“Oh, Dad…that’s a bad word.”
No shit.
I smile at her as I rub my hip. That’s definitely going to leave a bruise. “Sorry, Rubes. I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar.”
She merely nods her acceptance of my apology and turns worried eyes back to the toilet.
“You have to save it,” she implores.
Yeah…that’s not going to happen. Not now. Not ever.
“Sure, baby,” I tell her as I take her by the shoulder and turn her toward the bathroom door. I swear the spider glares at me with a million red, evil eyes. “Go on down and get breakfast. Violet’s fixing your cereal. I’ll get the spider out.”
“Okay,” Ruby says as she pulls away from me, but continues to give me instructions. “But let it out the front door and I’ll bring it some food later.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I assure her as she disappears down the stairs. When I hear her feet hit the bottom landing, I turn toward the toilet, intent on a quick flush to put me out of my misery.
Except when I look in the bowl, the fucking thing is gone.
I’ll just go ahead and admit it. Spiders scare the living hell out of me. I have no clue why, and while I would battle the biggest, baddest monster to the death for my daughters, I’d much rather flush a little spider down the toilet.
I immediately scramble backward out of the bathroom, grabbing the doorknob and shutting it quickly behind me. My heart is racing a million miles an hour, the thought of that furry hell beast now loose in my house.
Just one more thing on the list of things I still need to do today.
Get the girls dressed and ready for school.
Take the girls to school.
Clean up the spilled laundry detergent.
Finish the laundry.
Arm myself with a can of hairspray and a lighter to torch the rogue spider in the bathroom.
Pick up my dry cleaning.
Work out.
Team practice.
Pick up the girls from Kate and Zack’s house.
Dinner.
Baths.
Story time and cuddling.
Go to bed because I’ll be exhausted.
Easy as fucking pie, and I’ll get up and do it all over again the next day with a smile on my face. I’m finding life as a single parent isn’t as daunting as I thought it would be and I’ve finally found my groove.
And my role as a single dad isn’t the only place I’ve found my groove, because as it stands right now I happen to be playing some of the best hockey of my career with the Carolina Cold Fury. That would be the same team that I let down during the playoffs last season, ending our shot at a Cup run.
As I stand here on December’s doorstep, we are two months into the season. Twenty-three games down. Sixteen games won. My goals against average is hovering at a 1.92 and my save percentage is .936. Best goalie stats in the league and I’m on fucking fire. If I continue with this streak, I’ve got another shot at a Vezina Trophy. More important, if my stamina holds out, we are looking at another serious run at the championship, which would help ease my guilty conscience. Not nearly as important, but something that does give me a small bit of pleasure, I want to yell out to all those doubters, naysayers, and assholes who have called me too old to still be playing hockey, In your face!
I just turned thirty-two, for Christ’s sake. I’ve still got years left in the league the way I’m playing.