Page 7 of Blue Lines and Lullabies

“At-home tests take longer. When it’s done at a hospital, we can put a rush on the results.”

I’m already attached to this little girl, and I don’t know how I’ll react if she isn’t mine.

Four hours later, I’m officially a dad.

“I assume you’ll need some time to get your home ready for a baby, but we have a few things here we can give you. You’ll need a car seat, crib or bassinet, formula, and bottles.”

“That’s it?” I ask incredulously.

Sandy chuckles. “It’s notit, but it’s all you really need to start. We’ll give you some clothes, diapers, and burp cloths. We can also list things you’ll want to accumulate over the next few weeks.”

“Live-in help would be at the top of the list,” I murmur. Fucking hell. It’s the middle of hockey season. I have no idea how I’m going to handle this when we have a road trip in a little over a week. I haven’t even notified the coaching staff yet. “When do I get to take her home?”

“We’re running some repeat tests tomorrow to ensure she’s as perfect as we think she is. Then, as long as you have a car seat installed, you’re welcome to take her home tomorrow afternoon. I need to finish some paperwork, but you can stay here until visiting hours are over at eight.”

As soon as Sandy leaves, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Shit. It’s Grant, my teammate.

“Yo, douche-canoe! Thought we were having dinner tonight,” he shouts.

“Jesus, man. Keep your voice down,” I hiss.

“Why? Shit, Daws, are you getting an afternoon delight? Hey, puck bunny! He’s got the herp, so make sure he wraps it up!” Grant yells.

Grant’s voice carries, and I watch in misery as Mackenzie’s face screws up as if she’s in pain. The guttural cry that releases from her tiny body is surprising.

“What the hell was that?” Grant whispers. “If that’s a puck bunny, I’m calling the cops.”

“No puck bunny. I just found out I have a daughter,” I mutter.

“No fucking way!” he shouts.

“Grant, I swear to God, if you shout one more fucking time, I’m coming through this phone and muzzling your ridiculous ass!” I growl.

“Damn. Sorry, bro. A baby? Seriously? With whom?” he asks.

“A chick I met at a bar about 10 months ago, I think.”

“You think? You don’t remember her?”

I sigh. “I vaguely remember her. It was one night, and we didn’t exchange numbers. I provided the rubber, so I know this wasn’t a get-rich-quick scheme.”

“Just ask her, dude. She’ll tell you where you met.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“She died right after giving birth, man.”

“Oh fuck,” Grant whispers.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have nothing, and I’m supposed to take her home tomorrow. They said I need a crib, a car seat, and formula? And how the fuck am I supposed to do this when we go on the road?”

“You’re set on doing this, right? Doing the dad thing?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Yes, absolutely. I took one look at her, and I knew she was mine. I couldn’t give her up.”

“What’s her name?”

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