Page 1 of Rock the Cradle of Love
Chapter One
Noah Drinkwater, number twenty-one and the star forward for the Fort Worth Rotors, trudges up the stairs to his second-floor condo. He wants a hot shower, a comfortable bed, and twelve hours of sleep. He has no plans for the next week other than to recover from the end-of-season push. To catch up on sleep and replenish a calorie or two. Or maybe a few thousand.
The last eight days have been brutal. The Rotors lost three of their last five games, and they lost the final game. Thank goodness it was an away game. A loss at home would have been even more devastating. The team had played hard, but they were bummed at losing a berth in the playoffs, and they just couldn’t make the magic happen.
Noah pulls off his clothes and heads to the bathroom. He stops short when Julia’s special ringtone breaks the silence, and his heart takes off like a puck smacked toward the net from center ice. It’s after two a.m.
“Jules, what’s up?” he asks, his heart rate spiking. The baby’s crying in the background again, although it’s not as loud as it was last time they talked, thank goodness.
“I c-can’t anymore. I’m sorry. I held on until your season was over, and I… Noah, help me.” Her voice breaks as she speaks and then she begins to cry.
Noah’s heart sinks, his stomach churns, his heart rate spikes again. He’s exhausted, and he can barely think straight. He needs rest so badly.Crap. Crap. Crap.But Jules needs him, and he’s let her down way too often since he left home for hockey eight years ago. “Let me think, honey. Give me a minute.”
“’K-k-kay.”
He can’t get to her quickly enough, which means he needs someone in Ten Rigs to go to her. Who does he know well enough to call anymore? His brain whirs and whirs. He can barely process basic self-care right now, much less try to remember the faces and names of people in Ten Rigs. His eyes are heavy and they itch with fatigue. Who does he know? Who can he call? He swipes a hand down his face.
No one.
He doesn’t have phone numbers for anyone in Ten Rigs except his mother, but he can’t call her about this. For one, it’s the middle of the night, but more importantly, she’ll want to get Brenda involved and that would be the worst thing for Jules. He just doesn’t have the time or the brainpower to make his mother understand at the moment.
But, maybe…if he can’t go to Julia and Emma, they can come to him. “Okay, Jules, bring me the baby.” If he gives her something to do, something to focus on, maybe she can gain some control. And he can relax, at least a little bit.
“What?”
The thought has filled his brain since Julia’s revelation four weeks ago. All the calls, the sadness, Jules’s crying, Emma’s crying—everything had churned in his gut and coalesced into an idea. He could adopt Emma. He’d thought he’d have a week or two to recover from hockey season before discussing his plan with Julia, but that apparently isn’t going to happen.
“Bring Emma to me. Pack what you can in your car and bring her here. I’ll take her.” Noah perches on his bed. “I’m gonna call for help, someone will be there to help you soon, all right?”
“Noah. Y-you can’t. What do you mean? How?” There’s relief in her voice even though she’s confused, and that’s enough for Noah.
“Jules, I love you, and I can do this for you. I can do it for Emma. I can do it for me.”
Jules lets go of a long shuddering sigh. “Okay. Okay. I’ll start packing.”
She disconnects the call, and Noah racks his brain on who to contact, who he knows well enough in Ten Rigs aside from his mother. But, damn, it’s two a.m. He has no phone numbers. Calling 9-1-1 would be overkill, and neither Julia nor Emma need that kind of help. Not yet. If he thought either one of them was in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate, but he knows they’re not. Julia’s beyond upset, but she’s not suicidal or anything, and she won’t take it out on Emma. Who can he call though? Julia definitely needs a friend and a sympathetic ear. Noah paces his bedroom while he thinks.
The only person who comes to mind is Ms. Maple. She’s been like the mother of Ten Rigs forever. His mother still mentions her. Noah saw her last summer while he was home. Unless there’s been some sort of tragedy regarding Ms. Maple he hasn’t heard about, she’s going to be the best person to handle this. Everyone loves Ms. Maple. Except it’s still the middle of the night, and he doesn’t have a way to get a hold of her.Think, Noah, think…God, he’s tired. Bone-weary and heartsick. Mostly for Jules and Emma, but also for himself and the team.
Everyone in town probably knows Ms. Maple’s number, but that does him no good since he has no one else’s number. Who on earth is going to be awake in the middle of the night? Emergency services. Right. But the fire department is volunteer. Police or sheriff are the best options. He opts for sheriff, because, well, calling the police just doesn’t feel right for some reason. Not that he has anything against them.
He looks up the number and calls the Ten Rigs sheriff’s department.
“Sheriff’s office. If this is an emergency, please call 9-1-1. If it’s not, how may I direct your call?” says a woman’s voice.
“H-hi. This is Noah Drinkwater, you know—from the Fort Worth Rotors.”
“Okay, Mr. Drinkwater. How can I help you?”
“You know I’m from Ten Rigs, right?”
“Of course.” The “who doesn’t” remains unsaid, but Noah hears it anyway.
“Okay, well. I know this is very unusual, but I need a phone number—no, no…I mean…” He shakes his head and takes a breath. “I need for you to have someone call me—I know you can’t give out numbers.” Noah explains the situation—how upset Julia is and how her mom wouldn’t be helpful. That she’s got a colicky baby and needs a helping hand—right now, in the middle of the night. “Can you please contact Ms. Maple, tell her what I told you and give her my number, and have her call me as soon as possible?Please?”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Drinkwater.”
“Thank you.” He still needs a shower even though sleep won’t be forthcoming until he hears from Ms. Maple or he sees Jules and Emma. After putting the volume to max, he sets his phone as close to the shower as he can without it getting wet and climbs in. His pulse continues to thrum and his breathing stays short no matter how many deep, slow breaths he takes.Please, sheriff’s office operator. Please, Ms. Maple. Please.He repeats the mantra in his head as he shampoos his hair and soaps up.
