Page 151 of Slapshot Baby

Biscuit is at the door, body stiff, ears flat. The low growl she reserves for one specific person rumbles through her chest.

Through the peephole I see my father holding a paper bakery bag and smiling.

I open the door.

"Hey, sweetheart."

His hazel eyes crinkle at the corners, the same shade mine turn in this light. He's filled out more since the last time I saw him, his chestnut hair greying well past the temples now.

He lifts the bag. "Almond croissants. Your favorite."

They were my favorite ages ago. I eat chocolate ones now, but he wouldn't know that because he wasn't around for the switch.

"Dad. You didn't call."

"Wanted to surprise my girl."

He opens his arms and pulls me into a warm, solid hug that smells like cigarettes he swears he quit. I lean in for a few seconds.

Biscuit growls from behind my knee.

"She still hates me," he says, glancing down.

I step aside. "Come in."

He sets the bakery bag on the counter, runs his eyes across the living room, nodding slowly.

"Your place looks beautiful, Ava. Really beautiful."

"Thanks, Dad."

He sits at the counter and laces his fingers. "So. How are you feeling?"

“I’m fine.”

“How is the baby?”

I freeze. "Who told you?"

His smile dims a fraction.

"Your mother told me the news. " He grins. “I’m having a grandkid.”

Mom. Of course.

"She's worried about you, sweetheart. Said the pregnancy's been complicated. I wanted to check on my girl."

He rubs his thumb across the countertop. "I should have come sooner."

For a second I wonder if he’s regretting his actions.

"I'm okay. The baby is healthy. The medical stuff is being managed."

"And the father? Your mom says he's a good man. Hockey player?"

"Kai. Yeah." I swallow. "He's a good man."

"Does he show up for you?"