Page 2 of Sweet Thing

“Hey, Mom, I can take her.”

“Addy!” Kershaw pulled the new arrival, his eldest daughter, into a hug. “Don’t leave me.”

Standing on tip-toes, Adeline kissed her dad on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”

Kershaw turned to me. “My beautiful girl is finally fleeing the nest.”

“After a couple of false starts,” she murmured, her cheeks filling with color.

I didn’t know Adeline all that well. While she had her dad’s green eyes and dark hair, she favored her mom with that stubborn chin and a reserve that bordered on shyness. With the birth of Tilly, a surprise for Elle who had thought her childbearing days were long behind her, Adeline left college in Vermont and stayed home to help out. She had returned to a local community college in the last couple of years and finished up an associate’s degree, and now she and her best friend, Rosie, were all set to embark on a bout of overseas travel.

Out of politeness, I asked, “Where’s your first stop?”

“Lisbon. Rosie’s already been, and she thinks it’s a good place to get our feet wet.”

“You’re going to have a great time.”

“Don’t say that!” Kershaw hugged his daughter tighter. “She might never come home.”

“How about this, Dad? I’ll come home when you announce your retirement.”

“I’ll announce it right now if it means you’re safe with us!”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll wait.” She smiled, a real heavy hitter even prettier for its rarity. But there was challenge in there. This Kershaw knew exactly what she was doing.

Her dad caved immediately. “Gonna miss you, Twinkle. We all will.”

“I know,” she said softly. “Okay, Tilly, let’s find Ducky! And when we do, we’ll sing his song.”

Elle waved at Jordan, wife of former Rebel Levi Hunt, and excused herself. Kershaw watched his wife and daughters move away, his face luminous, his love for them so plain that I was embarrassed at witnessing such depth of feeling. I couldn’t imagine having time for that and still retaining my edge on the ice.

“Man, I worry about her,” he said after a moment, and I knew he wasn’t talking about his wife or youngest daughter.

“She seems like she has a good head on her shoulders.” At twenty-two, Adeline was definitely old enough to be flying the coop.

Kershaw frowned. “Yeah, she does. But she’s spent hardly any time away from home. She tried with college, but it wasn’t for her, and now I feel like she’s just doing this to prove something.”

“Isn’t that a kid’s job? Test the boundaries while they figure things out?”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it. It’s a daughter thing, which I know makes me a complete sexist. One day you’ll understand.”

“A good soldier never disagrees with his captain.” I neglected to add that I would never know the feeling because I would never have kids.

He grinned. “Dick. Okay, let’s get you a drink and a burger. I left O’Malley on the grill, so God only knows what a mess he’s made of it.”

Dex O’Malley was another Rebels legend, a power forward who exuded all the maturity of a baby bunny rabbit yet had somehow managed to score an amazing wife, three gorgeous daughters, and a dream life. Equally shocking, as assistant captain, he was in the running for the full gig once Kershaw decided to hang up his skates.

I had no idea how the cap did it, especially when he had so much else to occupy him: family, charity work, mentoring, various business ventures. I admired the fuck out of him, though I wouldn’t want his life.

Or maybe I thought a life like that would never want me.

I putin a couple of hours of mingling, ate two burgers and a “Moroccan lamb slider,” courtesy of Jude, Hudson Grey’s husband, and enjoyed a monosyllabic chat with Bren St. James, another retired Rebel who hated these gatherings as much as I did. I was contemplating my exit when I was accosted by Aurora Kershaw on my way into the house to use the facilities.

Theo’s grandmother was a bit of a legend herself. Having raised him single-handedly, she was his biggest influence. After beating breast cancer about ten years back, she moved from Saugatuck, Michigan to Riverbrook, Illinois, twenty miles outside Chicago and home of the Rebels hockey franchise, to live with her grandson and his growing family. She was also the leader of Theo’s Tarts, the fan club for women of a certain age, which she’d formed to cheer on the captain during his home games. They even had homemade jackets.

“Lars Nyquist! Come here and let me get a look at you.”

Petite, with a gray bob and sharp blue eyes, she grasped my arms. Though she barely came up to my pecs, she managed to land a lipstick-stained smooch on my neck. (I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there.)

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