plane wait for him today. Or maybe it really is his nanny’s fault in both cases. With him and his entitled attitude, it’s hard to tell.

Ronan McCabe is the kind of player who seems to think I pay him millions of dollars a year to play hockey but shouldn’t expect anything from him off the ice, even though he knows that’s not the kind of organization I’m running.

As captain, he has no problem holding other players accountable for stepping up like I’ve asked, but he doesn’t seem to hold himself to the same standard. And when he does step up, it’s with equal parts attitude and resentment.

I glance over at Wilcott. “And they couldn’t have figured this outbeforethe game?”

Charlie just shrugs, likeWhat can we do?

I focus my eyes back on my phone, where I’m reading today’s headlines. And when I hear McCabe come through the door to the jet, several rows behind me, loudly apologizing to his teammates as the music comes to a stop, before rushing up front to apologize to Coach Wilcott, I close my eyes and pretend to sleep.

Next to me, he explains that he would have just ordered a new car seat with overnight delivery, but he didn’t trust Lucy to install it correctly, so he had to return and switch his into her loaner car to make sure it was safe. I assume Lucy must be the nanny? He’s making her sound awfully incompetent, which, in turn, makes me wonder why he’d leave his baby with her.

When he’s done explaining the situation to Charlie, he turns toward me—I can feel him staring down at me. But I take slow, steady breaths, even as I hear Charlie chuckle like he knows exactly which avoidance strategy I’m using.

It might not be the most mature choice, but we’re in a tough negotiation period right now, and the last thing I need is any sort of confrontation with him, especially in front of everyone else.

We’ll save that for behind closed doors, like we always have.

I’m sitting at the upscale hotel bar the next night, enjoying the overly heavy pour of a delicious Cabernet Sauvignon the bartender gave me, when Charlie walks up.

“The guys are all going to dinner together, with strict instructions to be back in their rooms by 10 p.m.,” he tells me. “Larry and I are going to grab something at a restaurant down the street. You want to join us?”

“Nah,” I say. “I’m good. But thanks for the invite.”

“Please tell me you’re not having wine for dinner.” His voice has that overly concerned tone I’d expect from a father figure—someone like Frank Hartmann—not one of my employees. It’s probably my own fault for insisting the entire Rebels organization is one big family.

“I just ordered a steak. Does that meet your approval?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t kill you to go out and eat socially, with other people, you know.”

I tend to stick to myself on road trips, except for the very rare occasion when I can convince Lauren to come, too. There’s no real reason sheneedsto be on these trips, and she hates leaving her girls, but every once in a while, there’s a good reason for her to tag along—like a potential sponsor we can meet with while we’re on the road.

“Tonight is the only time while we’re here that I have any downtime,” I say, and watch as the bartender’s head turns toward us. I don’t know if he’s eavesdropping or just lookingover to make sure I don’t need anything, but I drop my voice a little lower either way. “I plan to enjoy having a couple hours to myself. Besides, we’re having lunch together tomorrow, remember?”

He lets out a low grunt of acknowledgement. He’s as pleased as I am to have to share a meal with the coaching staff, GM, and owner of Carolina’s team. But Frank is old friends with their owner, and he insisted.

“Yeah, Frank said he wants the captains there tomorrow too,” Charlie says, “so I told them they’d need to come with us after our practice skate in the morning.”

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