"Took me too long to figure out she was right. You're figuring it out faster." He stands, straightens his tie. "Good thing too. Next three weeks are gonna be brutal on the schedule. We need you playing like you have been."
He claps my shoulder and returns to his seat.
My phone buzzes again. Text from Jessica:Tyler's asking when you’ll call. I told him after his nap but he doesn't understand time zones.
Shit. I'd promised to call him before his lunch. Already fucking up and I've been gone four hours.
I text back:Sorry. I’ll call when I get to my room. Around 7 your time.
The Ritz-Carlton downtown rises against the LA skyline, all glass and minimalism. My room on the twentieth floor overlooks the city, sun dropping toward the ocean. I immediately pull up Jessica's contact.
Tyler's forehead fills the screen.
"DADDY!"
"Back up, buddy. Let me see you."
The camera pulls back. He's in his Buzz Lightyear pajamas, hair wild, clutching my old practice puck against his chest.
"You didn't call at lunch," he says, lower lip trembling. "I waited and waited."
Ouch. "I'm sorry, T-Rex. The plane took a long time."
"When are you coming home?"
"Soon, buddy."
"When is soon?" His voice rises. "Tomorrow?"
"Not tomorrow, but?—"
"I want you HOME!" The camera shakes as he stamps his foot. "Come home NOW!"
"Tyler, Daddy has to work—" I hear Jessica say.
"NO!" He throws the puck down. "No work! HOME!"
Jessica's hand appears on his shoulder. "Tyler, remember we talked about Daddy's job?"
"I don't LIKE his job!" Tyler's face crumples. "I want Daddy HERE!"
He runs off screen. Jessica picks up the phone, her face apologetic. "He's been like this all day. Wouldn't eat his regular lunch, only wanted what he calls 'Daddy breakfast'—your protein shake recipe. I don't know how to make it."
"Banana, peanut butter, milk, protein powder?—"
"Logan, he'll be okay. He's just adjusting."
But I hear Tyler crying in the background, and I'm two thousand miles away with nothing but a recipe that won't fix this.
"Can you try again? Tell him I'll call tomorrow?"
"Of course." She pauses. "He's been carrying that puck everywhere. Slept with it last night."
The call ends. I sit on the hotel bed, still in my travel suit, staring at the blank screen.
Schmitty texts about dinner. I change and head down, but my head's still in Chicago.
Our private room at the steakhouse buzzes with loud men and bad jokes. I cut into my ribeye while Petey tells a story about his last road trip."—and then the lawyer says visitation's being reviewed because of the travel schedule," he's saying. "Like playing hockey makes me a bad father."
