Page 59 of The Stick Handler

He shakes his head.

“Dammit.”

“How about this,” Zander says. “Write me a list and I’ll go get the stuff, while you clean this place up.”

Isn’t that just like my brother, ready to jump in and help. He’s a good guy, one full of integrity and character.

“No, we’ll go. She’s my responsibility, not yours,” Jonah’s says, and I’m glad to see him step up. He’s no doubt worried about me snipping a few of his beloved body parts. “Maybe if you could just pick up a car seat, then bring it back.”

“You sure? I don’t mind. I mean, I am Daisy’s uncle right? Not by blood, but by brotherhood for sure.”

“I think I should be the one picking out her things, bro. But thanks. And make sure you get her the best car seat. I don’t care what it costs, safety first.”

“Okay, I’ll grab the seat and be back shortly.”

Both Jonah and I nod, agreeing on something, which is a first for us—and a good sign that we’ll get done what we need to get done without too many arguments or challenges.

I head into the living room to find a bunch of Jonah’s teammates, along with their puck bunnies, making their way downstairs. I pause and give Jonah a look that says they need to go. Now. He winces like I’d just slammed him into the boards as I take sweet little Daisy from Liz, thanking her for helping out.

Jonah grips the back of his neck with one hand and rubs like he’s got a massive knot to work out. His T-shirt stretches over tight muscles as he massages, and it takes everything in me not to gawk.

“So, ah, I guess I have some explaining to do,” Jonah begins when everyone stares at the baby, all wide eyed and frightened, no doubt praying she’s not one of theirs. “Apparently, I have a daughter,” he says, and his gaze flashes to mine for a second, like he’s waiting for my reaction. I smile at him for finally accepting the fact that sweet Daisy is his. “Found out this morning.”

“Congratulations, man,” Luke, a teammate known as the Stick Handler says as he steps up to me to take a peek at the sleeping baby. None of the others get too close, probably because they’re worried it will rub off on them or something. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“So yeah, no parties for a while.”

I clear my throat to gain his attention. His eyes flash to mine.

“Or…ever again?” he asks, obviously wondering if that’s what the throat clearing meant, which of course, it did.

“Not as long as Daisy is in the house, and she’s your responsibility,” I say.

I mull that over for a second. Will having a child to care for change him, shift his priorities? I’ve seen it happen in guys; not hard-core tough guys who’ve never had to care about anyone but themselves. Well, then again, that’s not entirely true. Jonah cares about his best friend. When my brother was down and out with a concussion, Jonah checked on him every day, and I can’t forget that when he was at the hospital, he’d visit the children’s ward. Giggles would fill the hall…and my heart.

Jonah’s buddies and their girls grumble as they gather up their things and file out the front door. Looking like a kicked puppy—like he’s never going to have fun again—Jonah shuts it tightly behind him.

“Back in a few,” Zander says, rattling his keys, and he and Liz leave through the side door leading to the garage, where he must have parked his car last night.

Jonah turns to me when we’re the only two left in the house. “Do you want me to take her from you?” he asks, his voice as shaky as his outstretched hands.

“I think we should lay her down,” I say quietly. “Let her sleep.”

Jonah scratches his chin. “I don’t have a crib yet.”

“She doesn’t move much at this age. I’d put her in a bed, and secure her with pillows, but I’m guessing all the beds have been slept in.”

He gives me a sheepish look. “Ah, yeah.”

“Then you get the bedding washed and I’ll set her up here on the sofa.” I walk across the room and set her down. As I do, I note the way Jonah is studying the way I handle her. She stretches out and I tuck her in, place cushions on the outside of her so she can’t roll off. “I’d rather have her close anyway. At least until we get a baby monitor and can hear her cries.”

“They neigh

bors can hear her cries, Quinn,” he says, and for some reason that makes me laugh.

“You think that’s funny?” he says, his mood lightening slightly. “I thought my head was going to split in two.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “How can something so tiny make so much noise.”

“If you’re looking for sympathy, forget it. Your headache was your own fault, and you can’t drink like that as long as you have Daisy.”

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