Page 9 of Play Dirty

“Then you’ll stay hungry until we get there.”

“I hate you!” He stomps his feet again and runs from the room.

No, I’m sure his mother had nothing to do with his sudden need to tell me he hates me every chance he gets.

I sigh as Emma watches her brother with big, tearful dark eyes. Eyes just like mine. Thank fuck one of my kids looks like me. Martin and Bradley are carbon copies of Brenna, with her blond hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. It gutted me to do it, but once I found out she was having an affair, I had paternity tests done on all three of them. Luckily, they’re mine. I don’t know what I would have done if all, or even one, weren’t.

I locate Emma’s shoe, help her put it on, and then go in search of Martin.

At this point, we’re already late for brunch. I could just give in and stay home, but that would be admitting defeat. And I’m determined to make this solo parenting thing work.

I love my kids.

More than anything.

It would be so much easier if I didn’t.

I could give Brenna primary and physical custody, let them move to Tennessee permanently, and write a check every month.

All this stress would go away. I could relax. Hang with my friends, go drinking… hook up with someone like Stevie.

I almost did something stupid last night.

Almost.

I came to my senses before anything happened, but I never wanted to kiss someone as much as I wanted to kiss Stevie last night. I think I might have hurt her feelings a little when I didn’t because she steered clear of me after that, which is disappointing. I would have liked to dance with her again, but that would be dangerous.

Because technically I’m not single.

And I have my kids.

For at least the next four weeks, they’re my priority.

A supermodel with sad blue eyes and a body that fits perfectly against mine has no place in my life.

My lawyer is working on full custody.

I’d agree to shared custody if Brenna stays in L.A., but her boyfriend—my ex-teammate Philippe—was traded to the team in Nashville, and she went with him. Taking my kids along.

She thinks I’m being unreasonable since I travel for hockey. I’d need a full-time nanny and all kinds of help because even now, when I’m not playing, taking care of them is a full-time job. It never seemed hard when Brenna was here, but I’m not stupid. I know it’s because there were two of us.

Part of me feels guilty, knowing how tough it must have been on her when I was gone for seven or ten days at a time, but she had help. A nanny. Daycare. Friends.

I don’t have any of that now.

I have friends, but a bunch of pro hockey players aren’t going to help me take care of my kids unless it’s an emergency.

I can’t hire a nanny when I don’t know if I’ll get full custody, and the temps so far have been less than impressive.

There’s so much up in the air, and as I stare at the back of Marty’s little head, I wonder what he’s thinking about as he looks out the window of my bedroom. There’s a bay window that overlooks our expansive back yard. If I get custody, I’ll keep the house. If not, I’ll have to sell it. I can’t keep up with something this big on my own, especially if I’m sending out thousands every month in both alimony and child support.

“You still mad, buddy?” I ask quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft, with a little hiccough.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He sighs, like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I hate Brenna a little more for putting us—and our babies—in this situation.

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