One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(4)

“If I leave a signed jersey for the man, that’s between me and him.”

“Such bullshit.” He huffs and says, “So you’re coming to Bing, huh?”

“I think I need to.”

“Then let me throw together a welcome home party, but you’re paying for it.”

I roll my eyes. Of course I am, the cheap fuck.

Chapter Two

HAYDEN

Ring. Ring.

“It’s about time you gave me a call.”

After settling into Mr. Lockwood’s cottage, organizing my clothes, putting away food I picked up from Price Chopper, and popping open a much-needed beer, I decided to finally call my dad.

“Sorry about the wait, Dad. I needed some time to cool down.”

“I can understand that. So what happened, kiddo?”

Kiddo. I’m twenty-three with a year of professional hockey under my belt, and yet my dad still calls me kiddo. Oddly, it soothes me.

“This is going to sound really immature, but . . . he kept slashing me, Dad.”

He chuckles. “Yes, it was quite clear Miller was taking cheap shots, but that doesn’t mean you can lose your temper. I taught you better than that.”

And he did.

React on the ice with skill not fists. It was ingrained in me from the very beginning, when I would spend countless hours in the driveway with my dad bundled up in pillows, acting as a goalie. He was larger than life in that goal, difficult to get anything past him. But he tested me, pushed me, encouraged me. Memories I’ll always hold close to my heart.

“I know, Dad.” I exhale and lean back into Mr. Lockwood’s brown leather couch. “I’m sorry.” It feels weird to apologize, but I know I let him down, not because we lost the game, ending our playoff run, but because I embarrassed him.

“No matter how heated you get, just remember where you came from. We don’t solve problems with our fists. I know some fans go to games to see the fights, to see the brutal battle, but hockey is more than that. It’s about your footwork, your puck handling, the communication with your teammates. It’s about finding the small inches others don’t see. That’s what makes a great player, don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.” No matter how old I get, these lectures will always be a part of my life. “So how’s Mom?”

There is a low chuckle from the other end of the phone. “Over talking about the game?”

“Still a little raw, Dad.”

“Understandable.” There’s a smile in his voice. Everyone knows my dad as someone who’s kept me in line, who’s pushed me to be the best version of myself, but when it comes down to it, he’s never pushed me too hard, and it’s the reason he’s backing off now. He knows I’ve punished myself enough, no need to harp on it. “Your mom is good. A little upset about the fight, but you know how she is, she’ll get over it. I will say this, she was a little shocked from the power you have in that right hook.”

“That’s professional athletic training for you. She didn’t pretend to faint, did she?”

More chuckling. “No, but she did tsk. I caught her looking at replays afterward making a little fist of her own.”

“Yeah? Did she wish she could have a little piece of Marcus Miller herself?”

“I think so. You should have heard her during the game yelling louder than me. At one point she threw one of her throw pillows across the room.”

“I can see where I get my temper. Calm, cool, and collected until we’re pushed a little too far . . .”

“And snap, you two explode.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I definitely get that from Mom.”

“The best is when she’s in the kitchen cooking, and she forgets an ingredient or something doesn’t turn out the way she wants it to. There is always a slam on the pan. It’s my indication to boast about the meal and make it seem like it’s the best thing she’s ever made.”

“Smart man. I remember the pound of the pan on the kitchen counter. I would stay in my room and not make myself known until I was called down for dinner.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” my mom chimes in. I should have known she was on speakerphone.

“Hey Mom.”

“Sweetie, what did we say about fighting?”

Jesus.

With the palm of my hand, I rub my eye.

“Already got the lecture from Dad. Believe me, I get it, you guys aren’t happy.”

“We taught you better, that’s all.” She takes pause. “But that Miller boy deserved a good swat to the eye socket in my opinion.”

“Marion . . .” my dad warns.

She huffs and then asks, “Are you coming home now? What are your plans?”

They aren’t going to be happy I’m in Binghamton instead of visiting with them, but after the long season and brutal loss, I need to be here. I need to step away from reality for a few weeks. I’m hoping they can understand that.

“Uh, not at the moment. I’m actually in Binghamton. I’m staying at Mr. Lockwood’s cottage.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Fuck.

“Nothing against you guys. I’ll be visiting soon. I just wanted some space, you know?”

More silence.