Page 3 of Pucked Up Plans
“Aubrey,” my girl states shyly.
“I know, silly.” Lennon giggles, her comment going over Aubrey’s head. I breathe a silent sigh of relief, wanting to keep her from being made fun of, if even only teasing.
“Well, we should probably be on our way. Gotta make a run to the grocery store before rest time.”
Lennon shakes her head. “No thanks. I not tired.”
“If you want to skate, you know the deal. Rest first, skate later.”
“Aw, man. But Dad.”
I don’t hear the rest of her protest nor what he replies as my ears stick on the “dad”.
He’s her father? Not the older brother? My head spins with this news.
Why I’m so shocked is a mystery. Maybe because I’ve yet to meet a dad as young as him. Or because Aubrey’s “Dad” wanted nothing to do with her before she was even born. None of his family did. Until the accident.
“Are you okay? Did we lose you there for a moment?” Walsh’s apprehensive voice brings me out of my head before my thoughts diverge on a horrible path.
I wave away his concern. “Sorry.” I bite back any beliefs about him being the dad. I’ve been the brunt of too many “you’re a little young to the be the mom” judgments to last a lifetime.
Scanning him over, maybe he’s not as young as I originally thought. There goes my mind making assumptions again. Good thing he’s not in my head. His T-shirt displays the same college name as Lennon. I don’t miss the way the words stretch across his broad chest. Nor the way his biceps pop the sleeves.
“Okay then. Nice to meet you, Tate.” Without waiting for a response, he bends down to my daughter, his daughter still perched to his side. “Nice to meet you, Aubrey. Be sure to let me know how you like the marshmallows, k?”
My daughter nods shyly at him, then moves to cling onto my leg. I’d like to think her reluctance is because she’s shy with new people, especially men, but I’m pretty sure it’s just him. He’s got some kind of trance over her.
“See you next week,” Lennon bids as her father walks away.
I take it as my cue to finally leave the preschool. I don’t see Hannah any longer. Hmm. Wonder when she went inside.
“Come on, Bean. Let’s go home. Mommy’s got some work to finish.” I grab her hand in mine, even though my car is only a few steps away.
As I tighten the buckle of the car seat, she gives me a peculiar look. “Where’s my dad?”
Shit. She hasn’t asked in a few years, but she’s at the age now she understands more, yet I’m still unprepared.
A month ago, I would have had a different answer for her.
But now? How do I explain to the five-year-old she’ll never get to meet her sperm donor because he’s dead?
CHAPTER 2
WALSH
Lennon jabbers away as I buckle her into the car seat. I catch every other word, too focused on the raven beauty parked next to me. Damn. Where the hell did she come from? More importantly, why am I so intrigued? Like I don’t have enough issues in my life already? Especially of the female variety.
“I love you, Squirt. I can’t wait to skate with you tonight.”
Her mouth stops moving as she contemplates my statement. “You said just me.” A fire of determination floods her blue eyes, the shade so similar to my own.
I respond with a dramatic hand to my chest. “Yeah, but I figured you’d make an exception for your old man.”
She throws her head back in exasperation. “Poppa’s old, not you, Keeley.”
She gets me every time with that damn Keeley, but I can’t let it show. According to her mother, I’m supposed to reprimand her, force her to call meDad. As much as I love hearing “Dad” from her mouth—ever since she first babbled it—some days I feel too young to be a father. And I want to be more of a friend, so I let her continue to call me Keeley. Until she abuses the privilegeor stops treating me with the respect a father earns, I’ll allow the name.
“So, yes, I can skate with you?” My lips form a pout, and I give her my best puppy dog eyes.
