“Yeah?”
He hugged her tight. “Thanks a lot. You're doing me a huge favor. This means everything to me.”
She hugged him back. “Aw, Lance.”
***
After an invigorating shower—and an egg-and-cheese sandwich plus coffee from the deli across the street—Lance was a new man.
While Ella went to work in Radar's old bedroom, Lance took care of his own room. She was right; his living quarters were nasty. Since they were kids, she'd bitched at him about his mess—but hell, so did Radar when they lived together.
Lance had learned to keep his mess contained to his bedroom. He figured it'd always be there, that if he ever settled down with someone, they'd either have to live with it or take care of it themselves. But with his shot with Paige on the line, he wasn't willing to take any chances. He bagged up all his dirty clothes and had them sent to the dry-cleaners. The trash he picked up, bagged, threw away. Every surface was dusted and wiped clean, his floors swept and mopped.
Ella came by to appreciate his work. “Whoa. Good job, dude. It looks like an actual human lives here now.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved the phone with as much moxie as he had the other twenty times his phone had buzzed that day—even though he'd been let down every one of those times.
This time, though, he wasn't. It was a text from Paige. He read it aloud, so his sister could hear it, too.
“Hey Lance. Sorry I didn't reply to your messages yesterday, but I needed some time and space to think. I'll be coming to Boston in three days, so we can arrange to meet up to take your paternity test. Maybe you'd like to spend some time with Irie too? My parents have paid for my flight and the hotel I'll be staying at. I appreciate your earlier offer, but I don't want you to pay for anything until you can be sure that Irie is your daughter. It's only fair to you that way.”
“What do you make of that?” he asked Ella. “Do I still have a chance? Or does she hate my guts?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Seems pretty diplomatic, so I don't think she hates your guts—yet.”
“Yet?” Lance gave his sister a playful shove. “Get outta here, Honey Badger.”
Ella grinned. “Anyway, the fact that she's staying at a hotel means you've got an uphill battle to win her over.”
“Yeah. True. Damn.”
Ella patted his back. “Don't give up yet, big bro. Hey, why don't you come see how the room looks so far? And if you're done in here, I could use your help.”
“Yeah, okay, let's do it.”
Chapter 30
Lance
Three agonizing days.
It wasn'tthatlong in the grand scheme of things, no, but for Lance it might as well have been an eternity. The first day, he and Ella cleaned and painted in Radar's old bedroom. They called it quits at midnight, but they still had more work to do in the coming days.
It took every ounce of strength he had not to call or text Paige. He wanted to talk to her, he wanted to hear Irie's voice on the phone. He wanted to start convincing Paige, and he wanted to knowwhat she was thinking. But, like Ella told him, Paige wanted some space and he had to let her have it. There was only so much he could say over the phone. The real test would be in person.
The second day brought a welcome distraction, if only for a couple hours: a Brawlers practice.
Lance never cared much for practices. He viewed practices like a free skate: not a time to bust his ass, but rather a time to socialize and joke around with the boys. He was the type of player who seemed destined to be a star, who stood out at as a phenom at every level of hockey he played. Among his many genetic blessings, he possessed the flashy, quick-as-lightning and soft-as-butter hands that made handling the puck so effortless and easy, as if it were attached to the blade of his stick with a string. His skill simply couldn't be taught—a player was either born with it or not. And thanks to those attributes, he never saw the point in working hard in practice. He could coast through drills on raw talent alone, only giving a half-assed effort that left coaches tearing out their hair in frustration.
When he entered the dressing room, the team burst into a round of applause. The boys were glad to have their star player back. He was the bench-standard, after all, and ifhewasn't busting his ass, why should they?
But that day, Lance commanded the room's attention, his voice booming. “Alright, that's enough. Get ready to work out there today, boys. We're not losing this next game.”
The room silently stared at him, mouths open and eyes wide, as if they were waiting for the punchline to another one of his jokes so they could finally go into a belly-busting uproar.
But today, there was no punchline. Lance took his seat at his stall and started suiting up.
