Page 22 of The Enemy Face Off

Hannah: "Isn't the place next door to you for sale?"

Me,scoffing: "It is. But I seriously doubt a rich hockey player who could afford one of those huge mansions on the hillside overlooking the ocean would be interested in a modest bungalow in a suburban cul de sac."

Just saying the termcul de sactransports me back in time, and a warm shiver rushes through me.

I remember his smile at the diner that night, after our minor accident, when he asked if we were friends.

And it wasn't ahide your kidsscary smile. It was warm and genuine, and it felt like peeking behind a curtain and getting a glimpse of a whole new, hidden side of him.

But we're just occasional verbal sparring partners, nothing more.

Very occasional sparring partners since the guy is away traveling and doing his hockey thing while I live my simple, bookish life here in sleepy Comfort Bay.

Hannah: "You're probably right. But it's a funny thought. You and Milo being neighbors."

Me: "No, it's not. It's a terrible thought."

A terrible,terriblethought.

6

Milo

I knock on the front door of the mid-century modern house in a nice LA suburb and wait. My hands clench and unclench, trying to steady my nervous energy.

It's not every day you meet your children for the first time.

The door opens, and Mike and Robyn Malone greet me. They're in their early sixties, and from the countless emails we've exchanged, they seem nice. Genuine. Like maybe we can find a way to navigate this super complicated and potentially fraught process ourselves.

Meeting like this, informally and without the need for social workers or court-appointed monitors, is a good start.

"Welcome, Milo," Mike says. He's stocky, with a head of silver hair thinning just a bit on top. His bright blue eyes twinkle as he looks at me with a welcoming smile.

"It's good to finally meet you," I say, stepping into their entryway. "Here. I bought these." I stick out my arm, and Robyn takes the bouquet from me. I don't know what the etiquette is for an occasion like this, but I figured flowers couldn't hurt.

She accepts them with a smile. "Thank you. They're beautiful." Soft, curly gray hair frames her face, and her warm brown eyes reflect her gentle, caring presence.

They really seem like ideal grandparents, and I'm glad Josie and Jonah have been in their care while we work things out.

"I know we have a few things to discuss," Mike says. "But the children are waiting in the living room."

"They're excited to meet you," Robyn adds.

"I am, too." I suck in a deep breath. "A little nervous, but excited."

"That's perfectly understandable." Robyn smiles and pats me on the arm. "This is a big moment. For all of us."

I force a smile as they usher me toward the living room, tension swirling in my gut with every step.

I've never given much thought to parenthood. My sole focus has always been hockey. It's been the one constant in my life, the only thing I could rely on. But now that paternity has been confirmed, I have to step up.

Honestly, I'm not just a little nervous—I'm petrified. I want to be a good dad more than anything. But how? How can I be a good father when I have no role model to base myself on?

Parenting is hard. I've read countless books and scoured the internet, devouring everything I can on the subject. But at the end of the day, there's no magic manual that teaches you how to be a good dad.

My throat tightens, and I pray I'm up to the task. I have to be. Two little kids are depending on me.

We enter the living room, and my stomach tingles with a fluttering sensation as my eyes land on Josie and Jonah.

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