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If Benjamin didn’t know better, he would have thought someone had conspired to sabotage the start of the Canyon Cats season. Travel would always be an issue for the team, as Prince George was situated a six-hour drive from their nearest competitor, but to start with two games away, two games at home, and then a four game, five-day road trip was brutal.
Which was why he was more than pleased that the team currently had a record of four and four. After splitting the home opener doubleheader, they’d won three out of the four away games. It was a phenomenon he was familiar with—without the distraction of school and billets and other team commitments, the road was a great opportunity to build the bonds needed to succeed.
After the final game—one of their three wins—they had boarded the team bus and driven through the night, arriving in the arena parking lot at six on Sunday morning. The players had scattered to their homes, the younger ones chauffeured by their billets, the older ones driving themselves. Benjamin issued an open invitation to an optional skate that afternoon and then dragged himself to his apartment. He’d managed to nap on the bus, as years of travel had given him the ability to sleep whenever and wherever, but the older he got the trickier that became, and he fell onto the mattress in his rented apartment with relief.
He arrived at the rink half an hour before the optional skate after squeezing in a quick trip to the grocery store while a load of laundry cycled through. Entering through the main doors, he caught the faint sound of a furious wail. Unlike the last time a child’s cry had echoed through the rink, he had a good idea who was making his ire known.
Deciding to take a circuitous route to his office, he paced the concourse in the direction of the arena administration offices. The wailing grew louder when a door opened. Lynn emerged, pushing a stroller in which a red-faced, tear-stained Oscar squirmed.
“Someone’s not happy.” Benjamin took in Lynn’s harried appearance but refrained from commenting on her pinched nostrils and straggling ponytail. He did rescue the end of her scarf from trailing on the ground, looping it over the shoulder of her parka. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Someone is running a low fever and has the sniffles. I’m worried he won’t be able to go to daycare tomorrow.” Lynn sounded exhausted, frustrated, and anxious. “I was hoping he’d hold it together while I arranged a few things so I can work from home if necessary, but he’s not cooperating.”
He crouched down and rubbed Oscar’s pudgy leg. “Not feeling well, buddy? That’s rough.” Fluid smeared the baby’s top lip and he patted his pockets, searching for a nonexistent tissue. Lynn interpreted his motions and handed him a fresh one. “Let me get that for you.” It was easier said than done, as Oscar reared away, kicking out his legs and squalling with irritation.
“It’s also nap time.” She jiggled the stroller, making Oscar’s round cheeks wobble. “I’m going to walk him around the arena and hope he falls asleep. Then I will sneak back in and get what I need.”
“I can do that.” Benjamin straightened.
“Do what?”
“Push the little guy around while you work. We don’t have a formal practice today so I have time.”
Lynn bit her lip. “Don’t be insulted but...I don’t really know you.”
Her lack of trust stabbed, though he supposed he couldn’t blame her. Other than the night they’d had sex they’d only spoken a couple of times. And it wasn’t like he had any experience with children. He’d attended the occasional elementary school event during his years as a player, but that didn’t count, obviously. Now he thought of it, the dinner he’d had with Jujhar’s family was the longest he’d spent with people under the age of ten in years.
“I understand. I’m pretty much a stranger.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Well, I should let you go, then. He won’t get any happier standing around.”
Oscar’s cries had softened to sobs while they spoke, but ramped up in volume once more. Lynn straightened her shoulders. “You’re not a stranger. You’re a...colleague, I guess. If you’re serious about this...”
Though his offer had been impulsive, he realized now he really did want to help. But only if she was comfortable with it. “I promise I can be trusted. I won’t leave the building. How long do you need?”
“About fifteen minutes.” Her gaze flickered from the office door to Oscar to Benjamin and around again. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll take really good care of him.” A familiar but forgotten feeling warmed his chest, one he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Pride. This was a big deal for Lynn, trusting her son to another person. Yet she was putting her confidence in him, Benjamin Whitestone.
He nudged her gently out of the way and took the handle of the stroller. “I’ll keep my cellphone close the whole time. You’ll need my number.” He waited for her to get her own phone out and then listed off the digits. “Text me when you’re ready and I’ll come straight back.”
“All right.” She bent to give a tearful Oscar a kiss. “Mommy will be as fast as she can.” The smile she gave Benjamin was filled with relief. “With any luck he’ll be asleep by the end of the corridor. Thank you so much. I won’t take long.”
She hustled back into the office and Benjamin set off, pushing the stroller at a brisk pace. Despite Lynn’s hopes, Oscar was still wailing as they rounded the far end. He didn’t want to walk past the office for fear Lynn would hear, so when he reached the elevators leading to the lower level he rolled the buggy in and headed down.
“Whatcha got there, Coach?” Garrett Simpson, the Cats young captain and top player, paused as he came out of the dressing room.
“This is Oscar.” Benjamin regarded the crying baby with rising fear. There had to be something more than the need for a nap and runny nose to account for such distress.
Simpson crouched down, looking twice his usual size in his hockey gear. He slipped off his glove and wiggled Oscar’s foot. “Want to get out of there, bud?”
That was an idea. Benjamin unbuckled the harness—it had more straps than a chest protector for god’s sake—and lifted Oscar out. Immediately his sobs lessened. “I’m taking care of him for a few minutes while his mom gets some work done.” It felt like forever already, and though Lynn had sounded certain she’d only need fifteen minutes he knew how fast time passed when you were busy.
He discovered he was bouncing and swaying just like Lynn had been the day they’d met in the arena. Though it must be an ingrained instinct, it gave him a sliver of confidence.
“I wasn’t much older than him when my dad took me on the ice for the first time.” Simpson spoke from the lofty heights of a seventeen-year-old. “Not that I remember, but he says I loved it right from the start.”
“Me, too.” Playing shinny with his father was one of the memories not tainted by what had happened later. He looked down at Lynn’s son. “What do you say, Oscar? Want to come skating with us?”
––––––––
LYNN HAD ALWAYS BEEN a planner. She made lists and set goals and crossed off tasks. But since becoming a mother, she’d had to learn to listen to her gut. Oscar hadn’t come with an instruction manual, and understanding how his hungry cry differentiated from his tired cry from his frustrated cry, as well as all the other little cues he gave, had meant going with her instincts.
This afternoon, her instincts had told her she could trust Benjamin to look after her son for a few minutes.
That trust didn’t mean she could lollygag around. She gathered what she needed as quickly as possible and then took a few extra moments to bring her laptop and files out to her car so she wouldn’t have to juggle them as well as an angry baby. Despite her hurry, it was closer to thirty minutes than fifteen by the time she texted Benjamin. Ready. At the main entrance.
On the ice, he texted back. Can you come here?
What the hell did he mean by that vaguely terrifying message? She hustled down the stairs that led to ice level, screeching to a halt at the sight of Oscar’s empty stroller, abandoned under the bleachers near a gate that led onto the rink.
That couldn’t possibly mean what her tumbling thoughts told her it meant. Her knees wobbled and she raced past the stroller to the opening.
Benjamin stood in the middle of the ice, Oscar perched in his arms, surrounded by a whirling hurricane of large men wearing knife-sharp skates, wielding weapon-like sticks, and bulleting hard rubber pucks.
Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly as prickles raced up her neck and cheeks, her heart beating with the force of a thousand drums behind her breastbone. Before she could launch into a full-scale panic attack, Benjamin saw her. He waved, glided through the throng, and came to a brisk stop near the boards, a shower of snow kicking up from his skates. “Look who’s here, Oscar. Mommy came to watch you skate.”
She could only stare. Oscar’s head was encompassed by a blue bike helmet with City of Prince George stamped on it. In lieu of a blanket, a man-sized windbreaker with the Canyon Cats logo on the dangling sleeve protected him from the chill emanating off the ice. He gurgled and grinned, clapping his hands together with glee. Fury swamped her relief at seeing him unharmed. “Give him to me. Now.”
Benjamin held Oscar out. Her son leaned against his shoulder, apparently unwilling to make the switch, and jealousy rose like bile in Lynn’s throat. She dragged him out of Benjamin’s arms, her heart rate slowing once she held him on her hip. “What the hell, Benjamin? What were you doing with my son?”
His welcoming smile faded. “He wasn’t settling down. I thought he might be soothed by skating.”
“During a hockey practice?” Releasing Oscar from the security of the stroller to comfort him was one thing. Taking him out onto slippery, dangerous ice with hulking young men blazing by and firing pucks was something else entirely.
“He was perfectly safe, Lynn. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s skate. I even got him a helmet from the public skating supplies.”
“Someone could have run into you and knocked you down. Or hit him with a stick. Or shot a puck at him.”
“That wasn’t going to happen.” Exasperation leaked into Benjamin’s even tone. “This wasn’t a full-bore practice. No one was shooting pucks—the guys are doing stick-handling drills. No one was being reckless.”
Oscar reared back, his borrowed helmet knocking her on the chin, before leaning forward suddenly with his arms outstretched toward Benjamin. She winced and drew in a long breath through her nose. Surveying the rink through calmer eyes, she realized he was right. Her first impressions of danger had been overblown. The players weren’t careening around recklessly, but sped with dexterity and skill in tight patterns. Pucks weren’t flying through the air, but remained on the ice as they were tapped and touched by highly controlled blades.
She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him. “You should have asked me first.”
Benjamin nodded, his expression serious. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to worry you, and I’m sorry. To me, skating is just as familiar and safe as walking.”
“Maybe so. Still.” She shifted Oscar to her other hip, but he continued to wriggle. His nose was running again and his cheeks rosy, either from fever or the chill of the arena, but his eyes were bright and he showed no signs of distress. Much the opposite, in fact.
Benjamin tilted his head to one side. “He really enjoyed it. He calmed down right away, even laughed a few times.”
She’d had every intention of taking Oscar skating. Someday. She tamped down a return of the jealousy. Benjamin had been trying to help, not steal one of Oscar’s firsts.
With a feeling of inevitability, she gripped him under the arms and held him out. “Want to take him around again? I’d like to see.”
Only when joy washed over Benjamin’s face did she realize how hurt he’d been by her distrust. Now two faces looked back at her with happy expectation. Her heart fluttered in a totally different way than its earlier panic.
“Go on, Oscar.” She swallowed to hide her sudden tenderness for the man and boy in front of her. “Show Mommy what you’ve got.”