Page 7 of The Cutting Edge
And in a second of aggravation, I smacked the shit out of that puck, just as Poppy and Coco entered the rink. Poppy loves her, and nearly every dinner conversation includes some mention of the funny thing Miss Coco said at practice, or how pretty she is, or how she can hold a sit spin for eleven hours or something.
Poppy’s not wrong. Coco isn’t just pretty, she’s magnetic. There’s just something that draws you in. Not that Instagram-filtered, extra everything, airbrushed and glossed kind of pretty you normally see with puck bunnies. She’s got this beautiful creamy skin that looks like silk. Big green eyes. Her hair is reddish brown, which she always keeps up in a tight knot on top of her head. Figure skating hair.
Is it weird that I have a recurring fantasy about watching her do one of those long spins out on the ice, and in one deft move she pulls one of those long chopstick things out of her hair, and it all fans out like some elegant auburn scarf as she throws her head back and spins faster and faster?
Probably.
I mean, what does that even mean? That’s a weird fucking dream.
And now she’s in the hospital with a concussion, because of me.
“Daddy, where are we going?” Poppy pierces my thoughts and she tugs on my hand. “I’m hungry.”
“We’re going to pick up Miss Coco’s friend Ms. Markam upstairs.“
“Is she sick?” asks Poppy, her big hazel eyes brimming with concern.
"The hospital has given her some medicine to help her get better, but sometimes the medicine makes her feel really sick before she starts feeling better. So we're going to make sure she's okay since Miss Coco needs to be checked out by the doctor."
"Because you hit her in the head with a hockey puck? "
"Yes. I feel really bad about hurting Miss Coco.”
Poppy stops and squeezes my legs so hard I can't keep walking without stumbling over her.
"It's okay Daddy, she knows it was an accident."
"Thanks, Poppycakes, that means a lot." I lean down, wrap my arms around her, and kiss the top of her head. Scooping her up, I say, “Let's go find out what the situation is with Mrs. Markham, and then we’ll get you some food."
We enter the elevator and I let Poppy mash the elevator button, because for some reason she loves it. What can I say? My girl likes to be in charge, and I like to encourage that whenever I can. It’s never too early to start building those leadership skills.
"What floor, Daddy?"
"Seven."
As we ride up, I shoot a quick text message to Lana, the team’s publicist, to schedule a home nurse to stay with Mrs. Markham overnight and tomorrow, just to be safe, and promise to text the address as soon as I have it. Lana is one of those super-capable people who always knows how to handle herself in any situation.
I don't want Coco to get out of the hospital tomorrow and have to rush right over to take care of Mrs. Markham. She will definitely need some time to recover on her own.
When the elevator door opens on the seventh floor, we follow the signs toward the chemotherapy wing and check in with the nurses' station right outside the door.
"Hi, I'm Logan Rivers, here to pick up Eloise Markham from her chemo treatment."
“Oh, I know who you are,” The nurse smiles at me enthusiastically, which is sometimes a rush, and sometimes annoying as hell. Normally, I used to assume that they were just being friendly, but after so many folded-up numbers surreptitiously slipped to me, I got the sense that people were looking for more than just a good review on Yelp.
“Would you like to go in and see her?”
"Thanks," I say, trying to balance betweenfan-friendlyandleave me alone,I’m in a hospital with my kid. “We’d love to go and sit with her."
“Follow me, handsome,” says the nurse, as she comes out from behind the desk. She loops her hand in the crook of my bicep and gets as close to eye level with Poppy as she can. "Remember, there are a lot of sick people in here, so let's be on our best behavior and be very quiet."
I smile and say "Yes, ma'am" and give a quick nod to Poppy.
She echoes me back, "Yes ma'am."
The nurse seems satisfied, and leads us into the chemo suite, still hanging on to my arm. Poppy notices the nurse’s grip on my bicep and rolls her eyes. At this stage in her life, she’s not super enthusiastic about anyone else trying to catch my attention. Which is challenging, because when you play professional hockey, attention from strangers is a big part of the equation.
It’s okay, Poppy knows she’ll always be my number-one girl. And I do what I can to keep the fandemonium away from her. I can’t necessarily control everything that happens when we’re out in public, but our home is a safe space for her, which is why I don’t ever even bring dates over. Well, that and the fact that Rufus, our dog, is not exactly stranger friendly. Poppy’s going through a rough time right now with all the attention, and the least I can do is make it as easy on her as possible.
