Mind Pucked (Chicago Blue Jays #1)

23. Amelia

23

AMELIA

O ver the course of the last couple of weeks, things have become so weird between Jackson and me. The day I spent with Hayden at the park was fun, but the little tyke kept asking about her daddy and me, and I didn’t know what he had told her apart from what he’d said at the door.

I didn’t want to overstep or make things worse than they already were, so I deflected most of her questions. I’m just thankful she’s still so little, and easy to distract.

When we got back to the house that day, Jackson’s mom was at the house, which made things even stranger. Of course, she was nice, force-feeding me cake until I couldn’t breathe…or maybe I did that to myself…but she acted as if she didn’t know a thing, and that made it even worse.

Working for Jackson sure has its ups and downs. The ups—Hayden. The downs—everything else.

And the fact that my heart still aches to be with him.

Sure enough, Preston has called twice since the first time—every three days, like clockwork, from a different number each time. We make the calls short to keep us both safe, and I try not to talk in detail around Hayden, but it’s great to hear his voice and it becomes a little easier each time.

I’m sitting with Hayden at their house. Jackson is playing tonight, but I don’t have the strength to watch the game from the stands. I don’t want to face everyone, and I don’t know what the guys and their wives know or don’t know.

Hayden and I are drawing while we have the big game on the massive television in the living room. Hayden doesn’t seem to notice the game, or the fact her daddy is on TV, but my eyes drift to it from time to time and my heart aches every time I do.

I smile at Hayden’s drawing of their house. It’s a four-year-old’s version of a house, but it’s clearly the one we’re in. I frown, though, when I see that she’s drawn not only Jackson and herself, but she has me in the picture too. I’m standing right between them, holding both of their hands.

“Can I have a snack?” Hayden asks from her spot at the little table.

“Sure,” I say, getting to my feet. “Are you alright sitting right here while I run into the kitchen?”

“Yep.” She smiles as she continues to color. “I won’t color on the table, I promise,” she adds, and I don’t know if she’s just being sweet or if that means she plans to do just that.

Reluctantly, I run into the kitchen and grab her a juice and some fruit. I plate it and turn to walk out, trying not to think about what Jackson and I once did on this very counter. His every touch replays in my mind…we were together right here…the day we made it official.

I shake my head, trying to think of anything but being alone with him in that way. I miss Jackson in so many ways, but every place in this house reminds me of him and the times we spent together.

I really messed this up for us.

“Who’s hungry?” I ask, trying to sound cheerful, asking as if there’s a whole room full of kids, rather than the one wonderful child sitting waiting on me.

“Me!” Hayden squeals as her hand shoots into the air. “Bananas!” she says as she spies the plate of bananas, strawberries, and kiwi I’ve made for us.

“Your favorite.” I put the plate down and catch Oliver scoring a goal on the screen. “Yes!” I whoop as I celebrate with the Jays, wishing like hell I could be there.

“Did Daddy make a point?” Hayden asks as she spins around to see the TV. “Because he’s good at that,” she adds, and I can see how proud she is of her father.

“No, not this time,” I say. “But Uncle Oliver did.”

“Who’s winning?” she asks, her little cherublike face beaming up at me.

“The Jays,” I say with my own smile—hers is so infectious, I just can’t help it.

“Go Chicakoh!” she says, trying to pronounce Chicago, and it’s the cutest thing I think I have ever heard.

“Go Chicago!” I match her energy as we cheer the Jays together.

I sit down with her, and we go to town on the fruit in front of us while we return to coloring. I still look up at the TV occasionally to keep up with the game, but each time causes a pang in my heart.

In between glances at the screen, I steal glances at Hayden. This kid means the world to me. I would be lost without her.

I didn’t know if this job was something I wanted to last forever when I applied for it. In all honesty, I didn’t really think of Hayden at all when I came up with my plan. I didn’t think for a second about the child I would be hurting in the long run if I found out her father was a killer, or if I ended up falling for him even after all the lies I was harboring.

I’m a horrible person.

I feel deep down in my bones that it’s just a matter of time before I get fired. Jackson hates me, and he has every right to let me go at any time.

I’m shocked I’ve gotten to keep the job this long.

There are far too many emotions flooding through me right now. I don’t know what I’m going to do. It might be easier in the long run just to leave…but I can’t do that.

No, I just need to let Jackson know that I’m not here to hurt them. I don’t want to do that at all anymore. That’s the furthest thing from my mind.

I focus on the game for a moment because doing anything else is not possible. If I continue to think about Jackson and Hayden, I’ll likely come unglued.

Oliver has the puck again. He’s good, really good.

The image changes to show Felix in the goal box. He’s ready for if the other team takes the puck back.

I don’t think that’s going to happen.

I see Hayden looking too—we’re both hooked as we wait for Oliver to make the play.

He hooks his stick back a little so it almost touches the back of the blade of his skate. He’s about to attempt a shot, when the right wing from the other team skates in front of the goal on their side and blocks him.

Oliver is forced to make another play. He reels back and sees two guys from the other team coming up behind him. One tries to sneak the puck from him, but he maneuvers it so the guys come up empty.

“Nice play!” I shout, and Hayden mimics me.

“My daddy is open, Uncle Oliver!” she shouts as if the man can actually hear her, and I think it’s adorable.

She’s right, though—Jackson is open, skating up to the left side of the hash marks. He’s not far enough from the center for my liking, since Oliver would have to stick the puck backward away from their goal rather than forward to get it to Jackson, and I don’t know if that’s safe right now.

“Daddy is off-center,” I tell her. “I don’t think Oliver can get it back to him. But I could be wrong.” I smile at her, then turn back to the TV.

Oliver turns, to my shock, facing their own goal. He skates past the center on their side, who almost gains control but misses by a hair.

Oliver skates back behind Jackson as Jackson goes forward, faking a grab at the puck as he passes him. The other team turns to Jackson, who they think has the puck.

Jackson skates forward toward the other team’s goal as if going in for a shot.

He sets his stick back in a J formation, pretending to snap the puck into the net. But there’s no puck, and the crowd cheers when they realize Oliver still has it. My eyes cut to Oliver as the camera pans in on him and the puck that he still has control of.

It was a smart move.

“Uncle Oliver still has the puck!” Hayden squeals, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Yeah, they faked ’em, didn’t they?” I reach over and muss her hair as we both stay locked in the game. The Stanley Cup is such a big deal, and it would be amazing for the Jays to win, but this signifies the end of a season, which makes me worry even more.

Without hockey, will he still need a nanny?

I can’t think about that right now, so I don’t.

Jackson skates left to get out of the way for Oliver to make his way through for his third score in a row.

He fakes left, then goes right, snapping his stick and sending the puck in a saucer hit that sends it skidding at a parallel to the ice for the entire distance…hovering inches above it just before it slaps into the net.

“Woohoo!” I shout, and Hayden does the same thing.

“Was that a hat-tick?” Hayden asks, causing me to giggle.

“A what?” I ask, trying to figure out what she’s asking as the teams set up again with the ref in the middle of the ice.

“A hat-tick,” she says again, just as sure as the first time.

“You’re going to have to tell me what a hat-tick is,” I tell her with a smile as I fight the laughter. I don’t want her to think I’m making fun of her.

“When Daddy or one of my uncles make three in a row,” she says. “A hat-tick.” She giggles, causing her locks to shake.

“Oh, a hat trick!” I exclaim, finally getting the drift.

“That’s what I said…a hat-tick.”

“Yes, baby.” I lean in and hug her. “That was a hat trick.” I laugh with her now that I know what she’s saying. “Oh look! Daddy has the puck now.”

“Yeah, he just stole it from the other team.” She smiles. “Daddy says the only time it’s otay to steal is on the ice.”

“That’s right,” I say as Jackson heads toward the goal of the opposing team.

He’s intercepted and a penalty is called on one of their players when they hook their stick into Vaughn’s skate, sending him flying across the ice. Jackson helps his friend up but glares at the guy who’s being dragged off the ice and put into the penalty box.

A fair share of fights on the ice have resulted in far worse, but I don’t think they want to get too juicy for the Stanley.

The play starts again and Vaughn snaps the puck. He gets an assist from Benjamin who runs it up the side of the rink just inside the line. Suddenly, Benjamin takes a hit from the side as he gets bodychecked to the ice with a force so hard I’m not sure I could stand afterward.

I wince, and so does Hayden as we eat our fruit and watch the game unfold. Her juice box makes a slurping sound as she gets to the bottom of it, and we watch as Ben gets up and the ref calls a ten-minute penalty on the other team.

The first guy leaves the box to come back out onto the ice, and I notice he says something to Jackson that seems to irk him, though Jackson seems able to ignore him for the most part.

Their B-team center skates off the ice to the box, and a new player comes out to replace him. The game resumes, and soon one of the guys from the other team has the puck, rushing toward Felix in our goal box.

The player sets up for the shot as Felix reaches up to adjust his helmet by the cage. He knows it’s coming his way. The other player brings the stick back, hitting the puck with the back end of it and causing it to whirl over the ground as Felix butterflies, dropping to his knees. The puck hits his leg pads instead of anything vital, and sails back toward the other player.

The ref calls a huddle on the ice and the players go to hear what their coaches have to say. The game is close, but the Jays have the lead right now.

I notice Jackson’s face fall again as he passes the player who was in the penalty box first. I get the feeling he keeps saying something to Jackson, but I can’t be sure.

When the teams return to the ice, they set up within seconds, and the puck is in play. Vaughn controls the puck quickly, and Jackson seems to be moving parallel to Vaughn, making sure to stay as open as he can as the opponents come skating their way.

Jackson turns to see a player coming at him—the one with an apparent mouth—and the camera cuts to Jackson’s face to show a scowl toward the other man. All of a sudden, Jackson turns away from the play and chases the guy, flying on his skates toward him.

I grab Hayden and turn her head away from the television, burying her face into my shoulder and sending small sprays of what’s left of her juice all over us just as Jackson angrily shoves the guy into the barrier on the ice. I turned her face just in time to miss her daddy hurting someone on purpose, and to be honest, I’m shocked he did it.

The player hits hard and ricochets off the barrier with a thud to the ground. I can barely believe it as the fight continues, a flurry of punches that leave both Jackson and the other player bruised and bloody before their teammates can pull them apart.

“What’s wrong, Amelia?” Hayden cries out, and I realize I’m holding her way too tight in my arms.

“Nothing, baby—I’m so sorry,” I say, and since it seems like the fight has been broken up, I let her turn around on my lap to see the screen once again.

I hold my breath as I wonder if they’re alright. The other guy looks like he really took a pounding. Jackson is still seething with anger, but the look on his face suggests he realizes the mistake he made.

The coach yells something at Jackson, and Jackson looks up toward his coach, face screwed up in frustration. He throws his stick to the ground hard, causing it to bounce twice before coming to a halt at his feet. He skates off-camera as the medics come to tend to the other player who looks to be pretty seriously hurt.

“Oh. Daddy’s angry?” Hayden says innocently.

“Yeah, but he’s okay, look—he just gets to sit down for a while now, see?” The camera pans over to Jackson chatting with the medic, and thankfully he seems to have calmed down enough that I don’t need to explain anything further to Hayden, who happily returns to eating her fruit.

I’m left wondering what in the world the guy must have said to Jackson to make him act this way. There’s no excuse for it, but something obviously set Jackson off…I’m just left wondering what in the world it could have been.