Page 6 of Accidentally Sliding Into A Second Chance

“Why are you yelling?” I shout back. Her eyes glitter mischievously, and in spite of my mood, I feel my cheeks tug up.

“I thought that’s what we were doing now.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath and mentally count to ten. “Are you done getting ready for school?” I ask, walking toward the kitchen. “Have your lunch and everything else you need?”

“Yup.” She skips next to me, her four-legged shadow close behind. When I open the refrigerator, I notice Emmy sitting, watching me intently. Closing the door, I hear my daughter sigh heavily.

“What?” I snip, placing the leftovers I grabbed for my lunch on the counter. My daughter was fed, the dog was fed, and I think I ate, though honestly, the last hour has been one big chaotic blur of activity.

“You need to give her a treat when she’s sitting nicely.” My patience is all but gone, and I roll my eyes only to be servedup with my daughter’s chastising scowl. How am I going to live through her teenage years if I can’t survive the single digits?

Turning back to the leftovers, I grab a container from the cabinet and start transferring the remaining food. A tapping sound comes from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find my beautiful child with arms crossed and tapping a foot at me.

This time, a smile breaks free.

“Fine,” I huff out a sigh, and hand over a carrot to the greyhound, who seems to have a bottomless pit for a stomach. “Here, Little Miss.”

“That was great, Daddy!” Scarlett chirps excitedly. “See how easy that was? Good girl, Emmy.”

My mouth drops, and I stare at her while my dog swallows the carrot without chewing. Scrubbing my forehead, I try not to groan.

How am I going to get through today? Or more accurately, the rest of my life?

“I’m here!” Ava’s voice rings through the house, and the pressure in my shoulders loosens. That is, until the deep noise of Emmy’s bark slams through my body.

“Aunt Ava!” Scarlett runs to the front door. Following, I stop and lean against the kitchen door frame as my daughter flies into her aunt’s arms. The dog looks like she wants to be held by Ava, too. “Isn’t she pretty?”

Ava’s eyes dart to Emmy. “Very.” A wide grin crosses her face as she turns and takes in my appearance. “You look worse in person. You may want to look in the mirror before leaving the house.”

Growling, I wave over my shoulder and walk out of the room.

“You’re welcome,” Ava calls out, and I mumble something unintelligible. I don’t have the energy to show how grateful I am that she’s here, I have to get ready for work.

Scarlett’s happy voice gets quieter as they head to the car. I don’t hear any barking, so Ava must’ve taken Emmy with them for the ride.

Taking my first deep breath since walking through my door yesterday, some of the tension falls away.

When I make it to the bathroom, I lean my hands on the counter and catch a glimpse of my reflection. My hair is standing up, my eyes are red-rimmed, and I think I have egg on my shirt.

The last time I looked this disheveled was shortly after Fiona died. How am I going to make this work?

Scarlett is happy. Fiona would be happy. But I’m in over my head.

Anhourlater,I’mpulling into the stadium parking lot like a bat out of hell. The lot is nearly empty, save for a few players’ cars, making finding a spot close to the building easy. I have ten minutes before I’m late for the Smokie’s team meeting. I sent Coach a text this morning explaining my newest situation and said I’d do my best to be on time.

Luckily, he took mercy on me. But I need to get my act together.

Six months ago, the team marketing department decided that selecting some players to have their own individual social media accounts would help engage more with our fans.

The one thing I hate most in the world is social media. As the only single dad on the team, I drew the short straw, so to speak, and was one of the four players chosen.

Normally, people struggle with followers. I have that in spades—especially after Duncan and Ava got together. The struggle for me is consistent content.

I get that it’s part of my contract and that it is good to help increase fan interaction. More fans in the stands is always the goal. But like I told my agent, Finn Mitchell, it’s tough when you have an eight-year-old daughter.

One of Finn’s suggestions was to hire someone to help me. I considered it, but I’m not comfortable having someone taking pictures of me and Scarlett all the time.

Grabbing my duffel from the backseat, I lock the car and start jogging to the clubhouse entrance, my footsteps echoing through the wide walkway.

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