Page 10 of The Spice Play

So that’s what this is about.It wasn’t about my late-night snacking or Matty’s grumpiness about going to bed without me, it was about her reluctance to continue watching my son when I needed her to.

In fairness, I understood. My time was significantly absorbed with hockey, and my schedule could be hectic — that’s why, even when I was with Taryn, we had someone on retainer that we could call when we needed someone to look after Matty. I wasn’t even the going-out type. But practices could be inconsistent, and away games and nights spent at the rink weren’t ideal for a five-year-old. For Dani, being that port of call when she had her own life and ambitions and friends wasn’t easy. She’d only just hit thirty.

“I’m trying to work in time to figure it out,” I grumbled. I rested my hand on her shoulder, opening my mouth as if I were about to add something along the lines of a genuine apology, and instead physically moved her to the side so I could get to my goddamn leftover Panda Express.

“Was tonight not an ideal time for that instead of going out drinking?” she teased, her eyes rolling so hard I worried they’d cement to the back of their sockets while she found her new footingbesidethe fridge. “I can smell it on you.”

I plucked out a Styrofoam container and dislodged the plastic fork from the holes it had created in the bottom. “Coach insisted I take the night off from everything to reset.”

“Still can’t believe you’re struggling that much with basic technique,” she grumbled, her tongue clicking on the last word as she plucked a single piece of orange chicken from my container with her fingers. “What did you call it? A forward overcross?”

I moved my food out of reach and leaned back against the black marble countertop, staring her down in the dim light. “Forward cross over,” I corrected. “I’ve never been great with my edges, but apparently they’re dogshit now.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I understand what that means.”

“You don’t have to.” My words were muffled around a mouthful of cold Chinese food.

She took a deep breath as she tightened the knot of hair on the top of her head. “Look, I know you’re having a rough time, but I’m serious. I can’t keep watching him at a moment’s notice. I love him, and I love taking care of him, but I can’t be your nannyandhis auntandkeep my job in check.”

I swallowed down a chunk of chicken that I should have chewed more, coughing slightly past the giant lump as it traveled down my esophagus. “I know,” I said.

Fishing a glass from the cupboard, I filled it with water from the fridge dispenser, cursing my inability to use the ice machine at this hour for fear it would wake Matty. “I’ll talk to some of the guys tomorrow, okay? See if anyone has any recommendations. I’ll figure it out.”

The majority of my time lately had been spent trying not to blame myself for all my shortcomings, whether that was in hockey, my attempts at being a good father, or my relationships with my friends and family. But in truth, as much as I wanted to blame everything on Taryn, plenty of it was my fault. I could be handling things better, practicing harder, using every second of my free time to sort out childcare, eating better.

If I had a full-time nanny, something I’d had brief glimpses of in the short weeks I’d had a handful of them before they inevitably failed at their job and I let them go, I could get to the rink seconds after the Zambonifinished its run and do warm-ups, could get to the gym earlier, could spend more time solving my problems on the ice so I could have less of them off it.

But Taryn had made that hard.

It had only been a few months since our divorce had been finalized, but we’d been separated for two years. The one person I’d ever been happy to share a forever with had decided she needed to go on a journey of self-discovery the same month I’d finally made it out of the American Hockey League and into the NHL instead, and that swiftly turned into her needing her own home, and then her needing to go on vacations to desolate portions of the world tosynchronize, and then finally, abandonment and divorce papers.

Apparently, finding herself meant she no longer wanted anything to do with her husband or son.

But a part of me, until a few months ago when I’d received the papers in the mail, had some kind of blind faith that she’d come back after going to monasteries and eating bugs and connecting with the “core of the universe” or whatever she’d called it. I’d been struggling to handle it since that version of my reality came crashing down, and although I still hadn’t figured out a way to tell Matty that would make sense for him, I worried that a part of him knew. He was five, but goddammit, he was smart, and he hadn’t seen his mother in over a year.

And not once had he asked about her since.

“If you’re staying, can you…?”

Dani sighed as she turned on her heel, her feet beginning to carry her to the staircase. “I’ll take him to school in the morning.”

————

“Run it again!”

Coach’s booming voice carried over the ice, reaching all the way to the net I leaned against as I spoke to one of our left-wingers, Fabian. Not everyone on the team had kids, I’d quickly learned in the last few months since I’d been signed to the Atlanta Fire, but Fabian definitely did.

“Can you text me some recommendations after drills?” I asked, popping my mouthguard back in.

“Blue! I saidrun it again, not run your fucking mouth!”

I turned, watching as Coach stepped onto the ice with his arms crossed, obscuring his grey Atlanta Fire hoodie. I held up a hand in apology, but he skated straight toward me, a hard look of determination on his face as he easily pulled off the one thing I’d been struggling with just to irritate me — a fucking forward cross-over.

“Is there a reason you’re yapping away to Kirkpatrick instead of paying attention, or do you genuinely not care enough this morning to be here?” he snapped.

Coach, or rather, Casey, was one of the more intense coaches I’d played under since I’d gotten my start back at the college level. He cared deeply for every member of the team and had a heart of gold, but my God, on the ice, he was like a dictator. I was used to coaches being hardasses, but Casey was hard on us to the point of frustration sometimes.

I popped my mouthguard back out. “Sorry, Coach,” I sighed. “I’m just trying to work out childcare.”

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