Page 2 of Foster

She shrugged. “Her new boyfriend makes movies, so he always sends a stylist over with lots of dresses to choose from. And then they do her hair and makeup.”

Admittedly, I was curious. Sandra has dated since the divorce and that doesn’t bother me at all. But the fact she’s dating someone in the film industry grabbed my attention because Sandra has always wanted to be an actress. It’s actually how we met. She had a small role in a TV series being filmed in Vancouver and I’d just been drafted there at the age of eighteen, straight out of the western league of the major juniors.

It was lust at first sight and Sandra got pregnant the second month we were dating. I did what I thought was right and asked her to marry me, hoping that love would grow from it.

And it did. Things were good for a while.

But Sandra never got any other roles and she settled into life as a hockey wife and new mom. I eventually got traded to San Francisco and we built a life there. Sandra was a stay-at-home mom and she did a hell of a job, but our relationship never solidified. Over time, we drifted apart until it seemed we had nothing in common except our daughter. When the divorce was finalized, I was at peace with it and I think she was too.

But now she was dating someone new. I dug a little deeper. “What’s Mommy’s boyfriend’s name?”

“Chet,” Bowie Jane replied, wrinkling her nose as she twisted her fork into the spaghetti I’d made for dinner.

“You don’t like him?”

“He doesn’t like me. He’s older and his kids are older and I think he thinks a little girl is annoying.”

Anger flared hot. “Did he say that to you?”

Bowie Jane rolled her eyes. “He didn’t have to. I can just tell.”

“And what do you mean by he makes movies?”

“I’m not really sure. He lives in Los Angeles but travels up to see Mom a lot. And we sometimes go down there to visit him.”

My mind started spinning and something became clear to me. “When you were supposed to come to Buffalo in April, was that because Mommy was visiting Chet?”

“Yeah. He was attending some movie premiere and she was all excited about it.”

I ignore the irritation that singes, understanding now that I missed out on my visit with my daughter because my ex-wife had a date to a movie premiere.

“What’s Chet’s last name?”

“Firestone,” she said. I made a note to google the guy later. I then made another mental note to schedule a time to talk to Sandra when Bowie Jane was out of earshot. I wanted to know more about this guy, not because I was jealous or cared that she was dating someone, but because it was affecting our daughter and I didn’t like it.

I pull into the driveway of the home I bought when I moved here a year and a half ago. It’s in an exclusive neighborhood and a few of the other players live nearby. Big houses, big lots, all the finest appointments. Most of the rooms go unused but I wanted a nice house for Bowie Jane. I want it to be her true home when she’s here.

After pulling into the garage and shutting it behind me, I reach a hand back and touch Bowie Jane’s knee. “Hey, kiddo… we’re home.”

She lets out a tiny snore.

Grinning, I get out of the car and walk around to the back passenger door. I open it up, unlatch her seat belt and hoist her into my arms. Her head lolls and then settles on my shoulder, but she’s dead weight.

Good thing I’m a big strapping guy and it’s nothing to tote her little seventy-five-pound body into the house.

I don’t even consider putting her on the couch but climb the stairs to her bedroom. My master is on the first floor and upstairs is another smaller master. I’ve got Bowie Jane in a bedroom that has an additional bonus room attached to it for all her toys, art supplies, and dress-up outfits, as well as a desk where she does her homework.

Lying her on the bed, I kiss her forehead before quietly backing out. We still have a while until dinner, and the nap will do her good after such an exhausting day. As I creep back downstairs, I consider what we’ll have. I’m not the best cook but she’s not a picky eater, so usually I make something easy, like spaghetti, hamburgers, chicken or fish.

Maybe I’ll get fancy and make her some beef stroganoff, one of her favorites. We’ll have to make a quick grocery run though.

I think of my sleeping daughter upstairs and my heart gets heavy again that she’s going to be leaving soon.

Yes, I’m a professional hockey player and I love what I do, but it takes a far back seat to my role as Dad. My contract with the Titans is up at the end of this season and I’m going to see if I can get traded back to a West Coast team so I can be closer to my girl. I’d even take a bad deal in a heartbeat, just to be able to see her more.

Or maybe you should just leave.

I’ve been the league ten years and I’m playing fucking phenomenal hockey. I have more money than I know what to do with and I still love the game, but I don’t need it. What I need is my daughter.

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