Page 1 of The Big Puck

Prologue

Spencer

The judge’s gavel pounds, and we all stand. It was done. Mom and Aunt Hildie hug me, and my attorney claps me on the arm.

“Congratulations, Spence. You’re officially Krissy’s father now.”

The DSS social worker approaches with a four-month-old baby girl in her arms, and my gut takes a rollercoaster ride, plunging deep. My eyes are on the small bundle, and it takes everything in me to stand up straight.

Mom squeezes my arm. “You’ll be a fine father. Your brother had faith in you.”

The social worker hands over Krissy Logan, my recently deceased brother’s baby girl. I don’t point out to Mom that the only reason my half-brother named me to take his baby is because the bastard decided to commit suicide. What does he know about being a good father?

He left nothing but a pile of bills, a scrawled suicide note saying he wanted me to care for Krissy, and Krissy, the poor innocent baby, abandoned twice before she was six months old. Her no-good mother is a drug addict and left when her baby was six weeks old. She’s currently serving time down south. The only good thing she did is sign over her rights as a parent.

I take Krissy from the social worker and hold her awkwardly. Of all my step-brother Neil’s blood relatives—which doesn’t include Mom or Aunt Hildie but does include my absentee father—I’m the most capable of taking care of her.

But that doesn’t make me capable at all.

It means I have a job—for the next year—and I have a house.

And apparently, a new life that is nothing like the one I expected when I took the coaching job in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where I grew up. The deal is only for one year, but I have to take my shot at head coach in the NHL.

Even with the new responsibility of Krissy, I need this shot to redeem my hockey career.

Chapter One

SPENCER

TWO WEEKS LATER

Pushing a stroller filled with a baby and all the baby’s stuff, half of which I don’t know how to use, I push the door open from the garage to the elevator lobby, and my hockey bag slips off my shoulder, falling in the direction of the little girl. My little girl—the idea hasn’t stuck yet that Krissy is mine.

“Fuck.” I catch the bag before it hits the stroller, grateful I still have quick reflexes, even if I’ve lost my speed, flexibility, and whatever the hell else I needed to keep playing hockey at the NHL level.

Shifting the strap of my hockey bag back up on my shoulder, I shake my head because I shouldn’t have bothered taking my equipment into the office. The briefcase hanging from my other shoulder is all I really need. I’m not a player anymore. I’m the fucking coach now. Of an NHL team.

You’d think I’d be more grateful for the privilege, but it gets harder and harder to hang onto that good break in my life every day since my brother decided to end his short, misspent life. I press the up button on the elevator and turn when I hear a commotion. Or, more accurately, I hear two people bickering as they push through the door and join me.

“If it isn’t Coach. How ya doing, Spence?” The big man grins and puts out a fist for a friendly bump as if we’re old friends.

I nod. “You’re in early, Hall.” I should be thrilled that our new team’s big star center, Jason Hall, pilfered from Florida’s Stanley Cup team, is showing up early for pre-season training. And I would be, except he brought his girlfriend with him, and she looks like she’s fresh out of high school. “I see you brought a guest.”

“Nah—just my sister.”

The waif-like young woman rolls her eyes and elbows her brother. The easy familiarity of the siblings tugs at me, and the sharp stab between my shoulders returns with a vengeance. The reminder of the rialry long ago between me and my kid brother is unwelcome when I’m trying to put aside the fact that he ended the tragedy of his life. No time to unpack all the emotions that rise in a choking vortex every time I think about Neil, so I push it all back down. Keeping my gaze on the stroller, I wish to fuck the elevator would get here already. I’m no good at small talk.

“I’m Lainey Hall, and I know who you are: Coach Spencer Logan, the youngest NHL coach ever. Congratulations on that.” She steps around the stroller and bends down for a look inside. Reaching in without hesitation or permission, she moves the blanket.

“She’s soooo adorable.” She lets out a sigh as she stands and looks at me with an intensely emotional stare of a woman far beyond her years. “More importantly, congratulations on your baby. I didn’t realize you were married.”

“I’m not. She’s not…” Fuck. Do I need to start dishing the explanations already? I had my lines all rehearsed, boiled down to the terrible essence of my circumstances for this occasion when I’d be asked. However, I’ve only had one cup of coffee, and the way my gut feels, I might not keep it down, even as my head screams for more as it clouds up.

Lainey stands there staring at me, and Jason punches her shoulder.

“Don’t be so nosey, Lainey.”

“I’m not. I’m being polite.” They both look at me expecting me to say something, to introduce the baby girl in my stroller, to tell them who the fuck she is if she’s not mine.