My chest tightens.
Because, fuck, there was a time after Anna died, when safe felt impossible.
When every room in this house carried the echo of what we lost.
When I’d lie awake listening to Chloe breathe through the baby monitor long after she’d outgrown it because fear had turned me into something raw and small and terrible.
But when I look at my daughter now, I know that Finn is right.
Chloe is confident and secure and so very loved.
“She feels safe with you too,” I say.
Finn’s breath catches, and for a moment, she doesn’t speak. Then she says, so softly I almost don’t hear it, “I love the kid.”
Not for a second do I doubt the truth of those words.
Nor the fact that they barrel into me with the force of a Mack Truck.
“Finn,” I whisper.
She exhales and it’s as though there’s a string between our bodies, pulling them closer together.
Two feet. One. Six inches?—
“Daddy,” Chloe mumbles, burrowing into my lap.
She's still asleep, but the spell is broken.
Finn slips out from under her arm, starts gathering bowls. “I’ll clean up.” A small smile. “You should probably put her to bed before you’re trapped there all night.”
“You’re right,” I say, gathering my daughter close and standing. “Good?—”
But Finn has already disappeared into the kitchen.
I stand there, staring at the empty space she left behind.
And I think…
Maybe a part of me wishes she’d love me too.
Thirteen
Finn
Obviously,I’ve watched hockey on TV before—mostly with a wriggly four-year-old beside me explaining the rules with surprising capability.
Well, okay, notsurprising, consider her dad is Rhodes.
But being at home, watching the game on television has absentlynothingon being here in person.
It’sincredible.
Loud and intense, the arena humming with energy, the crowd roaring as the Eagles take the ice.
Chloe bounces in her seat beside me wearing a tiny jersey with CALDER sewn on the back. “Look! There’s Daddy!”
My heart skips a beat as I search the ice and spot Rhodes.
