I Want You Back (Want You #1)(32)

Yes, the Lund family definitely took care of their own, and I couldn’t be unhappy that my daughter would always have whatever she needed from them without question.





Six





JAX




Normally when I had Mimi I was fully invested in whatever she was saying. I’d worked at becoming an “active listener”—a term my counselor used. That had been something I’d needed to grasp was a constant problem with me. No clue how long I’d been a narcissist, being in my own head, more concerned with creating my response to the conversation without paying attention to what others said. I’d been a piece of work before my issues with alcohol had overtaken my life.

You’re doing it now . . . thinking about your issues instead of listening to your daughter.

Right. But Mimi had been babbling, her thoughts wandering all over the place, and it’d been easy to tune her out. I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught her watching me.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” she accused.

“I’m sorry, Meems, my mind did wander. Sorry. You were telling me about . . . ?”

“Jocelyn’s party tomorrow, geez, Daddy.”

“You have a gift for her, right?”

She sighed dramatically. “Yes, but that’s not what we were talking about. I said it’s an ice skating party and I don’t have any of the clothes and stuff to wear. And then I asked how come you never take me ice skating anymore? We used to go all the time.”

Only because it suited my purpose. I could get Mimi suited up and ditch her with one of the ice rink attendants—usually they were starry eyed when I gave them my name. They were thrilled to work with Mimi while they watched me skate.

In the off-season, which was damn short anyway, I skated five days a week. And since I’d been spending part of my off-season in Minneapolis, I’d intentionally moved from rink to rink for the variances in the ice conditions. And I did spend time skating with Mimi, but after I’d done my own workout.

I’d been such a self-centered dick. I really hoped that Mimi wouldn’t remember that about me.

“So how come you stopped taking me? Because you quit hockey? Because you don’t like it anymore?”

“I love hockey. That’ll never change. And I didn’t quit; I just got too old to play with all of these young guys. But as far as why I don’t take you skating anymore? I wasn’t sure if skating was something you liked, or something you felt you had to like because I spent so much time skating.”

“I like skating, Daddy. A lot. You’re the only one who ever let me skate as fast as I wanted. Last Christmas I went with Mommy and Aunt Lindsey, but they made me hold their hands, the entire time, like I was some kind of baby on double training blades.”

I bit back a smile at her indignation. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Miss I-Can-Do-It-Myself had staged a breakaway.

“Okay, sweets. Since you like it for yourself, and not me, next week I’ll look for a rink with open skate times.”

“But Daddy, I don’t have stuff to wear for tomorrow. Mommy donated my old skates, and she said that I could just use the rink’s rental skates at the party.”

I nearly hit the brakes.

Oh fuck no. My kid was not wearing goddamned rental skates.

“I don’t have gloves or a coat or anything either.”

If she really wanted to do this, I’d make sure we did it right from the start.

“Well, squirt, looks like me and you are going shopping.”



* * *



? ? ?

The next afternoon, Nolan tagged along when I took Mimi to the birthday party.

I wasn’t a drop-and-go dad; I walked my daughter into the rink and made sure there was adult supervision before Nolan and I hit the workout space at Brady’s place, which housed a world-class gym and was only ten minutes from the ice rink.

My little brother tried to beat the fuck out of me . . . and he got in a couple of good shots. But ultimately I won our sparring contest.

For the tenth time.

Yeah, I probably rubbed that in his face.

We grabbed a quick bite to eat and then returned to the rink for the last half hour of the birthday bash. After snagging us each a piece of cake, we sat in the stands and watched.

Nolan bumped me with his knee. “You are such a sucker, bro.”

“What?”

“Mimi. She manipulated you. She looks like a damn professional outfitted like that.”

“Lucy donated her old stuff. She needed new gear, which I provided.”

A moment or two passed and Nolan hissed, “Sweet Jesus, Jax. Is she wearing . . . hockey skates?”

“She wanted them,” I offered as a half-assed protest. “All she could talk about was skating fast.”

“Where’d you take her to buy this stuff?” Nolan asked without any casualness whatsoever.

“The Hockey Grail.”

Another pause. “That store is for professional athletes! She’s eight.”

“I’m a professional athlete. She’s my kid and she doesn’t need to be out in public wearing borrowed sports gear that would catch the interest of the media more than if she’s dressed in top-of-the-line equipment.”

He laughed. “You trying to convince me that girl blends in?”