Skate the Line: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Blue Devils Hockey Book 2)

This is a total disaster.

Ellie and I are covered from head to toe in paint. I’m glad Marco recommended I put plastic down on the floor and over the furniture before we opened the paint cans, because otherwise, Rhodes would probably fire me on the spot.

I tap my paint-covered finger on my chin and turn to Ellie. “Maybe we should just do one big rainbow?”

There’s white paint in her hair, on her nose, and both hands. Thankfully, I lent her one of my old T-shirts—one that I was going to get rid of anyway—as it, too, is covered in paint splatters.

She gasps. “Wait! I have an idea!”

I gasp right back. “Oh, please tell.”

“What if you did the sun?”

I glance back at the wall. “The sun?”

“Yeah! One big sun!” Ellie scurries over to the sticky wall, now painted white. She traces a huge sun in the air that would practically cover the whole wall.

She turns toward me, waiting to see my reaction.

I smile. “I love it. It’s like you already knew my favorite color is yellow.”

Over the last week, she’s opened up a little here and there. She remains fiercely independent—something I can relate to—and is still leery when I go to the bathroom during Rhodes’s hockey games, but I’m hopeful for improvements as time goes on.

One morning, before the school day started, Marco and I watched her from the car while she played on the playground. She played alone, but it wasn’t for lack of friends. Several little girls came up to her, chatted, and then walked away.

My heart shattered with how alone she looked. I didn’t say anything to her dad, because he didn’t hire me for parenting advice. But I am going to take it upon myself to continue to build a rapport with her—ask for her advice on things, play games, paint together, do activities that someone her age should be doing instead of worrying that I’m going to disappear like all the rest.

Maybe then, she’ll open up to more people—hopefully, some her age.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask her.

Her little mouth forms a frown. “Blue.”

I walk over and find the paint can full of yellow paint. I try to remain busy so she doesn’t think this is a test.

“Why do you look sad about that?”

She watches my every move. “Because one of the boys at school said it’s a boy color.”

I begin to stir the paint. “That’s their opinion, and their opinion doesn’t really matter.”

“It doesn’t?” she asks.

I shake my head and turn around to grab her hand. I place it on the paint stirrer and place my hand over hers so we can stir together. “There are going to be plenty of people in your life that don’t agree with something that you like. But as long as you like it, it doesn’t matter what they think.”

She nods slowly and accepts my advice. “Okay.”

I probe a little further. “Are there any other girls that like blue?”

Without looking up from the yellow paint, she answers, “Jacie. She likes it because it’s the color of her soccer team.”

“Lookie there,” I say, “two girls who like the color blue.”

She giggles. “I like it because it’s the color of my dad’s jersey.”

Speaking of.

I glance at my phone.

It’s nearly time for dinner.

Rhodes should be home soon.

We’ve fallen into an easy routine. When he gets home from his second practice, he takes over with Ellie. I usually head upstairs, call in and check on Nana, or if I’m really trying to kill time, I’ll sketch or make some sort of figurine out of clay and wait until he’s busy with the bedtime routine to slip back into the kitchen to make myself something to eat with the few groceries I picked up.

I can’t expect him to make me dinner, and I don’t want to overstep and make Ellie and myself both dinner without asking him if he’d like some.

It’s too weird.

Too family-like.

Too much like before.

“Why don’t you go paint the biggest smiley face ever on the wall and then go wash up before your dad gets home?”

“A smiley face?” Her little brows fold inward.

I smile. “I’d love knowing there was an Ellie-painted smiley face on the wall before I painted the sun. It’ll make the sun happier.”

She giggles and rushes over with a yellow-tipped paintbrush.

I take it upon myself to check out the rest of the room. I dip my own paintbrush in the primer and walk over to the corner while Ellie works on her masterpiece.

I’m not the shortest person in the room, but I still can’t reach the spot I need.

Nibbling on my lip, I try to come up with some master plan to get those hard-to-reach spots. Rhodes went a little overboard with furnishing the room, liking spending way too much money, so standing on the brand-new nightstand is out of the question, especially when he’s due home any second.

I jump up and swipe my paintbrush in the direction I need to reach. A huff rushes from my puffed-out cheeks when I miss.

Ugh.

I glance back at Ellie.

She’s too busy painting to pay any attention to me.

I jump again, but this time, I drop the paintbrush. It hits me in the head. I try to wipe the paint off my forehead, but I end up smearing it.

I quickly grab my worn and tattered art books—something I’d never leave behind in Washington—and begin stacking them.

Perfect.

My own little ladder.

With careful consideration, I quietly climb on top. It’s not that many, three total, but they’re thick and raise me at least a foot.

“A-ha!” I exclaim under my breath.

I’m on my tippy-toes, balancing on a stack of books, which is something my nana would scold me for, but if I just stretch a little farther…there.

I smile and attempt to lower myself.

Only, the books aren’t as stable as I thought.

Oh, shit.

My arms fling backward, and my heart stops.

Except, I never hit the ground.

I’m balancing on a wobbly stack of books, but I’m as steady as can be because two large hands fall to my waist and keep me still.

By the olive-colored skin tone and veins bursting with strength, I know it’s not Marco who is behind me.

Instead, it’s Rhodes.

My boss.