Page 56 of Hot Damn
“Who’s Trevor?’
“You haven’t met Trevor?” I glance up at Beckett. “He’s the Rogues’ assistant. Used to be Oakley’s but since we signed the contract for the franchise, he’s shifted his focus and now runs a team of assistants who see to everyone’s needs.”
“I’ve probably met him.” He shrugs. “I’ve met so many new people, it’s hard to keep them all straight.”
“I understand that completely.”
“You should get to know more of them now, with the interviews you’re doing.”
I smile. “It’s probably the best way to get to know everyone because I can use something they tell me to remember them by. It’ll help me keep track of who’s who and what they do.”
“Who’s who and what they do?” He laughs. “Sounding a little sing-songy there.”
I arch an eyebrow. “What the hell kind of word is sing-songy?”
“Something Whit used to say when she was little.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she’d ask me to sing nursery rhymes with her but she’d ask for a sing-songy instead of a nursery rhyme.”
I can’t decide whether to laugh my ass off or swoon in a poodle of goo at how sweet this man is. It’s one more reminder of how much he loves his daughter. How much he’d do for her. Hedoesn’t care that saying a word like that makes him sound silly or could be embarrassing.
Hell, I bet he sang those sing-songies with her whenever she asked no matter where they were.
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He eyes me skeptically. “Don’t lie on my account. You won’t be the first person to laugh at me over it.”
“I thought about laughing. But then I thought about how much you must love your daughter to still use the word she made up as a child.”
“Don’t be fooled. She’s still a child and when she’s sick, the first thing she asks for is a sing-songy.”
“Oh God. Stop.” I put a hand on my belly and press against the swirling going on around my ovaries. I’ve never had a man affect me the way Beckett does. Then again, I’ve never met a man like Beckett.
His devotion to his daughter, his dedication to seeing her safe and cared for when he was no more than a child when he had her isn’t just admirable. It’s inspirational. Every father should take notes from this man.
“You’re a great father, Beckett.”
“Huh?”
“The way you’ve raised Whitney. It’s an inspiration and she’s lucky to have you.”
“No. I’m lucky to have her and I thank the stars every day that Mama Dot was able to make it happen.”
“Mama Dot?”
“My foster mother. Without her I never would have been able to keep Whit’s mother from aborting her. Never gotten to take custody of my daughter at the age of sixteen. Never made it through the early years when our whole lives were uprooted. Never—” He stops abruptly, his eyes wide, and I can only imagine he never intended to say all that.
“Don’t discount your own input.”
He shakes his head, whether in denial or an attempt to clearhis mind, I don’t know. But I see the second he decides he needs to retreat. I don’t need his next words to know this conversation is over.
“I should go check on some of the other guys. Coach wants me to help them navigate being in the NHL.”
He doesn’t elaborate further, and I don’t really need him to. I understand what Walker is expecting him to do as captain of the team. He’s the perfect man for the role. His parenting of Whitney gives him an advantage with the younger ones. They’re not much older than her and he can draw on his interactions with Whitney to deal with the players.
There’s no goodbye. No chin lift. He just spins on his heel and heads away as though his ass is on fire.
