Page 12 of The Big Puck

Lifting Krissy from her chair, I apologize because she looks comfy. “Sorry, baby girl, but I need to hold you in my arms for the feeding.” She grabs for the bottle with her greedy pudgy hands and toothless smile as I carry her back to the living room to finally sit down. Feeling the small cuddly warmth of her bundled in my arms as I sit turns on some kind of switch, killing all the tension from the day.

Not that I’m here to relax because I still have work. But I’m far more relaxed as I turn to the TV. Then tapping my computer keyboard on the side table, I put up a clip of Jason Hall in his last game. It’s the tenth game of his, and the last I’ll watch because if I don’t know his skillset and tendencies by now, I should throw out my coach’s whistle.

Putting the bottle in Krissy’s mouth, I watch her grab hold as her big blue eyes focus on me like I’m the ruler of her universe, her everything. And I guess I kind of am. Poor kid.

“It’s you and me, kid. I swear I’ll do right by you.” Her cheeks suck in and out, and she gurgles. I heave a sigh as the game plays on the 85-inch TV screen opposite me, and I take the remote in my other hand so I can fast forward through the line changes until Jason is on the ice, and I watch for a few minutes making mental notes.

“You like Lainey, right?” I gaze down at Krissy, and her eyelids are getting heavy. Her bottle is half-empty already. “You have the Logan family appetite, don’t you?” I keep my words soft and sing-songy because I’ve learned by trial and error in a very short time that, when she’s sleepy, I need to foster sleep, and under no circumstances should I interfere with it, or there’ll be hell to pay. Maybe she inherited that from Papa Logan, too, or more likely, it’s that way with all babies.

“I hope you do like her because I think we’re stuck with her—but only for a few months.” Tension grips me as I watch her brother on the screen and the way he takes an extra beat to balance himself after he catches the pass before making his wrist shot. Just enough time, barely a blink, for the goalie to adjust and anticipate. He makes the save, just like in the last ten games I’ve watched.

“He could be a sixty-goal scorer if he could clean up that shot,” I say out loud, as if Krissy is listening, and when I glance down at her, Krissy’s eyes are closed, and the bottle is dripping formula down the side of her face.

“No one ever told me the sight and feel of a baby sleeping in your arms is the most peaceful, satisfying feeling of wellbeing in the world.”

I barely get her into bed when my phone rings. It’s downstairs in the living room.

“Shit,” I whisper and bend to kiss her forehead before I leave the room, pulling the door closed softly. Then I pound down the stairs on my toes in my stocking feet, praying that the creaks in the stairs don’t wake her.

Praying that the phone call isn’t something important or terrible, tension grips me by the shoulders as if getting ready for bad news because why else would someone be calling me at ten-thirty at night on a weeknight?

I grab the phone without checking and answer, “Spencer Logan.” My pulse drums in my ears, and I take a deep breath.

“Spence—you sound out of breath. I hope I didn’t disturb something…”

I choke a laugh down, relieved that it’s only Lainey. Then in the next second, I realize I shouldn’t be so relieved yet because if she blows me off, I’ll need to take Krissy to work again, and I have a meeting with the owner, Anthony Gavonza, better known as Tony the Tiger in hockey circles. That’s the mild version of the names they call him. Others speculate that he learned his business tactics from the mob or a gang.

“No. I just put Krissy to bed. What’s up?”

“She’s up late.”

“We had a late start—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get her on schedule with a regular bedtime even when you have late nights.”

“This means you’ll take the job…temporarily, I mean?”

“Yes, of course. You didn’t think I’d leave you and Krissy high and dry, did you? What kind of person would I be to do that? Especially when you’re paying so generously that even my brother Jason can’t argue.”

Relief floods me. Followed immediately by a surge of trepidation, tightening my shoulders until I start to feel that knot of tension coiling to the point of pain.

“I’m…glad.” Not sure if that was the most accurate word, but it was one of many that come to mind and the only one fit to share with Lainey. Scared shitless was another. Or how about nervous as fuck? Or angry? Though I have no right to be angry with Lainey. She’s not responsible for my brother’s death. That little fucker was responsible for his own death.

Jesus. I need to chill and take a deep breath to calm myself, closing my eyes and picturing Krissy’s sleeping face.

“You sure sound thrilled to me. We’ll have to work on that,” Lainey says, and I hear the laugh in her voice. Most likely at my expense.

“Work on what?” I reply, skepticism dripping because I don’t know what she’s talking about, and I’m sure I won’t like it anyway.

“Your attitude. You need a more joyful and hopeful outlook on life, Spence. We don’t want your scowly face to affect Krissy, do we?”

“Scowly face?” WTF? “Look, be here at seven a.m. Don’t worry about bringing your things. I’ll send a truck over to move them for you.”

“Really?”

“Least I can do.”

“Unnecessary. All I have is a couple of bags and one box. Jason will drop me off—”