Prince Pucking Charming

I nod in answer.

Max sits up and drops the puck in her hand onto my lap. “Did you know that hockey pucks are frozen before games to keep them from bouncing?”

“No, I can’t say that I did.”

I don’t know where she gets it from, but Max loves to Google random facts and trivia. She knows more useless facts than anyone my age, let alone hers. Max loves to tell me about the things she’s read online. Even her teachers have mentioned her unusual curiosity to me during parent-teacher meetings.

She takes the puck from my lap and juggles it. “Can we put my puck in the freezer?”

Her request makes me chuckle. “Your puck is plastic. The ones you’ll use for youth league are made of rubber. I don’t know how much good it will do to freeze plastic.”

“Daddy says I should simulate the real thing as much as possible.”

“Of course, he did,” I deadpan with a forced smile.

If it were up to Ted, I would have an entire freezer filled with plastic pucks. Our house was a mess when we lived together.

“Where’s Daddy?” Max glances over at the clock on the wall and frowns. “He’s late.” Her bottom lip quivers when she looks at me. “I want to call him.”

Max knows her way around a phone better than me. I drop my cell phone into her tiny palm, and she dials Ted’s number. It rings and rings, eventually going to voicemail. She hangs up and tries him again with the same result. My heart sinks to my stomach when I look into her eyes. I wish I could take her to the game. If Ted had given us a heads up, we could have planned around his schedule. Instead, he’s subjecting Max to even more disappointment than usual.

“Daddy,” Max says into the phone. “It’s me, Max. Where are you?” She sniffs, holding back her tears, and I have to do everything in my power not to cry. “We’re supposed to go to the game. Did you forget about me… again?”

After Max hangs up, I slide my arm across the back of her neck and turn on the television. “How about we watch the game until Daddy gets here?”

“Okay,” she chokes out. “He’s not coming.” She’s smart enough to know this is another one of Ted’s stunts. “Is he?”

I shake my head. “No, baby, I don’t think so. But it’s okay. We can watch the game here, and I’ll make you some chocolate chip cookies. How does that sound?”

She glances up at me with a few tears sliding down her cheeks. “Can I have extra chocolate chips?”

I wipe her fallen tears away with my thumb. “Yeah, baby, you can have as many as you want. You can even help me make them.”

She beams with excitement.

We watch the announcers, who are talking about Duke Baldwin and his suspension. His picture appears on the screen, and my throat just about closes up. Duke is hot with a capital H. His tanned skin, dirty blond hair, and bright blue eyes practically pop off my screen. His shoulders are massive in his picture, his bulky arms filling out every inch of his uniform.

“That’s Daddy’s favorite player,” Max says with her finger pointed at Duke. “He’s good. He’s our captain. Daddy says he’s the best defenseman in the NHL.”

“He’s my favorite, too,” I admit, though I would never tell Duke that.

I’ve watched enough of Duke’s fights over the past few years to get a little hot and bothered afterward. Seeing him in the flesh this week only makes it harder to get him out of my head. Until I met Duke, I never wanted to cross the line with a patient.

Chapter Seven

Duke

I hate sitting at home, watching my team play from the comfort of my couch. This is pure fucking torture. My guys are fighting for possession of the puck, struggling to score, and I could have helped them if I were there. Suspension sucks.

The Bruins are on fire tonight, making my team look like dogs chasing their tails. This is an embarrassing loss to have at home. With a few minutes left on the game clock, my cell phone rings. I set my beer on the table and glance at the screen. It’s my sister, probably calling to yell at me again.

“Hey, Kit-Kat,” I say, holding the phone to my ear.

“Denny,” she breathes. “We need to talk.”

“Look, Kat, I’m sorry about… Well, about everything. I fucked up.”

“You bet your ass you did,” she snaps. “Dean’s face is still messed up.”