Steele

by Bennett, Sawyer

  That’s my kid, I think with another puff of pride.

  I love talking about this stuff with her, and I probably don’t even know the half of what goes into Lucy’s school and education because I’m gone so much. Sure, I’d sit down with her on occasion and help with schoolwork, but the majority of that fell on Ella.

  Frankly, it became easier to let Ella handle it. I probably missed out on a lot of instances where I would have these moments of satisfaction to see my kid flourishing.

  Over time, Ella maintained Lucy’s schedule and ensured she was a good student, made her piano lessons on time, and enforced the chores she had to do. My wife was the boundary maker and more the disciplinarian if needed.

  Me?

  I got to be the fun dad who was here for small patches of time, so I could swoop in and show Lucy how great I was. When I had days off, I would always plan something monumentally fun. I’d hope like hell that my kid loved me enough for these small showings of time and affection I could give her.

  Focusing what free time I had with Lucy meant Ella often took a backseat to her daughter in the time we spent together. But Ella never minded because Lucy’s happiness was more important. Ella was more than fine with her place behind Lucy in my limited time, but now I know she was never fine with the way she came behind hockey and my own whims.

  That’s what I need to fix.

  Lucy chatters along without realizing where we are until I pull into the parking lot of “Big Bob’s Putt-Putt Palace”. She’s never been here before, but neither have I. In fact, it’s been a few years since we’ve been to a putt-putt course.

  She looks over as I pull into a parking spot. “What are we doing here?”

  I sweep a flourished hand toward the big marquis sign that says, “Big Bob’s Putt-Putt Palace”. It has a portly-looking fellow—who I suppose is Big Bob—with a golf club slung over his shoulder and a broad smile.

  “Putt-putt,” I say simply.

  Lucy stares blankly for a moment, then cocks an eyebrow.

  “Oh, come on… you used to love doing this with me. We’ll play horribly and pretend to be TV announcers, whispering play-by-plays as we mock the other people who are actually better than us. Then… wait for it… ice cream!”

  “Sounds lame,” she mutters.

  I frown, not expecting this. Lucy loves doing goofy stuff with me. “Want to go to a movie?”

  “Lame.”

  “Ice skating?” I venture. Lucy’s good, and yeah… she gets that from me.

  I get an eye roll in return. “Seriously, Dad… don’t you ever get sick of the ice?”

  I twist to peer out my window, so she doesn’t see the wince that comes unbidden to my face. That was a direct slam against me.

  It is a clear thought I often have. Without repentance, I put hockey above my family, especially above her mother. Lucy might be thirteen, but she’s not stupid, nor is she oblivious to how her parents’ marriage disintegrated. While I know Ella would never share details or complaints with Lucy, it would not be difficult for my daughter to discern I often made her mom sad.

  That fucking hurts, and I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone.

  Turning to face Lucy, I put on my fun-dad face. “All right… tell me what you want to do, and I’m on it.”

  “Can we just go to your house and hang for the day?” she asks dully.

  In other words—I don’t want to do anything with you, Dad. I want to go to my bedroom, shut the door, and listen to music or read a book. I’d bet a million dollars that’s exactly how today will play out if I agree to it.

  I make a last stab at a connection. “Come on, kid… tell me what’s eating you.”

  She whirls on me, eyes accusing. “If you’d been around more, you’d know.”

  It does me no good to offer her a different perspective. That many people in the world have jobs that require them to travel. I’m not the only dad in the world like this. And we find ways to make it work. While I might be gone a lot, it doesn’t mean I love her any less and when it matters, I’m there.

  Except… that hasn’t always been true.

  Four years ago, Lucy had a piano recital. She was so excited about it because it fell during a period we had three back-to-back home games, and I could attend. Lucy had been teetering back and forth about whether she wanted to stick with it. While Ella and I started her on lessons when she was six, we knew she was getting old enough to make her own choice if she wanted to continue. We felt it was important that she have a passion for it.

  Of course, I promised I’d be there.

  Except at the last moment, I realized I had forgotten to switch a meeting I had with my agent and the Royals’ general manager to discuss a contract extension. I had known the meeting was set and had every intention of getting it moved, but, like always, with me putting in extra practices and workouts and hanging out with some of my teammates, I pretty much forgot all about it.

  Ella was in charge of our schedule and when she reminded me about the recital, which conflicted directly with my contract meeting, we ended up getting in one of our worst fights ever.

  Ella demanded I cancel the meeting.

  I’d told her it was impossible as it was our livelihood we were talking about.

  “You’re going to let down Lucy in a way she won’t forgive,” Ella stated.

  I refused to believe that. “She’ll have other recitals, and besides that, my role in taking care of this family is just as important as attending a recital. This deal could help seal our future.”

  Ella’s eyes went frosty, and her sarcastic voice chilled me to the bone. “I’m sure your nine-year-old daughter will understand the intricacies of balancing good parenting with business opportunities.”

  “I’ll buy her a big bouquet of flowers,” I replied, brushing off her comment even though I knew deep in my gut it was true. I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, though. “I’ll take her out for something special later.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Ella murmured so softly it packed an even bigger punch.

  She turned and stalked away from me.

  That day, I got more than I had anticipated in negotiations. It was one of the best deals the Royals had ever given a player. Ella sent me a text with a video of Lucy’s performance, and it was beautiful. I made sure to show it to my buddies—my closest teammates—who I went out with for a celebratory beer after I signed the documents.

  When I got home, Lucy and her mom were cuddled on the couch, watching a movie. I sat beside Lucy, tugged on her hair playfully, and asked if she wanted to go out to a special daddy-daughter dinner to celebrate her recital. I made sure to tell her how much I loved the piece she played.

  “No, thank you,” she replied quietly, not taking her eyes off the movie. I’ll never forget what they were watching—Tangled—a movie she adored and had watched a bazillion times before on DVD. I know this because I’d watched it with her several times myself.

  “Oh, come on,” I coaxed, trying to tickle her in the ribs a little. She squirmed closer to her mom, not laughing from the tickle but grimacing like she didn’t want to be touched.

  Ella stared over Lucy with sorrow in her eyes. She gave a tiny shake of her head, but I wasn’t ready to give up.

  “Vinnie’s Steakhouse,” I tried to tempt her because my kid loves beef. “We’ll split that big thirty-ounce ribeye. It will be a celebration.”

  “Nothing to celebrate,” Lucy muttered, her head resting on her mom’s shoulder and her arm crossed over her belly. Ella cuddled her with an arm around her shoulder. It had been clear they were a unit, and I hadn’t been included.

  I looked back at Ella, who advised me, “Lucy decided she wants to stop piano lessons, so that was her last recital.”

  “Oh,” I’d replied stupidly.

  I couldn’t think of another damn thing to say because to do so would be disingenuous. There’s no doubt I killed my daughter’s potential love of the piano by not coming to her recital. I knew that
because of Ella’s expression of disappointment and Lucy’s dull dismissal.

  Soundlessly, I’d gone into the kitchen and blankly looked around. Should I get something to eat? Cook them dinner?

  Instead, I moved upstairs, figuring I’d watch TV on the couch in the bonus room. My mind was swirling with guilt. My brain was trying to make me rationalize—attempting to convince me that I did the right thing for my family and that, one day, Lucy and Ella would appreciate it.

  As I walked by Lucy’s room, I glanced in as the door was wide open. I had indeed bought her a huge bouquet of flowers that I gave her before I left for my meeting.

  They’d been stuffed into her garbage can beside her desk.

  I blink out of that memory, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. Far heavier and more pressing than it ever was in the past, because, back then, I refused to cope with it. I made myself feel better by telling myself over and over again that I made the right decision for my family that day. That I would make up for it. Lucy would forgive me, and all would be okay.

  I’m not sure if she ever did forgive me, but as I sit here next to her, I realize I have far more to make up for than just with Ella. I need to win my daughter back, too.

  “Let’s go hang out at my house then,” I concede, not wanting to push her away by making her try to relive those great times we had together.

  ♦

  It’s not so bad hanging at the house. To my surprise, Lucy didn’t hole up in her room. Instead, she stayed in the living room with me, binge-watching Marvel movies. We engage in a frequent debate—who is the strongest Avenger?

  I say The Hulk.

  She’s clearly Team Thor, and yeah… she has a little bit of a dreamy-like voice when she talks about him.

  Christ, she’s growing up too fast.

  We make homemade pizza for dinner, splitting it in half. She’s strictly a pepperoni girl, and I load mine with veggies in addition to pepperoni and crumbled sausage.

  As we’re eating at the kitchen table, I ask, “Want to come to the game tomorrow? You can bring friends if you want. Just tell me how many tickets.”

  Lucy shrugs, picking a piece of pepperoni off her pizza.

  Her reticence doesn’t surprise me. Lucy and Ella used to come to most home games together. Sometimes, if a school event interfered, they’d have to skip. For the most part, though, they were always there to cheer me on.

  That changed when Ella and I separated, and she stopped coming. That hurt, too, because it was April and the playoffs were just starting. Lucy would come to some games, usually with a friend and their parents since I’d provide the tickets, but she didn’t come to many.

  “Not into hockey anymore?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Not so much,” she mumbles, but I don’t buy it.

  Pushing my plate a few inches away, I cross my forearms on the table and lean toward her. “Lucy… you begged me to have a party this summer with the Cup so you could invite all your friends. I know you’re still into it.”

  And that pleased me. While Lucy didn’t come to all my games, she was there for the final round and was so proud of her old man for winning the Cup championship. But that excitement has fizzled away now the new season has started and I’m back into work mode again.

  When she stays silent, I push a little, possibly for my own ego. “Come on, kid. You used to be my biggest fan. You love hockey. Has so much changed in so little time?”

  And fuck if I’m not suddenly afraid of that answer. I’m only slightly relieved when she says, “I’m thirteen. My interests have changed.”

  “Like what?” I ask curiously, eager to know these things about my daughter.

  Lucy works another piece of pepperoni off and ignores my question, nibbling on it while staring at her plate.

  “Boys?” I take a guess exaggeratingly in a hysterical, high-pitched tone. “Is it boys? It can’t be boys.”

  Lucy snorts, trying not to laugh.

  It better not fucking be boys. I’m not ready for that.

  Reaching out, I tug gently on a lock of her hair, forcing her to look at me. “You know I love you, right?”

  “I know,” she rushes to assure me. She may be moody and have some bitter feelings toward me here and there, but my kid loves me. She’s such a softie—it would kill her to think I might be insecure about it.

  “I don’t like seeing you like this,” I continue. “I might have done things wrong in the past, but I’m trying, Luce. I want things to be good between us again.”

  Her eyes flare with shock. I’ve never come out and admitted my faults, because, well… let’s face it. I’d been far too immersed in my hockey life to realize I’d become a douche of a husband and father at times.

  Not all the time, mind you. I will continue to give myself credit for the good things I did, but, in the end, it hadn’t been enough to keep Ella happy.

  In the end, Lucy suffered some because of my focus on work instead of family.

  Her eyes dart away as if she’s considering something, and I wait expectantly. Maybe she’s going to open up and pour out her feelings to me. I’m ready for it.

  Ready to listen, and validate, and reassure her that she’s the love of my life.

  Lucy’s gaze comes back to me, expression serious.

  I brace.

  “Can I get a puppy?” she asks candidly without a hint of hesitation in her request.

  There’s no stopping the unlocking of my jaw and the dropping of my mouth because this was the last thing I expected her to say.

  I’m so caught off guard I can’t even think to immediately tell her “no,” which gives her time to launch into all the reasons why she should.

  “I know you have allergies, Dad,” she says quickly, eyes sparkling, and I can tell she’s rehearsed this. “But they have medicine. And I’ve watched Samson, so I know how to take care of one.”

  “Samson is an adult dog who is well trained,” I point out. We’ve dog sat for Kane’s fiancée’s dog on a couple occasions, once at my house and once at Ella’s. I figured this request might be coming. “Having a puppy is a lot more work than Samson.”

  “Mom says it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you,” she presses. “Because I’d want my puppy to come with me whether I was staying there or here.”

  I heave a sigh. “Lucy… puppies are a lot of work. You have to potty train them, teach them manners, and they get up at all hours of the night.”

  “I promise I’ll do all of that,” she exclaims. Her expression is so earnest that I believe her.

  “Like how you were supposed to take care of your fish?” I can’t help but remind her. She forgot to feed him, and he died.

  Lucy rolls her eyes. “I was seven. I’ve matured some, don’t you think?”

  She has a point.

  Still, it’s obvious part of her request is manipulation because she threw it at me when I opened myself up to vulnerability. She knows I’m trying, and she’s throwing me a clear bone.

  Buy her a puppy, and all will be forgiven.

  I’ll be damned if I’m going to win my daughter over in such a cop-out way.

  Still, I don’t discount it entirely.

  “Tell you what,” I say as I reach out and take her hand in mine. “I promise to give it some really serious thought. And I’ll talk to your mom.”

  “Really?” she screeches, squeezing my hand and bouncing in her seat.

  “We’ll think about it and talk about it,” I reiterate in a calm, even voice. But there’s no stopping her excitement. The mere fact I’m willing to consider it is a huge victory because she also knows when I make my mind up about something, I don’t change it.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” She tugs her hand free, launches off the chair, and throws herself at me.

  I’m so surprised at the spontaneous act of affection that I almost don’t hug her back. It’s been so long since she’s shown this to me and I have to say, it’s the best feeling in the world.

  I squeeze her
tight, pressing my face into her neck, wishing my sweet girl will always love me the way she does right now.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ella

  I love my vanity. It was one of the main selling points of this house when we were hunting last year after Jim got traded to the Vengeance. It’s in the middle of the long, two-sink vanity and about four inches lower so I can sit in a chair to do my makeup and hair. It has a built-in makeup mirror framed in silver with a magnifying lens to one side for detailed eye makeup work.

  Most women look at the kitchen first—and ours is fabulous—but I like primping, taking my time with my hair and makeup, and this little piece of the house just called to me.

  I think the reason I like primping so much is I don’t do it often. For years as a stay-at-home mom, I didn’t bother with such things. I might slap on some mascara to run out to the grocery store, but that’s it. During the years I got my degree—same. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone as I was happily married.

  Even now, unless I’m doing a Zoom meeting with my ad agency team in New York, I don’t bother. Hell, I’m lucky if I get out of my pajamas on any given workday.

  I would get dolled up when Jim and I went out on a date or a team-related function. Those moments weren’t infrequent, but they weren’t often. Regardless, I cherished them because I’d always been a girlie-girl, and I can tell Lucy is going to be the same way.

  Tonight, I’m sitting in front of my vanity, adding waves to my long hair with a round iron. My makeup is done to perfection, and my hair is coming along nicely.

  I’m getting ready for a date, except it’s not with my husband. While he’s spending the evening with our daughter, I’m going out with David, the man I’ve been dating for the last three weeks. I’m paying extra attention with my appearance, wanting to knock his socks off.

  It galls me the reason I want to do this is because I don’t want to give any credence to how much I’ve been thinking about Jim since he visited yesterday.

  And that kiss we shared.

  And the feelings it stirred, not just from his touch, but from his declaration he wants me back.