DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE Skate the Line: Chapter 4
“Thank Scottie for me,”—again—I say to our goalie, Emory.
He brushes me off as he heads toward his car. This is his first season with the Blue Devils, but he’s made a name for himself, and he’s made a name for this team too.
Not to mention, his wife has saved my ass multiple times. Whenever I have a situation with a nanny, she steps in and takes care of Ellie for me. It’s not her responsibility, though, and every single fucking time a nanny “goes to the bathroom” and doesn’t come back during one of my games, my anger rises to unfathomable levels.
I glance at Ellie’s rosy cheeks. It’s not often I let emotions cloud my judgment or alter my thoughts, but damn. There’s a pang of sadness lingering in the back of my mind when I glance at my daughter.
My mom said that my endless nanny situation is affecting Ellie, and I practically told her to fuck off in the politest way I could think of.
But she’s right.
Every time a nanny leaves my daughter high and dry, the wound digs deeper.
“Where do you think Laken went?” Ellie innocently asks.
She grabs onto my hand, and we walk in the direction of my truck. I try to think of a good reason for the disappearing act of her new nanny that she’ll actually believe, but she isn’t stupid. Ellie is smarter than most kids her age—at least according to her kindergarten teacher.
Last week, I had my first parent-teacher conference. I was prepared for a rundown on Ellie’s grades and maybe a few examples of how well she writes her name, but instead, what I got was a fucking intervention.
Ellie’s education isn’t our concern, Mr. Volkova. It’s her social and emotional development.
I sat in that tiny-ass chair while her teacher and Mrs. Honor, the guidance counselor, reamed me with question after question regarding Ellie’s life outside of school. They wanted to know what her schedule was like, if there was stability in her life—particularly since I’m away a lot of the time due to my hockey schedule—how she handles not having a mother figure in her life, if she does age-appropriate activities…
To top it all off, they implied that Ellie attending my games on a school night surrounded by rowdy fans, most tipsy on alcohol, isn’t age appropriate.
They weren’t wrong, but what I wanted to say was fuck off.
I’m doing the best I can.
I’m a single father who has a rigorous work schedule who can’t keep a nanny happy for more than one week at this point.
“Did you finish your homework?” I ask Ellie, ignoring her question about our recent runaway.
I catch her weary look in the rearview. “I don’t have homework, Daddy. I’m in kindergarten.”
Ah, right.
“I knew that.” I turn the truck on and play it cool. “I was just trying to catch you in a lie.”
Ellie crosses her arms and pouts. “I don’t lie to you.”
I grin. “I know.”
By the time we make it home, Ellie has fallen asleep. I know I should probably wake her up and get her in the bath or, at the very least, brush her hair, but after the game I just played, I’m near exhaustion.
Parenting is a full-time job, and I never expected I’d have to do it alone.
I never expected to be a parent in the first place.
When the court reached out and informed me that I may be the father of Ellie, I assumed there was a mix-up. After learning that it was Gia who had passed, recognizing her as a one-night stand, I willingly took a paternity test. I was always careful when it came to sex, especially with puck bunnies, so there was no chance the baby was mine.
But then, my life flipped upside down.
Considering that Gia didn’t really have a family of her own—none of whom could potentially gain custody of an infant, at least—it was up to me.
Now, here I am, a single father to a five-year-old girl who doesn’t have a mother. I’m not resentful, and I’m glad Gia put me on the birth certificate, though I wish she would have told me beforehand so I could have had at least an ounce of preparation. Regardless of all that, it gave me Ellie.
I exhale deeply after shutting Ellie’s bedroom door.
I head to the kitchen and open the fridge to snag one of the premade meals that Emory has introduced me to. High in protein, no mess, and they taste alright. Good enough for me.
As soon as I pop it into the microwave, my phone buzzes with an alert that only sounds when someone is on the property.
My hackles rise.
The door is always locked.
After having Ellie and becoming fully responsible for someone who is as helpless as it gets, my defensive abilities grew sharper. You don’t know protectiveness until you have a daughter.
I pull up the camera, and my shoulders tense.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
My blood pressure rises with each stride toward the front door. I swing it open before she can even raise a fist.
“Did you get lost?” I snap, leaning my shoulder against the doorjamb. “Kidnapped? Tricked into getting into a van with hockey players willing to let you suck their dick?”
Laken’s cheeks turn red. She gasps with surprise, and I deepen my glare.
“Don’t act surprised, Laken. You tried to suck mine on day one.”
It’s true. I found her on her knees in my bathroom one evening after I stepped out of the shower. I gave her a warning and emphasized that it was her only warning. Sure, it was after I mumbled “shlyuha” under my breath, but unless she knew fluent Russian, she had no idea that I’d called her a whore.
“I forgot my things,” she mutters.
She refuses to meet my eye. I have the urge to grip her chin and make her look at me so she can see how angry I am that she left my daughter all alone at my hockey game just hours before, but the last thing I want to do is give her a reason to start any bullshit with the media.
“Seems you forgot my daughter too,” I jab.
“I…”
I interrupt her by pushing off the doorjamb and standing tall. “Leave my property.”
Her jaw slacks.
Before I push the door shut, I give her one more warning—something I said I wouldn’t do. One and done when it comes to me.
“If I ever see you around my daughter again, I’ll have a restraining order put on you.”
“Are you kidd—”
The door latches, and the lock clicks.
I set the alarm and head toward the kitchen for my dinner.
Three bites in and I’m opening my laptop. I type the words The Nanny Roster into the search engine because I truly have no other option.