Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
We enter the garage and head toward Mazzy’s Audi. I’d asked her how she afforded such a nice car and she reminded me of the insane salary I pay her and the fact she has no other bills.
I actually caught a ride with Camden to the arena today since I had to be here so early for the game, and I gave Mazzy the parking deck code so she could park in my spot and I’d ride home with her. It’s Friday night—no better place for Bowie Jane to be than watching her dad play a little hockey.
“Hey, Foster,” a voice calls out, and I turn to see King along with Rafferty Abrams standing in the doorway. “Aren’t you coming out for some beers?”
I would very much love to go out to celebrate the end of training camp, but I feel compelled to go home because of my daughter. I shake my head. “Going to take the munchkin home.”
“Don’t do that,” Mazzy says, and I turn to face her. “That’s what you have me for. Let me take her home and you go out for a drink. You can catch an Uber when you’re done.”
“But I want to spend time with my kid. Things are different now that she’s with me.”
“She’s sound asleep, Foster. I’m going to pour her right into bed dressed just the way she is so I don’t wake her up. She’s not even going to know you’re not there.”
I hold a finger up to the guys to indicate for them to wait a second while I mull this over. I frown at Mazzy. “None of the other fathers come out with the single guys. It doesn’t seem like I should be doing that.”
I get the famous Mazzy Archer eye roll. “Since when does Foster McInnis do what everybody else does? All you have to do is what’s right. And I think hanging with your teammates to celebrate the end of preseason is a good reason to go get a beer and leave your kid in my care. Besides…” Mazzy leans in close and I get a whiff of her perfume, which smells way too good. She lowers her voice. “You forget that I’ve got your daughter severely drugged. She won’t move until morning.”
A sense of acceptance washes through me as I realize she’s absolutely correct. There’s nothing wrong with me going out and having a few beers with my buddies on occasion, especially given the fact that my daughter is sound asleep and in good hands.
Admittedly, there was a small part of me that was looking forward to the rest of the evening with Mazzy. We’ve settled into sort of a routine after Bowie Jane falls asleep of sitting in the living room together and watching recorded late-night shows, howling with laughter.
But my decision is made. Tonight is a good night to hang with my mates. I call back to the two men waiting for me. “Hold up.”
Mazzy opens the trunk of her car so I can toss my bag in. “Just a minute. I need to move my guitar.”
To my surprise, she moves a hard guitar case further back to make room for my bag in the trunk.
As I’m putting Bowie Jane into the car, I ask, “You play guitar?”
Her smile is broad and her eyes sparkle. “Been playing since I was about seven. I play piano too but that’s not as easy to transport as a guitar. I haven’t brought any of them over to your house yet because I didn’t want to bother you with my playing. I’ve been going to my parents’ house or playing with a friend. But I mentioned it to Bowie Jane yesterday and she said she wants to learn, so I thought I would bring it over and teach her a little.”
I’m utterly amazed. Mazzy plays an instrument—more than one—and I had no clue. I’m also incredibly excited by the prospect of her teaching Bowie Jane how to play.
“For the record, it will never be a bother to hear you play.” I pause and let a sly grin take hold. “That is unless you’re bad. If you’re bad, you can only play when I’m not there.”
“I’m pretty decent.” Mazzy laughs.
“Looking forward to hearing you.” And I really am. In fact, for some reason, I want to tell King and Rafferty to go on without me. I’ll go home instead and listen to Mazzy play the guitar.
What the fuck? I shake my head, forcing away such thoughts to concentrate on getting my kid buckled in. When I gently close the door, she immediately slumps against it, still sleeping hard.
I don’t think twice about walking around to the driver’s side and opening Mazzy’s door for her. “Be careful driving home. I won’t be long.”
It just seems like the right thing to do and being close to her isn’t unpleasant.