The Bad Boy Hockey Collection: A Collection Of Single Daddy Romances

I reply with a crooked smile of my own. “I want you here. So bad. When are you coming home again?”

“Soon,” he assures me. “You just have to be patient.”

I smile. “It’s hard to be, when I miss you so much.”

He doesn’t reply, but our eyes lock as we both stare longingly at each other through the screen. I should cover up my confession with small talk, tell him everything’s fine with the kids and that I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.

But, that would be a lie. Because I want him here, and I crave him more now than I even thought possible.

It scares the hell out of me. We hardly know each other, and the arrangement was purely for me to look after his children, not to fall in love.

Chapter 19

Faith

Something’s changed.

After our Skype session, Tristan and I’s conversations have moved beyond merely what I’m up to with the kids, to talking about things that have nothing to do with the job he hired me for. His texts come sporadically throughout the day, not just in the evenings like they did in the beginning. We always seem to be in constant communication with each other.

And he encourages me to get out and skate during the day. To take Ferguson with me while Darcy’s at school, make it an outing for the two of us. It’s something I hadn’t thought of, but I’m sure Ferguson would love it, even if he can’t skate on his own yet.

There’s something about talking to Tristan about my fears that always seems to ease them. I don’t feel afraid anymore, not the way I used to. I’d fortified those fears so much over the years that I’d somehow forgotten who I was, and how much I enjoyed being me. The skater. The hockey player. It’s as if I’d given up a part of me, and I didn’t realize it fully until that part had been given back.

Tristan’s awakened me, all of me. This feeling of contentment I have is his doing.

I’ve even had the guts to meet up with Sandy and her friends once, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I still feel socially awkward in comparison, but we found a common ground—not just the kids, but hockey. They live and breathe the sport, too.

Sandy mentioned that there’s a local team that’s in need of a volunteer assistant coach. Tristan suggested I apply for the position, citing it would look good on my college application and will show I’ve been actively involved in the community. I thought it was a silly idea at first. I mean, I have a job. Not to mention the fact that I don’t live here permanently. But, I made the mistake of bringing it up when Tristan’s mom, Wendy, came over the other day, and she seemed keen to help me out.

“You’d want to watch the kids for an hour during the week and another on Saturday morning?” I asked her, surprised.

She smiled and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Well, that settled that, then.

So, I went for the interview. They said they would let me know in a few days. I don’t think I’ll hold my breath, but just the prospect is exciting to me.

After the interview, I head over to Wendy’s to pick up the kids. When my phone rings just as I’m about to pull out of the arena parking lot, I put the car back in park. It’s been over four weeks since I heard a peep from Dad. Seeing his name on the caller display makes a lump form in my throat.

“Dad?”

“Oh, Faith, I was hoping to catch you. How have you been?” He sounds cheerful.

“Fine. How about you?”

He pauses, and I can hear the change in tone before he even speaks again. “Faith, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

That’s strange, because my phone is with me at all times, especially when Darcy is at school. And I wouldn’t want to miss a call or text from Tristan. Besides, there have been no missed calls showing up. “Oh?” I reply feebly, waiting for him to explain.

“Yeah, it’s about the money you sent me.” He sighs, but it’s muffled, and I can picture him running his hand over his face. “It isn’t enough. They’re still going to take the house. You told me how much you get paid each month, but you only sent half of it. So, you must’ve been paid again by now. Maybe you could send me another five thousand now and then—”

“It’s the store.”

“What?”

“The store,” I repeat. “You told me they were going to foreclose on the store last time. That’s why I sent the money you asked for.” My hands are shaking. I can’t even think straight.

“Yes, the store.” There’s an edge in his voice. “They’re still threatening to take it, too.”