“I know, Mom. Please … I can't do this right now. I can't go into work in a bad mood.”
She forced a smile. “Sorry. It's just—Irie deserves to have a dad. Andyoudeserve to have somebody, too. You need help. You can't do it all yourself. And someday, I really think you should go back to school—”
“I know, Mom, I know.” Paige's chest tightened with an awful pressure. Naturally, Paige wanted the same for Irie and herself. But she had no idea how to begin working towards a better life when every moment was spent struggling just to make it through the day.
Paige looked at her watch. “I should say bye to Irie and get going before I'm late.”
The two women walked into the living room, where Paige's dad was watching over Irie. She held a mini wooden hockey stick in her hand, while Rascal—Mom and Dad's schnauzer—watched the child like a hawk, his stubby tail anxiously swinging left and right.
Paige laughed. “What exactly's going on in here?”
“You have to watch this,” Dad said, looking awed.
Irie centered herself over a foam ball that laid on the carpet. She pulled back with her mini-hockey stick and swung. The ball scooted over the carpet, and Rascal pounced. He snatched the ball up in his jaws and proudly trotted it right back to Irie, placing it right in front of her to do it all over again.
Irie snickered. She had a hilarious laugh when she found something deeply amusing—it came from deep in her throat, like a tickled growl. She teed the ball up a second time, swung, and Rascal raced off once again.
“She must've remembered this from the other day,” Dad said.
“Wait, she's done this before?” Paige asked.
“Yes! That's why she was in such a hurry—she made a bee line for the toy bin and pulled her hockey stick right out. I'm impressed.”
“But who are you more impressed by, Irie or Rascal?” Mom joked as the dog dutifully returned the ball to Irie for a third time.
“Where'd she even get the stick from?”
“That's another thing,” Dad said. “When I took her to the toy store, she yanked it right off the shelf herself. She wouldn't let it go—not without a fight, anyway. She just had to have it. Maybe it's a sign? The kid just might like hockey. Who knows.”
“So Irie likes hockey. That's so random,” Paige reflected with a small laugh.
“I wonder if she'd like to go to a game?” Dad asked, wondering aloud as he stroked his chin. “I could check and see if the Fury are playing tonight. Maybe I could buy some tickets online?”
“Don't you think she's a little young for that kind of thing? It'll be so loud and scary.”
“I'm not so sure, Paige. She's awfully outgoing. And if she hates it, we'll leave. Simple as that.”
“Hey, I won't stop you.” Paige shrugged. “Anyway, I need to get going. Thanks again.”
Paige hugged Mom and Dad and said bye to Irie. Irie began to sob, like always—but when the hockey stick was placed back in her hands, she wiped the tears from her eyes and gathered herself.
Amazing,Paige thought as she walked out to her car.She stopped crying that easily.
With every day that passed, Irie grew a little older, and a new facet of her personality shined through, like a diamond glinting in the light. Were those aspects of Irie also glimpses of her father? A clue about the kind of man he was? Paige didn't know. She knew nothing about the guy, really.
She only knew his name: Lance. Some random guy she met at the bar. A cocky guy with a cock piercing. A guy who wassupposedto be a one-night stand to get over her cheating ex … and yet, she ended up trying to raise a daughter by herself.
She sighed.
Lance from Boston.
That's all she had to go on.
Paige turned the key to her beat-up 1987 Honda Civic. The engine whinnied and coughed before it finally fired, belching a plume of bluish smoke into the cold winter air.
Chapter 4
Lance
