Both.
—Text from Olivia to Logan
Maggie’s babbling voice echoes through the monitor as I drop my head back on the pillow. Six a.m. on the damn dot and happy as can be. This kid is more reliable than any alarm clock I’ve ever owned. It doesn’t matter if she sleeps through the night or wakes up ten times, she’s up and ready to roll for the day at six every morning. One of the few things she got from me. A lifetime of early ice times forces you to embrace the day at the asscrack of dawn, whether you want to or not. I’m just generally not as happy as my little ladybug is.
By the time I make it to her room, she’s standing in her crib, one of her many stuffed animals clenched in her dimpled fist,her brown curls standing on end, and her sleep-creased pudgy cheeks are tight and smiling. I should switch her to a toddler bed soon. This crib has been lowered to the option closest to the ground, but I swear, one of these days she’s going to climb out instead of waiting for me. Patience isn’t in my daughter’s very limited vocabulary.
I have no idea what I’ve done in my life to deserve her, but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my baby girl from anyone, including her own waste-of-space mother. “Good morning, ladybug.”
“Dadda... Dadda...” she squeals as I lift her from the crib and toss her high above my head, catching her as her belly laughs have me smiling like I just hit the damn lottery.
Our morning routine isn’t elaborate. I learned early on, the simpler the better. We get cleaned up, teeth brushed, and changed before we head down to breakfast.
Maggie has six teeth to brush as of today, and she loves to stand on the vanity to brush each one with a little help when she lets me.
We’re pretty efficient, too, because my girl gets hangry faster than anyone I’ve ever met, and that includes Waverly, who we swear has a tapeworm, given how much she needs to eat.
It takes less than thirty minutes in total before we’re both dressed, and Maggie sits happily in her highchair, eating scrambled eggs and bananas with her hands while I savor my second cup of coffee. Definitely going to need a third today.
Sundays are sacred in the offseason. They’re for family. Monday through Friday, I’m out of the door by seven-thirty to meet the guys at the gym, followed by ice time. But I still get breakfast and dinner with my best girl. That’ll all change less than a month from now.
Preseason training starts with the team in three weeks, and as much as I can’t fucking wait, I also hate how much I’ll have to leave Maggie again.
“Good morning,” Waverly sings with a hard edge to her voice, while she looks around the kitchen. “Huh.”
“Huh what?” I ask, grabbing her a mug.
Force of habit.
We all feed Waves as soon as we can.
It’s just easier that way.
Her hazel eyes scan the room before she kisses Maggie and runs a hand over the loose curls I tried to wrangle into pigtails. “Where’s your wife, Logan? Did she leave you already?”
“Be nice, Waves.” I hold the coffee back as she reaches for it and smile as soon as she glares. “She had a client emergency to deal with in the middle of the night.”
Waverly holds her hands out for the mug, knowing I’ll give in. “That makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” I ask, needing more caffeine to keep up with the women in my life this morning.
“You don’t know?” She snatches the mug out of my hands and hums as she sips. “I saw it online. One of the Kings players got into a fight last night. They said he killed someone. Guess he’s her client.”
“Stop reading that shit. It’s all trash.” Fucking tabloid vipers.
“Trash, huh?” Jasper groans as he walks in and grabs his own mug. “We talking about actual garbage or your new wife, Logan?”
“Fuck off, Jasper?—”
“Language,” Pops stops me as he joins us. He might be my grandfather, but he treats Waverly, Rafe, and Jasper like they’re his as much as I am. Ragtag bunch of orphans we all fucking are.
“She’s one, Pops. Pretty sure fuck isn’t going to be her next word,” I argue as I watch Maggie grab another fistful of eggs.
“Good to see you home, kid. Now whose wife is trash?” he asks as Waverly chokes and Jasper grins.
Assholes.
I grab one of the green apples from the bowl and throw it at Jasper’s head.
