Page 47 of Dancing in the Rain

Christ. He had no idea.

Drew looked around his home the next day.

Well, they could play videogames. At least they had that.

He needed to clean the place up. Margaret, his cleaning lady, was coming tomorrow. That was good, but he could put away the golf clubs, tidy up all the newspapers and magazines that had piled up, and do some dishes. He could also go buy some real food.

He wasn’t going to be cooking a meal for Chloe, but she might come over, and if she got hungry he wanted to offer her something to eat. Orange juice. That was all he knew she liked. But all kids liked junk food. Except that wasn’t healthy. Ugh.

Sunday stretched out in front of him, long and lonely. It would be a day off for the guys; they rarely practiced on Sundays unless they had a game, which they didn’t. He could call them and maybe set something up, see what was going on, find a sports bar where they could…

He put the brakes on that thought. He didn’t need to drink every goddamn day.

He set about doing the much-needed tidying in the house, getting rid of pizza boxes and empty beer bottles, even cleaning out the fridge. There was some nasty shit in the back that he couldn’t even remember putting there. That left the big appliance pretty much a barren wasteland of refrigeration.

Okay, a trip to the grocery store. He could do that.

Two hours later he was home with bags of food and the best intentions to actually cook himself a meal—once in a while, at least. He knew how to eat healthy. They’d been coached on good nutrition, and the team had always fed them well. Of course, that was a little different than doing it himself. Chicken breasts, vegetables, some fruit, boxes of pasta. Juice. And yeah, a bag of chips.

When that was put away, he leaned against the counter and surveyed the house. Once Margaret had done her stuff, the dust would be gone and the stainless-steel appliances all shiny.

Now what?

His head dropped forward. He sighed.

The gym. He could go work out. That would be a good thing to do. Yeah.

When he grabbed his gym bag, he recoiled at the musty stench emanating from it. Jesus. He hadn’t worked out for a while. Apparently, he hadn’t bothered to wash his workout clothes after the last time, whenever that was.

He threw the dirty clothes into the washing machine and dug around in his big closet for another pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

“Okay. Now I’m ready.”

Fuck, he’d said that out loud. Now he was talking to himself.

Maybe he needed a roommate. Maybe one of the new kids on the team was looking for somewhere to live. He could help someone out that way. They’d have to pay rent, of course, but he could sort of mentor them….

Ah, what the hell was he thinking?Hewas the one who needed mentoring right now.

At the gym he set about his routine with determination. It felt good to use his muscles and expend some energy on something physical. Although it was pathetic that he couldn’t do as many reps as he had been. Goddammit.

He couldn’t stop his thoughts from turning to Chloe. Was it weird that he didn’t love her? She was his daughter.

But he didn’t even know her. It was like meeting someone else’s twelve-year-old daughter. Helikedher. He liked how she rolled her eyes at her mother and yet took care of her and wanted to spend time with her. He liked how smart she was, teaching him that videogame as if she were the adult and he the kid, so well-spoken and thoughtful. He wanted to get to know her better.

He also liked Peyton.

He pumped his legs harder on the bike, challenging himself with some sprints.

Peyton intrigued him. He had to admit to a physical attraction—she was beautiful, that was undeniable. But there was something about her that made him want to look at her all the time, and he loved it when she smiled. Not only beautiful, though—she was smart, and that night they’d had dinner he’d found himself fascinated by her, by her directness, her humor, and her obvious love of her sister and niece.

But there was no point in even thinking that because there was no way he could make a move on his daughter’s aunt. Especially not now, with what they were going through. Probably not ever. Because that was just weird.

He rode the bike then did a bunch of push-ups and crunches. Sweating, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the juice bar and chugged it. He chatted with a couple of guys he didn’t know who recognized him, but escaped before they could ask him about his knee or what he was going to do now his hockey career was over.

He went home and thought about dinner. He hadn’t used the barbecue out on the deck for a while. Why the hell not? He stepped out into the weak sunshine of a fall afternoon and yanked the cover off the barbecue, then got out a couple of the chicken breasts he’d bought. He slathered barbecue sauce on them and let them cook while he microwaved a potato and mixed up a bag of salad he’d bought.

He ate it in the family room with the television to keep him company. The Rangers were playing the Bruins, so he watched the game. At first it made his gut ache, but he made himself keep watching. This was his life now. Watching, not doing. It sucked, but it was reality.

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