Page 247 of Staying Selfless

My parents live only a couple of hours away in Indiana, but they also own a condo in the city now. They sold the Minnesota house, which we were sad to see go, but it didn’t make sense for them to keep their place there when we still own our little home in Minneapolis, and the only time we go back is to visit Trev, Stacey, and the boys.

Initially, they bought the Chicago condo so they could make it to as many of my games as possible. Now it’s even more useful because my dad’s firm is expanding into the city, thanks to him and Logan investing in it. But the real reason my parents own a place here is because they’re the best grandparents in the world, and they’re obsessed with their granddaughter.

Not that I blame them—so am I.

“There they are.” Zanders nudges me.

I turn to the glass behind me, my two favorite girls waiting on the other side.

“Hi, baby,” Logan beams, our three-and-a-half-year-old daughter on her hip.

“Hi, Daddy!” she exclaims, her wild giggle filling my ears and heart as Logan pops a kiss on her cheek.

You bet your ass that our daughter uses the word ‘hi.’ Ironically, it was her first one.

“Hi, baby! Both my babies.” I put both my gloved hands up on the barrier in front of me as Logan presses hers to the other side of the glass, my daughter doing the same.

It’s been Logan’s and my pregame tradition ever since college, but it’s even more special now that our daughter is involved.

“Ella Jo!” Zanders skates up behind me. “Missed you, crazy girl.”

Ella bursts into more giggles. “Uncle Zee, I just seen you.” She points at him before putting her fingers in her mouth. “You crazy one!” She drops her head onto Logan’s shoulder.

“Hell yeah, I am.” Zanders concurs. I swat him in the chest. “Heck yeah, I am,” he corrects.

“Where’s the new jersey?” Zanders directs his attention to my wife. “Lo, you’re killing me here.”

“And my husband would kill me if I let her wear that. C’mon Zee. You know this.”

I turn to Zanders, popping my shoulders in a knowing shrug. My wife always has my back, and there’s no way her or my daughter is ever wearing someone else’s name besides our own.

“Killing me, Lo!” Zanders playfully shouts as he skates away. “Ella Jo, you’re breaking my heart, girly!” He holds his hand over his chest in faux pain.

Ella adjusts her head on my wife’s shoulder, her green eyes sparkling as her uncle skates away.

Even though my daughter’s first name is Ella, we call her Ella Jo a lot of the time. It just flows off the tongue that way. She’s named after both of our moms—Ella for my birth mom, Elizabeth, and Jo for Logan’s mom, Josie. And in turn, she’s named after the two of us as well.

I was determined for Logan’s mom to be honored first, but my wife was set on us having another EJ in the family. So, Ella Jo, it is.

There was a quick conversation I had with Mary when we were picking out our daughter’s name. I wanted to know her opinion on naming Ella after my birth mom, even though Mary is the one who raised me and the one who truly is my mom. And, Mary being Mary, she brushed my concern away, telling me that if I didn’t keep my birth mom’s memory alive through my daughter’s name just because I was concerned about my stepmom’s feelings, she would disown me.

“You look so fu...reaking cute,” I tell my wife, catching myself and admiring her shiny red hair with matching red Vans. “Both my girls look cute as heck.”

“Your jersey doesn’t fit anymore,” Logan pouts, rubbing her belly. “Had to pull out the denim jackets. Ella, do you want to show your daddy your jacket? Show him how cute you look.”

Logan places our daughter on the first row of seats as Ella turns around, pops out her hip, and shows me her denim jacket, matching with her mom. My little firecracker inherited my ego and doesn’t have a shy bone in her body.

Her wild and unruly brunette hair falls over her shoulders as she shows me her jacket. ‘Daddy’ is embroidered along the top of the back, my number thirteen right below it. Ella glances over her shoulder at me, her dimples popping out and her bright green eyes shining with amusement. Her porcelain skin is a bit rosy around her cheeks and nose, thanks to the chill of the hockey rink. Her tutu and leggings are cracking me up, finished off with a pair of red high-top Converse and a matching red bow in her hair.

She’s the cutest fucking kid I’ve ever seen, and she’s all ours.

“Mama, show yours,” she demands.

“Yeah, Mama, show me yours,” I suggestively wiggle my eyebrows at my wife.

“Perv,” Logan teases me through the glass before turning around and showing me her jacket. It matches our daughter’s, but instead of ‘Daddy,’ ‘Maddison’ is stitched on the denim with our number below it. And they both have my captain’s patch on the front.

That name has looked so good on my girl ever since she started wearing it in college, and it’s even better now that it’s her name as well.

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