“I think it was Cousteau. Or maybe it's Couturier? Something like that, some French name. Heck, it's on the back of Irie's jersey. Just gotta look at it later.”
But Paige wouldn't wait until later. She immediately wrestled with Irie's winter coat, desperately needing to know the player's name. But sleeping Irie didn't appreciate being jostled about so crudely—she woke, letting out a loud and betrayed cry.
“Paige!” her Mom reprimanded her. “What's your problem? You woke her!”
But peeling the back of Irie's winter coat away, Paige could finally read the jersey's nameplate. She read the name aloud, “Couture,” and immediately began to bounce and rock her daughter in her arms. “Shh. I know, sweety, I'm sorry. You had a long day.”
Dad wagged his index finger. “That's right. Couture.”
“Who does he play for?” Paige asked, urgency rising in her voice.
“The Boston Brawlers.”
Paige gulped.Boston.The coincidences were starting to add up …
“Do you know his first name?” she asked as she pulled her phone from her purse.
Dad shook his head. “No, I don't. Why? Are you becoming a hockey fan now too?”
Paige didn't answer. With Irie in one arm, she busily tapped at her phone with her free hand. She typed the words, “boston brawlers hockey couture” into her search browserand hit enter.
The web page loaded in a flash, spilling information before her very eyes.
Lance Couture, #21, plays center for the Boston Brawlers.
Histeampicture stared back at her.
“Oh my God,” Paige whispered quietly under her breath. “Oh my God.”
It was him. Ithadto be him.
Her heart pounded and she felt as light as air. On one hand, she waselated,and she knew she was grinning like a maniac.But she had reason to—becausethis was him, it had to be! Shefinallyknew who Irie's father was! Adrenaline flooded her bloodstream. She wanted to act, she wanted to do something about itnow.
But what was she supposed to do with this information? It could still beweeksbefore she got a hold of him … her smile began to fade, an expression of worry taking its place.
What should I even do?
“Um, sweety?” Dad asked, his brow furrowing. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she answered huskily, unconvincingly. “I'm just—surprised. That's all.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I was too. It was a pretty neat moment.”
Paige zipped Irie's coat back up and hurriedly gathered her things. “Hey, thanks again for watching her.”
Mom frowned. “You're leaving already?”
“Yeah, I've gotta go.”
Where, she didn't know. But she knew she had to gosomewhere. She needed to talk to someone who might be able to help.
“Why don't you two stay the night?” Dad asked, concerned. “The streets are still pretty bad out there, you know.”
Mom agreed. “Yeah, Paige, listen to your father! Spend the night with us.”
“No, thank you! I'm sorry, but I really have to run! Thanks again!”
Outside, Paige strapped Irie into her car seat. She was still sobbing when they drove off.
