Marek (Cold Fury Hockey #11)(8)
Okay, can’t fucking stand that shit anymore. I cut in right over Gracen, making my voice heard for the first time since we sat down. I call her name to get her attention, “Lilly.”
Her head turns to me, blue eyes just like mine looking at me with some confusion but mostly an eagerness to understand. I have no clue if these words are right for her because I’ve never had a serious talk with a toddler before, but they seem right to me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before. I had to go away and leave you and your mommy for my job. But we’re together now and I will be a good daddy. I promise.”
Gracen’s head turns away and she looks out the window. Her fingers rub against Lilly’s lower back.
“Your mommy and I are trying to get things figured out,” I continue, since I have her attention. I figure she’s understanding only about half my words, but I need to get them out. “But we both want you to be happy and we’re going to work hard to make that so.”
At this point I’d cue dramatic music and Lilly would scramble off Gracen’s lap to launch herself into my arms. I didn’t realize I craved something like that until just this very moment. I can almost even hear the music in my ears, but then there’s the proverbial sudden scratch of a needle on an album.
Lilly turns to gaze at Gracen, who looks from the window back to her daughter with a bright smile even though I can tell it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.
“Mommy…can I watch some more Paw Patrol?” Lilly asks, and my jaw drops.
Seriously? The kid just found out she has a daddy who’s not going to be that douche Owen, and she wants to watch Paw Patrol?
“Sure, baby,” Gracen says, and pushes up out of the chair. She turns to set Lilly back down into it and grabs the remote to aim at the TV.
I stand from the couch, watching as Lilly becomes completely engrossed in some stupid show where dogs drive fire trucks and fly helicopters.
Gracen walks past me toward the kitchen, but I snag her elbow and pull her into the formal room.
“What the hell—” I start to say, then realize that Lilly can probably hear me despite the fact I’m fiercely holding to a whisper level.
I pull Gracen into my bedroom and shut the door.
“What the hell?” I say again, this time in my normal voice. “You’re just going to let her watch TV? What if she has questions? What if she doesn’t understand what we just said to her? I mean, does she even really understand that I’m her father?”
My hackles rise as Gracen’s eyes pin me with what can only be deemed as pity. “Marek, she doesn’t understand. She probably only picked up a minimum of that message. When and if she has questions, she’ll ask them, and we need to be ready to answer.”
“If she only picked up a minimum, then we—”
Gracen pulls her arm out of my hand. I hadn’t realized I’d still been holding on to her. I jerk from the contact when she instead takes my hand and gives is a reassuring squeeze.
“The conversation with her isn’t over, but you’ll learn this about Lilly and other three-year-olds,” she advises me in a very patient, momlike voice. “Their attention span is that of a gnat. Her grasp of language is rudimentary, and we both probably said about twenty words to her she didn’t even understand, daddy being one of them. It’s a concept we’ll have to teach her, and that will be through words and actions. For example, she may call you Marek. You need to correct her and have her call you Daddy, or whatever you want to be known as.”
“Daddy’s good,” I grumble, instantly knowing that she’s right about this. But how could she not be? She’s been a mom to Lilly far longer than I’ve been a dad, which technically has been all of five minutes.
“Marek,” Gracen says, and squeezes me once more before she lets go. “Lilly is super bright and inquisitive. She’ll digest this. She’ll have questions. We’ll answer them. My best piece of advice to you is that now you need to get to know your daughter. Spend as much time as you can with her, because once the hockey season starts, that’s going to cut into your time together.”
I nod dumbly, trying to figure out how to go about doing this. I wish I’d paid better attention to Lilly and Gracen while they’ve been in this house, because I’m not quite sure how to interact with my daughter.
“Oh, and Marek,” Gracen says softly.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell her again that you had to go away for your job. Don’t you dare take one ounce of the blame when she wants to know where you’ve been for three and a half years. That’s mine alone to answer for.”
I don’t even have time to respond. Gracen spins on her heel and walks out of my bedroom, leaving me feeling utterly alone and quite helpless as to what to do right now.
Chapter 4
Gracen
I cover the ham with foil and place it in the oven. I’ve got homemade macaroni and cheese bubbling in the slow cooker and some broccoli steaming on the stove. I woke up this morning with a strong urge for a traditional home-cooked meal like my mom used to make, and I know that’s nothing more than just a pure case of homesickness.
It’s Sunday, and when I was living with my parents, after church Mom would make a huge lunch for us that would provide enough food for us to eat throughout the day and evening—ham, pot roast or baked pork chops; sweet potato casseroles, baked beans, and rice pilaf; fresh vegetables from her garden in the summer or from her canned stock in the winter.