Lance stopped in his tracks. The girl had the same hunter green eyes he did. She was as towheaded as Lance had been as a child, too.
“Oh my God,” he muttered.
His heart swelled and throbbed. He knew it then. He didn't have to be told and he didn't have to ask any questions. He just had tolookat her. It was like looking into a mirror. Or maybe more accurately, like looking at his own baby pictures from the Couture family photo album.
“Here's yourbookmark,” Paige said quietly—and it finally dawned on Lance why Paige had asked if he remembered the pickup line he'd used on her back at Zickell's.
Irie wore a cute pink headband with a little bow over her platinum blonde hair. She also wore a black and yellow Brawlers home jersey.
Lance turned to Paige. “She's uh. She's wearing my name and number, isn't she?”
Paige smiled at him. “Lucky number twenty-one.”
“How long did you know …?”
“Not even twenty-four hours.”
“But … the jersey,” Lance said, scratching at his head.
“My Dad noticed that Irie started showing an interest in hockey. So, last night, he took her to the Fury game. They sat front row. And that's where, apparently, she caught your eye.”
“I remember that, yeah. She was just—dancing and staring at me. I never even notice people in the crowd! But, last night … for some reason …”
“I saw the footage on my Dad's cell phone. It was so cute, Lance. Your team made sure that Irie went home with a free jersey.”
“And that's when you figured out who I was?”
Paige gave him her eyes. “Crazy, isn't it?”
“Jesus.” Lance shook his head, stunned. He whispered in Paige's ear. “So, er, what am I supposed to do?”
Paige giggled. “Just talk to her.”
Lance knelt, his knees sinking into the plush white carpet. “Hey there, Irie. Gosh, you're adorable, aren't you? I'm happy to meet you.” He put out his massive hand to shake. “My name's Lance.” But as soon as he said it, he winced and pulled his hand back. That felt wrong. He wasDad,not Lance, and who the hell shakes their own daughter's hand? But wait, did he evendeserveto be called Dad yet, or was that something he had to earn?
Paige noticed his panic and nudged his ribs. “It's okay. You're doing fine. She's just a little shy.”
Lance tried a new approach. “I like your jersey, Irie. That's my team.”
Irie didn't move, and didn't break her gaze from Lance, either. She blinked at him. Her big green eyes, same as his, studied him carefully.
Paige tried to encourage her daughter. She put an arm around Lance and tried to wave Irie over. “Come here, Irie! Don't be shy.”
Still, she didn't move.
Lance noticed the hockey stick lying on the floor in front of Irie. “I heard you like hockey, huh, Irie? Is that your stick? Can you show me how you play hockey?”
He picked the stick up and handed it to her, and the uncertainty in her eyes vanished. When Lance set the foam ball in front of her, Irie babbled a few words, took a small wind-up and let loose with a wild swing.
Lance laughed as the ball sailed into the net. The shot had surprised him. “Great shot, Irie! We call that a clapper.”
Irie began to laugh. She had an adorable snicker, like a honeyed growl.
Lance clutched at his chest. “Oh my God, Paige! Her laugh!”
“I know. Isn't it cute?”
“It's like tiny fingers poking my heart.”
