Page 60 of Delayed Offsides

He stares at me in silence and then nods. “No beer?”

I suppose he knows me better than I think he does. So here it goes. “I’m pregnant,” I blurt without thinking. “I’ve heard drinking isn’t good for you in that situation.”

Do you see the blank expression? What about the blood rising to his face? The look on his face goes from shock to anger fairly suddenly. In fact, it’s like in the blink of an eye.

Before he can say any more, not that I expect him to, I add, “I’m not telling you for approval or help, I just… want you to know you would be a grandfather. It’s up to you what you do with that information.”

He stares. Just fucking stares at me, and I honestly think there’s steam coming from his hairy ears. His chest heaves in a breath as he sets the menu down on the table. “How the hell are you going to raise a baby? You can’t even take care of yourself.”

That pisses me off. Not once have I ever asked him for money or a helping hand. Ever. “I live on my own, Ed. I pay my rent, I go to work like I’m supposed to, and I make a living for myself. I have absolutely no debt, aside from rent. I think I take care of myself fairly well and have done so since before I got out of high school.”

He stands, anger ruining his appetite as he tosses a hundred-dollar bill on the table for a glass of water and a beer he took two drinks from. “You’ll be raising this child on your own.”

And then he leaves me sitting there at the restaurant. Great dad, huh?

Now do you see why I’m so determined to do this on my own? I have to. It’s the only way.

CHAPTER13

HIGH STICK

LEO

A minor penalty called when a player carries his or her stick above their shoulder or hits an opponent with it, whether unintentionally or intentionally.

I don’t sleep much anymore.I don’t know if it’s the news of me being a father soon or what, but I’m wide awake most nights. And likely to remain that way.

I still don’t want to be a dad. Is that wrong of me to say? I fear it. I had a shitty one. What’s that going to make me?

Maybe my reasons are selfish, but I’m on the road from October to April most years, twenty-three, and nowhere near the maturity needed to be a role model for a child as far as I’m concerned.

How will I manage taking care of another life?

And let’s not forget the childhood I had.

I never wanted a child to feel what I felt. That sense of loneliness knowing you were a mistake. You’d never know it looking at me now. I have everything I ever wanted because I worked for it. I fought for me.

When I think about why I don’t want to be a dad, most of my reasons are selfish.

I think of my dad leaving and the visions of the door slamming shut, knowing at three, he was never coming back.

I think of my mother looking at two little boys like they were a burden, something she was stuck with and never wanted.

All I ever had that made me feel like I had a place in the world was hockey. It’s so much more than a bond for me. It’s a life, an intensity that turned to adrenaline. An addiction. These guys I play with, they’re my family.

I want to show Callie, despite me not wanting to be a dad, I’m here for her. I can be that guy.

What I need is a grand gesture. A high stick. A way to get her attention.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and what better way than to show her I’m in this if she wants me to be. I can’t force my way into her life either.

I had practice this morning and I know she’s working. Mase, Remy, and I have brought flowers over to Lurie’s Children’s Hospital, to the pretty little girls we see once a month.

For about a year now, the three of us have been coming here to hang out with the kids, teach them about hockey, and give them something to look forward to. I immediately fell for this two-year-old little girl named Ryland. She has these bright blue eyes and the sweetest smile imaginable. Her cancer, stage four neuroblastoma, which affects the nerve tissue in children, has taken over her life. From the time she was sixteen months old, she’s spent every day in this hospital fighting a battle she doesn’t stand a chance of winning. She’s considered terminal.

Ryland never speaks to me much, other than a hello or saying, “He le,” which I’ve been informed means, “Hello, Leo.”

We never do a whole lot while we’re here. Just hang out with the kids, read them books, play games, anything to make them feel normal, even if it’s just for a few hours. Today I bring Ryland a pink balloon with some lilies, her favorite flower, and set them next to her bed, along with the plastic bag I brought in of jerseys to give the kids.

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