Page 11 of Falling for the Forward

“They’re pets. You can house-train them just like dogs. I’ve seen TikToks about it.”

I scoff. “It has to be true then.”

“I’m serious, dude. Pigs are actually very clean and they don’t sweat. They make good pets.”

I think about it for a few seconds. “I don’t know, maybe. How big do they get?”

“The micro ones stay small, like a dog. Twenty pounds or less.”

All three girls are going to grief counseling, and Charlotte’s counselor did mention to me that a pet could help comfort them. I try to be comforting, but I’m not great at it. And the bottom line is that no matter how much my life changed on the day Rachel died, the girls’ lives changed more.

They lost their mom. The only parent they’ve ever really known. Chad took off right after Hallie was born and he’s never paid a dime of child support. I’ve always made sure Rachel and the girls are taken care of, but until now, that meant sending Rachel money every month.

She didn’t want to take it at first, but when I reminded her that a mom without financial worries is a happier mom, she couldn’t disagree with me. No one but me and Rachel knew I was the one paying for Olivia’s sleepaway summer camps and Charlotte’s private violin lessons, and no one ever will.

The grief counselor told me I’ll make mistakes and that the girls’ emotions may be volatile for a while as they mourn their mom. I can always tell when Olivia’s been crying because her eyes are red and her cheeks are splotchy, but she tries hard to be strong for her sisters. I think even she, the sensible, practical oldest sister, would like a pet.

A pet will add another layer of stress to our household, but if it will make them happy, it’s worth it. I can’t be there for them physically as much as I want to because of my travel schedule, and a pet would be a constant comfort they could always rely on.

I take out my phone and search for pet pigs for sale, making sure Bash can’t see my screen.

“I know you’re looking at porn,” he mumbles.

“Uh-huh.”

“Hey, before you put your hand down your pants and start jerking off, I’ve got to know--whatison the inside of boobs?”

I shake my head, not even bothering to respond.

It’s raining in Vancouver.I went back to the hotel for a pregame nap, and I got soaked when I got in and out of my Uber back to the arena. I needed the sleep, though, and I feel a lot better.

I head to the locker room to change into dry clothes, arriving just in time for a meeting with our head coach, Noel Turner.

“We’ve seen it in film--these guys come out swinging,” he says. “They’re gonna try to set the pace right out of the gate so they can dictate the game.”

I follow along as he goes over plays on his whiteboard, but my mind is on the voicemail I listened to on the Uber ride back to the area.

My family law attorney, Michelle Maroni, is widely known to be the best in the Cleveland area. When one of my teammates found out his wife was cheating on him, he hired Michelle before even telling his wife he wanted a divorce, just to be sure his wife wouldn’t hire her first. When he got traded to Boston last season, he was able to take his kids with him, thanks to Michelle’s work on his behalf.

Michelle gets right to the point, telling me to call her as soon as possible. I can’t stop worrying that something big has come up in my bid to adopt the girls. Even though Rachel left me guardianship of them in her will, Michelle recommended I adopt them. That means the girls’ deadbeat dad, Chad, had to be tracked down and agree to it.

I’m holding out hope he’ll do the right thing. He hasn’t tried to see his three daughters since he left when Hallie was nine months old. Five years without a single effort made. Needless to say, I hate that fucker.

“You got somewhere better to be, Stanton?” Coach barks when he catches me looking at the clock on the wall.

“No, Coach.”

“You sure? I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

He’s fired up for this game because we’ve lost our last four games to Vancouver. They’re one of the toughest teams to beat on their home ice.

“I’m good, Coach.”

“I’m glad to hear it. We need our first line to be dialed in.”

“We are,” Leo assures him. “We’re ready, Coach.”

Leo’s the best kind of teammate. He always tries to deflect blame from others onto himself. Especially when it’s me or Bash. If Coach is telling us we fucked up, Leo tries to shift at least some of the blame onto himself.

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