Page 89 of My Lucky Charm

“Sorry, she insisted on calling,” she says.

“It’s fine.” I push my hand through my hair and turn a circle. I’m standing near the coach’s office, but the door’s closed, and I think this is about as private a place as I’m going to get in a locker room full of hockey players. “I don’t ever want her to feel like she can’t call me.”

“I didn’t know she was going to ask about the game,” Eloise says, her voice low. “I wasn’t sure how you felt about that.”

“Do you think it would be okay to bring her?” I ask. “I mean, are you comfortable bringing her?”

“Of course,” she says. “Can I give her the VIP treatment?”

“Like sit in a box?”

“No way,” she says. “Like Chicago style hot dogs and giant Cokes.”

“That’s the VIP treatment?” I ask.

“What can I say? I’m a simple girl.”

If I close my eyes, I’ll be able to pull up an image of Eloise, smiling. I don’t close my eyes for fear that I’ll never want to open them again.

“I’m fine with that,” I say. “But keep a low profile. I don’t know this place like I know Philly, and the last thing I need is for my kid to get splashed around the headlines.”

“Got it.”

“And she wants a jersey. I’ll get her one in the team store.” When I’m going to do that, I have no idea.

“No, I’ll get it,” she says. “You don’t have to worry about it. We’ll go get one beforehand.”

Growing up, my dad was almost always at the games, but it felt less like support and more like criticism having him behind the glass.

This doesn’t feel like that. In fact, it feels exactly the opposite of that.

Up to this point, Scarlett hasn’t been a regular at my games. When she was younger, Celeste and I kept Scarlett to ourselves. My dad had made it clear that news, any news, could damage my career. He wasn’t worried about what my life might do to Scarlett, of course. Only that this news might “ruin my reputation” or “be too much of a distraction.”

Whatever.

Telling him Celeste was pregnant was one of the worst days of my life. I knew before I said a word how the conversation would go, and I was right. My father held nothing back. Told me I was an idiot for losing my focus. Told me women were a liability. Told me I was destroying everything he’d worked so hard for.

Everything he’d worked so hard for.

And then he told me to walk away. To tell Celeste I didn’t want anything to do with her or the baby.

That was a lightbulb moment for me.

That was the moment I started playing angry. I didn’t have the words to silence him, so I let it out on the ice.

And when fights broke out during my games, I was usually the one to blame, because I had to find an outlet for the way he made me feel.

Funnily, my dad never disciplined me for fighting. Only for being weak.

Eloise must sense something because she says, “Don’t worry about her while you’re out there. Just focus on your game, and I’ll focus on Scarlett.”

Again, the nervous buzz inside me goes quiet.

“Okay,” I say on a sigh. “But if there are any fights . . .” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

“I’ll make her look away,” she says. “Or who knows? She might pound the glass with both fists and yell for you to kill the guy,” she says laughing. Then, more serious, “I’ve got her. Just be careful, okay?”

Those words carry more weight than they should. No one’s told me to be careful since I was a kid. I’m more accustomed to “be aggressive” and “get tougher.”

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