Page 7 of Hat Trick Holidate

Reed: Why?

Me: Francesca dropped off Jolie yesterday. I don’t know what to do with her.

Reed: Ask Belinda if she can watch her.

Belinda is the sports information director intern and the owner’s daughter.

Me: Good idea, thanks.

I’ve known Belinda since she was about twelve; now she’s twenty. In fact, I think she may have been the first one to call me a grump.

I pick up Jolie, throw her on my back, and sit her in my room to watch television while I shower. She doesn’t protest. But when I walk back into the bedroom, freshly showered, dressed in a suit, her nose scrunches in the center.

“Hey, let’s get you dressed. Do you have something special you wear to hockey games?”

She blinks once. No.

“Okay, let’s see what clothes your mother packed.”

Her suitcase is filled with dresses. No pants or shirts. Her mom takes her to the hockey arena in dresses–where it’s cold? There’s a pair of tights, and I have to help her wiggle them on. Then she holds up her arms up, and I slide the red dress over them until it’s in place.

My driver takes us to the arena and as we walk in, heads turn, and eyes open wide, shocked at seeing me with a child. Reed was the only one I confided in about Francesca and my little girl, but in a matter of minutes, the whole team will know.

Knocking on the owner’s open door, I ask, “Is Belinda here?”

“Belinda?” he asks, scrutinizing me and the little girl beside me. “No, why?”

“Do you remember Lukas Gustafson?” He nods. “He married Francesca. We both… you know… around the same time.” I cover Jolie’s ears. “Lukas thought she was his, but we just found out that Jolie is my daughter.”

His brows rise close to his gray hairline. “I see.”

“I was hoping Belinda could watch Jolie until I have time to make arrangements.”

“Go down to marketing and ask Terrence if she’s coming. I can’t keep up with her; the girl goes a hundred miles per hour.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

He hands Jolie a piece of chocolate, but she squeezes her bear, so I take it from him to give to her later. “Good luck, Wynward. Girls aren’t easy. The worrying is constant.”

As we’re walking down the hallway, I spot my teammate, Roman Rustavelli.

He used to be lighthearted according to his former teammates but since he’s been here this year, he’s serious most of the time. He should be happy he’s on the same team as Cross and me.

He bends down in front of her. “Who is this pretty little girl?”

“This is my daughter Jolie. Jolie, this is my teammate Rustavelli.”

She swings her torso but still doesn’t speak. He stands up. “Didn’t know you had a child.”

“I didn’t either until two weeks ago. You wouldn’t happen to have a girlfriend coming to the game, would you? I need someone to watch Jolie.”

“Ah, so now you need me.” He lifts a brow, and a tiny grin curves at his lips.

“Never mind.” I say, annoyed.

“No girlfriend, but my sister is coming. Let me call her. She’s a child counselor, so you don’t have to worry about her being qualified.”

Who knew that my ex-rival, who I’ve hated for the past twelve years, may be the one coming to my rescue. I overhear him explaining the situation. He never tells her which hockey player, probably because she knows how heated our rivalry was in college and has carried through to the professional ranks until now.

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