Page 10 of Defending her Heart

When I got home at two this morning, I didn’t pay attention to the car in the driveway, assuming it was my parents’. It must have been Miss Wentworth leaving a few minutes ago. I close my eyes and tap my head against the wall.

I can hear my father’s coughing in the background. “Your father needs another dose of his medicine. We love you, Nash. Great game last night. We watched snippets when we could.”

“Go take care of Dad.”

Fuck. I run my fingers through my bedhead and stomp up to my room to throw on a sweatshirt. After a quick check on Paisley, I go back to the kitchen to start on the blueberry pancakes I always make for her after being away.

The first five weeks of the season have been shitty, with more away games than home. My parents have done all the heavy lifting with Paisley and I more than owe them for it.

When the pancakes are done, I store them in the warmer and head upstairs to wake my little girl. She fills the morning with nonstop chatter.

“Miss Wentworth and I colored and played Barbies and played on the swingset. She pushed me high but not as high as you.”

“No one pushes you on the swing as well as I do, Sweet Pea.” Yeah. I’m an insecure asshole.

She hops off her stool and twirls around the kitchen while telling me about her night with her teacher. “We had a dance party and she made chicken snakes but I had to help her because she didn’t know how so maybe you can teach her to make chunkies or snakes because they didn’t taste the same as yours but she told silly stories and made me giggle while we made dinner and I helped her make salad and ate the green stuff.”

I swear, I need to get my girl into deep sea diving. Her lungs can hold a cargo ship tank of air. Maybe her teacher can help her with her run-on sentences.

“Can she watch me the next time you have to work late, Daddy?”

“We’ll see, Sweet Pea. Let’s get you ready for school.”

My little chatterbox doesn’t stop filling the morning with play-by-plays of everythingMiss Wentworthsaid and did. Apparently, they packed a lot of activities in a short evening. I’m not thrilled with my parents for giving a stranger access to my home and leaving my daughter with her, but I’ll deal with that after my father gets better.

She fills the cab of my truck with more stories of her day at school yesterday and tells me where to park when I get to her school, even though I drop her off most days. It’s the pickup in the afternoon that conflicts with my schedule.

“Bye, Daddy.” Paisley hugs my legs and I kiss the top of her head before she scampers off into the sea of little people running inside the building.

Monday night away games suck, and since we didn’t land at Logan until two this morning, Coach gave us the morning off.I head in for light cardio on the bike and see Matt, my go-to trainer because he gives the best deep tissue massages.

I’m not focused during my lift and I brush off conversation, which isn’t out of the norm for me. I’m equally worried about my dad and annoyed at my mom for so easily trusting a virtual stranger with my daughter.

After Matt rubs down my quads and hamstrings, I take another shower and call my parents before I’m stuck watching film for three hours, followed by position meetings.

“How’s Dad doing?”

“He’s cranky and tired from not being able to sleep. Another day or two on antibiotics and he should start feeling better.”

“I’m sure you’re just as exhausted. Take care of yourself, Mom.”

“Oh, I’m fine. It’s you and Paisley I worry about. Speaking of, I’m sorry I can’t pick her up today. Will you be able to get her at three?”

“Three?” Fuck. I glance at the time on my phone. That’s in an hour. There’s no fucking way Coach will let me slip out to get her, and then what? Bring her back here?

“Beth,” my Dad coughs and whines in the background.

“I have to go. I’m sorry, honey. See if Miss Wentworth can watch her? I love you. Bye.”

My head hangs low as I stare at my phone. I’ve been dependent upon my parents since moving to Boston three years ago. I bought them a condo fifteen minutes from my house because they didn’t want to infringe on my privacy by living with me. I wouldn’t have minded. It’s not like I have a revolving door of women anymore.

When the season is over, they fly out to Seattle and spend six months with my sister and her family. It works for all of us and keeps them happy and active.

It’s my fault for not having a contingency plan or backup babysitter. They’ve been one hundred percent reliable, but I never thought about either of them getting too sick to watch Paisley. They’ve had stomach bugs and colds before, but when one is down, the other comes to babysit.

Delaying the inevitable, I drag myself down to Coach’s office. I tap on the open door and he calls me in.

“Nash. Hell of a game last night.”

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