Page 12 of Pucking Fate

“Every day this summer.”

“Let’s start with every day for the rest of this week,” I tell him. Oh crap. Did I just agree to an entire week of Christian Riley in my house? “We’ll have to see how that goes before you try to move your arrogant ass into our house.”

The man blinks at me, not because of the insult, but at my teasing comment. “Preston’s room is empty, right?”

“Oh, hell no,” I tell him.

“Mom! You said H-E-double hockey sticks,” Finley huffs in admonishment when he returns, holding up the two sticks that just so happen to be in his hands, making me wince.

“You’re right. I should’ve said heck, oh, heck no. Don’t even think about it,” I point my finger and lower my voice in warning at Christian. The man flashes me that patented grin that causesmy denim shorts to drop an inch before I quickly tug them back into place.

Christian’s eyes lower, as if just noticing my attire. His hazel eyes sweep over my bare legs for several long moments before moving up. They refuse to budge from my chest even after I clear my throat.

I know he was a boob guy back when we dated. Christian had begged to feel me up on our first date because he said he had dreamed of getting his hands on them. And I stupidly agreed since I had never felt sexier in my life than I did sitting on the tailgate of his old truck, listening to a ridiculously romantic playlist. God, I think the date box with the link to the songs is still stuffed in the top of my closet.

So much has changed since that night. I’m no longer an innocent, gullible girl with a silly crush. Now I’m a single mother with a silly crush and boobs twice as big after having Finley. Which Christian seems enamored of.

His eyes finally lift to mine, not even a hint of embarrassment in them for getting caught gawking. In fact, his gaze reveals so much raw need that I must quickly look away.

“Go play before it gets too hot out,” I tell them. “Dinner is at six. Hands need to be washed before the clock ticks over to the hour.”

“You’re not going to come watch us?” Christian asks, his slightly deeper voice teasing. I wonder if he remembers how I used to spend all my free afternoons watching my brother and Christian’s hockey practices like a lovesick fool instead of studying, even before I knew Christian had any interest in me.

“I’ve got some cleaning to do, so maybe later.”

Sitting and watching Christian run around our backyard is the last thing I need to be doing today. And I have to try to trust him. If he can’t keep Finley uninjured in my backyard for two hours, then we’ve got serious problems.

“Be careful!” I still yell after them when they head outside through the kitchen door.

5

Christian

As I pull up to Maya’s house for the second day, my fingers grip the steering wheel a little too tight. Despite how well the two hours yesterday afternoon went, it still feels like I’m preparing for the most important game of my life.

Except this time, it’s more important than any game I’ve ever played before. It’s about my son — about proving to Maya that I’m someone Finley can look up to, and that I’m worthy of her trust; that I won’t selfishly run away when I screw up like the idiot boy she dated. I’m not even the same guy that dated Elle. That guy is pretty much dead and gone after I found out that I’m a father. That newsflash felt like having my head beaten in with a hockey stick.

It woke me up to how things could’ve been so different if I hadn’t given up so soon on Maya when she ended things with me. I tried calling, texting, and writing to her for weeks before throwing in the towel. I had to try to move on because her rejection gutted me like nothing before.

Definitely worse than anything my father ever said to me. I grew up knowing he was disappointed in me and eventually accepted it when I decided to pursue a career in hockey. Still, nothing, not even dozens of women or any amount of time, could repair the wounds Maya inflicted.

I knock on the front door and take a deep breath while I wait for it to open. I tried to play it cool with Maya yesterday, but last night when I checked into my lonely hotel room after seeing her, being so close to her again, it felt like my heart and other parts of me would shrivel up and die if I couldn’t touch her.

These past five years since I went pro, I’ve missed her like crazy. The distance and the distractions of puck bunnies helped me get through the worst of it whenever thoughts of her haunted me.

Now, though, I don’t want to leave the house where her and my son sleep, and I don’t have the slightest inkling to be with anyone else ever again. Not just because I want to set a good example for Finley. It’s just how I’ve felt since the first day we met.

When Maya mentioned Preston’s empty room, I would’ve done anything to stay here with her and Finley, even give up my autographed Wayne Gretzky King’s jersey he wore the year they won the championship. It was years before I was even born, but I watched videos of him playing growing up.

But staying the night with Maya and Finley is a long shot right now. I have to play this right, to earn her trust back for Finley’s sake, rather than selfishly try to get her underneath me again.

God, just the thought of the one and only time we had almost-sex makes me want to put that shit off for as long as possible, no matter how much I crave another chance with her.

Nothing, though, is more important than earning her trust as a father to Finley and as a dependable man she can count on to be there for her.

When the front door finally swings open, there my dream girl is, looking like she’s caught somewhere between relief and hesitation.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I think Maya might still have feelings for me too. It’s in the way she still looks at me like I’m hers, hers to command and obey, especially when she’s laying down ground rules, trying to act tough and callous. It’s probably all in my head since I think of her as mine—my home, my future, my everything. That’s how it felt before I ever found out she was the mother of my son.

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