Learn Your Lesson: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Kings of the Ice)

Will

I was sick.

And not just in the way that I knew already — which was that I couldn’t get Chloe out of my head, not for a single fucking second.

I was playing with fire when it came to this little arrangement of ours. I kept my heart guarded about as securely as a raggedy old wooden fence would, because no matter how I tried to put distance between us, I couldn’t help but give in to the desperation I felt to get closer.

No, I wasn’t just that kind of sick.

I was sick sick — as in down with the goddamn flu.

This was what I got for going to a theme park in the middle of cold season, I supposed.

I’d been relatively fortunate over the years as a dad, all things considered. Somehow, even when Ava brought home germs from school, I managed to tough it out. I could play with a stuffy nose or a headache. I could even suffer with a fever and a stomach bug.

But the flu was something Coach didn’t fuck with.

The last thing he wanted was for anyone else on the team to catch it, for a group of us to be down with body aches, fatigue, and a fever. I’d seen guys play even days after having the flu, and it was hardly ever to their full capacity.

And so, when I’d shown up to practice sick as a fucking dog three days after Disney, Coach had ordered me to see the team doctor. I thought they’d tell me the same as usual — it’s a virus, hydrate and rest and don’t push too hard.

Instead, I’d tested positive for influenza, and I’d been sent home without the option to stay even if I wanted to.

And I did. I needed to stay, to be at practice, to be on the flight to our next away game.

We had twenty games left of the regular season.

Twenty.

In hockey, that might as well have been one.

The race for the playoffs was too fucking tight for me to be out. It was almost impossible for us not to make the playoffs at this point, but these next twenty games could mean the difference in having home ice advantage and top seeds versus being a wildcard.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

That’s how close the teams in our division were. That’s how much every game mattered at this point.

I’d thrown a fit when Coach told me to leave. I’d been even more pissed when I missed our away game against Pittsburgh and we lost. It didn’t matter that my backup played great, that it really wasn’t his fault for the L. I still felt the responsibility of it weighing on me.

As it was, I was laid up on the couch on my final rest day, grumpier than I ever had been and scowling at the television as I played the latest episode of Jeopardy.

I had clearance to return tomorrow, as long as I was feeling better. And to be honest, Coach and I both knew that even if I wasn’t feeling better, I’d still be there.

Fortunately, I actually was on the mend, my body aches less severe, fever lowering, cough receding, throat no longer making it feel like I was swallowing razor blades.

I knew I had Chloe to thank.

When I’d been sent home, she’d launched into action like a nurse, forcing me into bed and bringing me everything I could possibly want or need to recover. She’d insisted Chef Patel not come to the house, to prevent her from getting sick, too. That meant Chloe was cooking for us. She’d also taken over completely with Ava, on top of teaching five days a week, and had cleaned the house with disinfectant more in the last few days than I’d ever done in the years I’d lived here.

“The last thing you need is for Ava to get sick next,” she’d warned my first sick day home, wiping down the TV remote with a Lysol wipe.

And I’d tried not to give in to my urge to pull her into me, to thank her with an embrace since my words were fucking broken.

It was such as simple act of care, but the fact that she wanted to keep my daughter well, that she was considerate of Chef, that she so easily stepped up to the plate to handle everything I would have worried about… it was something I’d never take for granted.

But unfortunately for me, Chloe also didn’t want the flu, and she kept her distance — physically, anyway — and made sure to wash her hands thoroughly after any time she came into my vicinity.

Perhaps that was what pissed me off most about this entire scenario.

Here I was, home, no practice, no games, no responsibilities… and I couldn’t even spend my time fucking Chloe into oblivion.

It was hard to think about anything else after our night in Orlando. I had been plagued by the image of her riding me reverse cowgirl ever since, haunted by the way her legs shook violently when they were hitched on my shoulders, and she denied herself a climax in the name of testing other positions. I could close my eyes and still feel how she tightened around me when she finally relented, could replay the most intense orgasm of my life as I let myself follow behind her, both of us gripping onto each other tight and riding out the waves.

The flu wasn’t the most dangerous part of this situation.

No, it was that Chloe was taking care of me, and that I couldn’t help myself but to talk to her when she brought me food or ran a hot bath on my behalf.

I’d spent the last three days laid up, but I’d also spent them learning her.

She told me about her days at college, about how she had wanted to be a teacher for longer than she could remember. I listened intently as she told both hilarious and horrifying stories of her early teaching days, and I memorized the way her eyes grew distant when she talked about some of her troubled students who stayed in her heart still.

I asked about sewing and her strange fascination with true crime podcasts. She pulled up photos on her phone of what she called her early “Pinterest fails” before she started figuring things out. I passed the time with eager questions, never feeling like I knew enough.

What was even more terrifying was that I opened up to her, too.

I told myself it was the fog of having the flu that loosened my lips, but I’d be a lying sonofabitch if I said I didn’t want to share with her every time she shared with me. I didn’t shy away when she asked about my early hockey days, or my mom, or the strained relationship with my father. I smiled when I told her about Uncle Mitch, how he’d stepped in when Dad had gone hollow. I chomped at the bit to tell her about playing in college, about my first years bouncing back and forth between the AHL and the NHL.

I didn’t even shy away when she asked about how I was after Jenny died.

I told her everything — from the way I broke down and nearly lost my spot on the team to how I rose above the grief and became the best version of myself on the ice.

But how I felt like I’d lost myself as a father in the process.

Every new story she shared with me, I felt my heart crack. Every story I shared with her, I felt the crack widen. Over and over again, the cycle repeated, and I found myself making room for her to slither in, to make a nest, to make a home.

I found myself wanting to make a home in her, too.

And then, like the colossal asshole I was — I’d shut down.

I didn’t know why Chloe stayed. One moment, we’d be talking and she’d be laughing and I’d be leaning in for more. The next, fear would spike through me, the memory of Jenny so fresh in my soul that I couldn’t escape it.

It was a trauma response too significant to play off, one no amount of therapy or self-awareness could fix.

I was just… fucked. There was no way around it.

And I knew I was hurting her.

When we had sex, I left immediately after. When the talks got too deep, I’d close myself off to her and be a grumpy sonofabitch until she left me alone. I wasn’t too blind to see the hope in her eyes turn to disheartened pain every time this happened, but I was too emotionally stunted to do a damn thing about it.

My brain would beat me senseless as soon as I was by myself, reminding me with every menacing thought that I could wind up back where I was four years ago if I wasn’t careful.

That was always enough to sober me.

I couldn’t go back to that man. I couldn’t risk losing my team, my daughter, all because I couldn’t keep myself in check.

More than that, I couldn’t bear the thought of fucking everything up so royally that Chloe wanted to quit.

Because even if I could survive her leaving, I wasn’t sure I could say the same for Ava.

My daughter loved her. I knew that without needing to hear it. It was in every mannerism of my little girl…from the way she held Chloe’s hand to the way she said goodnight.

As it stood, Chloe and I had an understanding. We both agreed what we were and what we were not, what we never would be.

If I could stick to that, we would all be okay.

So, I vowed to remind myself of that fact every chance I got.

I could have her in this small way, but I had to keep my head on straight. I had to protect my daughter, protect Chloe, protect myself.

This was a house of matches that was one wrong move from going up in flames.

I was only half-focused on the television as Ken Jennings read the four-hundred-dollar answer in the category the contestant had chosen. He said something about a right-wing group from the 40s named after the first Cold War victim, and I mumbled, “What is the John Birch Society?” at the same time as the contestant.

There was no joy when Ken confirmed the contestant and I were both right. I just blew my nose and let the tissue fall to the ground beside me, my nose so raw now I wanted to die every time I touched it.

I was ready to climb into bed, but wanted to make sure Ava got down okay before I did. Chloe had gone upstairs more than an hour ago to get her settled.

Another ten minutes of the show went by. I was fast-forwarding through a commercial break when suddenly, music thumped from a speaker upstairs.

It was a Mia Love song, loud and obnoxious as ever. I frowned, ready to grump for them to turn it down, that it was too late for this shit. But the music grew louder and louder, like the speaker was moving toward me.

And indeed, it was.

I looked up at the top of the stairs just in time to find Chloe and Ava strutting down in matching costumes — which consisted of dresses made with more pink sequins than should have ever existed in the whole world, let alone this house. They even had matching shoes, which were god-awful turquoise house slippers in the shape of a… narwhal?

Ava barely contained her giggles as they danced down the steps in sync, hopping down two steps before they’d wiggle their hips and back up one step, then repeat. Chloe held onto the speaker while Ava held onto the railing.

They both about lost it when they saw my face.

But the show continued, and as much as I wanted to keep my scowl in place, it was impossible to do when I saw my daughter like that. How long had I wished for a lightness in her, for her to be a fucking kid?

Chloe had released that side of her in mere weeks.

When they made it to the living room, Chloe set the speaker on the coffee table before hurriedly running back to her place next to Ava. It was just in time for the bridge, and they looked at each other, nodding their head as if counting down the beat.

As soon as the chorus began, they broke out in a synchronized dance.

It started with them hopping up into the air and crossing their feet. When they landed, they used their new position to do a swivel turn and wink at me over their shoulders. The chorus was something about being a woman in a man’s world, about being unapologetic and loud and weird. Chloe and Ava hit some new move with every word, including a twisted-up version of the hand jive along to the lyrics kick some ass. When that final word sounded, they both covered their mouths with wide eyes instead of lip-synching it.

At this point, the TV remote lay abandoned by my side, the episode fast-forwarded all the way to the end on the television. I watched with amusement bubbling through me as the two weirdos continued dancing, each move more bizarre than the last.

Chloe stood behind Ava, both of them straight as a board, and then they broke out into opposite waves, thumbs over their shoulders and goofy grins on their faces.

When they hopped up only to somersault in opposite directions, the music grew to a crescendo, and the finale came with Chloe encouraging Ava to run at her. My daughter leapt with a mix of fear and unfaltering trust in her little eyes, and Chloe grabbed her wrists, swinging her up and onto her shoulders in a feat that made my jaw drop. It was like an acrobatic circus move or a swing dance — maybe a combo of the two.

They threw their hands up in victory as the song ended, and then there they were, both of them panting in the middle of the living room with their final poses held strong.

It lasted only a second before Chloe was helping Ava off her shoulders, and they were high-fiving each other and squealing over how they’d done it, they’d pulled it off, they’d even nailed the landing. Chloe held onto Ava’s hands as she bounced excitedly around her, eyes wide as she replayed the whole routine like it hadn’t just happened.

And my chest locked.

I thought it was a heart attack at first, and I bolted up from where I was reclined on the couch, clutching my abdomen as the unfamiliar sensation seared through me.

But before true concern could set in, a strange noise barked out of me.

A laugh.

A… laugh.

It rattled the rust off my rib cage, the first roll of it shocking me.

And then the girls pivoted toward me, their necks nearly snapping in the process. Their eyes were wide, their conversation and excitement muted.

And I laughed again.

I bent at the waist, coughing a bit like my body didn’t fucking remember how to do this properly. That made me laugh even harder, my hands braced on my knees, eyes watering.

God.

I was laughing.

Really laughing.

I peeked at Chloe and Ava, who stood completely still and gaping at me in the middle of the room. It sent another rip through me, and I fell over sideways on the couch, clutching my stomach as I laughed and laughed and laughed.

It hurt as much as it healed. It was as painful as it was a relief.

I didn’t know I even could laugh anymore.

But here I was, unable to keep it together after a ridiculous dance routine put on by my daughter and her nanny.

I was still trying and failing to school myself when the girls blinked and looked at each other.

“Daddy’s laughing,” Ava whispered, shaking her head. Then, her eyes doubled in size, the biggest grin I’d ever seen spreading on her face as she started jumping with Chloe’s hands in hers. “Daddy’s laughing!”

They squealed together before they were barreling toward me, and I held up a hand, unable to tell them through the fit of laughter to stay away from me. I was still sick, even though I probably wasn’t contagious anymore.

But they didn’t care.

They tackled me, Ava flinging her arms around my neck as Chloe squeezed me in a tight hug around my waist.

I shook with a laugh that was nearly silent now, like an old wheezing man who couldn’t catch his breath. And there we were, a pile of giggles on the fucking couch as Ava and Chloe tickled me and squealed and celebrated like we’d just won the Stanley Cup.

In many ways, I knew this was even better.

“You’re laughing, Daddy! You’re laughing!” Ava squeezed me tight.

“I can’t believe it,” Chloe mused, releasing me to sit back on her heels and wipe the tears from her eyes. She stared at me for a moment longer of disbelief, and then she jumped up, thrusting her finger into the air like a superhero. “I’m baking a cake!”

“I’ll help!” Ava yelled instantly, jumping off my lap to chase after Chloe as she ran toward the kitchen.

“I think this calls for Funfetti,” Chloe said, pulling a box from the pantry. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“And tons of sprinkles!” Ava confirmed.

Then, she whipped around, her little eyes on me before she sprinted toward where I was still trying to gain my composure. She grabbed my hands in hers and tugged until I stood, and then she was dragging me to the kitchen.

“Come on, Daddy! We’re baking a cake!”

“It’s a school night,” I said pathetically, blinking away the tears that laughing had formed in my eyes.

Chloe and Ava both protested against my weak argument, and I threw up my hands in surrender, sliding into a barstool at the island to watch them bake.

As Ava measured out ingredients, Chloe’s gaze caught mine over her head, a sense of wonder in her brown eyes. She smirked, shaking her head, her cheeks shading the prettiest pink.

And my heart sank to my feet.

Because in that moment, on a seemingly insignificant Sunday night, I felt the power of something I thought I’d never experience in my life.

Family.