Sharon stands before him, arms crossed. Her face reads: “pissed off bitch.” She’s not taking any prisoners. I should have warned Lawrence before he came back here. She’s going to eat him alive.

“So, you think you can just come back and fuck with my friend’s head? Is that it? You think you’re some tough, big-shot hockey player? I’ve got news for you, buddy,” she says, poking at his chest. “This here is my best friend forever. BFF. You know what that means?”

“One could take a guess,” he says.

“It means that when some loser hurts her, he’s dead meat. So, I’m going to ask you again. What are you doing back here?” She steps back, waiting for an answer. I cover my face with embarrassment.

“Sharon, we’ve already been through this,” I protest.

“It’s okay,” Lawrence says. “I’m okay with being put on blast. I can explain, I promise.”

“Then explain,” she says.

George pushes against my lap, crawling toward Lawrence. He picks him up and holds him against his chest.

“I guess I have to put it in the most simple terms possible. I’m here to be the best damn dad this kid could ever have. But I originally came back here to find that lady who put the spark in me again. I know how I look to you. You think I have commitment issues, and maybe a bad past too. You’d be right to think that. I don’t have the best history with this sort of thing. But now that I’m back, I can’t afford to fuck this up again. I know what I want and need, but I also know what I can give. Well, I’m here to give.”

Sharon nods and looks at me. I put my palms out. “It’s either I trust him or I don’t. I think he’s being honest, Sharon. I think you can lay off him a bit,” I say.

“Fine,” she groans. “But if you do anything out of line, I’m going to get the toughest guy in the room to kick your ass.”

He offers back a sarcastic joke. “You know I shoulder check dudes for a living, right?”

“Not anymore you don’t,” Sharon mutters.

“Shit,” he whispers. “She really cuts deep, huh.”

His eyes become cemented to the floor. A crease forms on his forehead. Stress fills his mind.

“They’ll take you back. They have to. You were the best thing that has ever happened to them, right?” I ask.

I see the worry in his face. I put my hand on his chest and rub him up and down. I just want him to feel better about things. I don’t want him to worry so much.

“I just hope the Goldstein Brothers legal team still have a vested interest in me,” he says. “Anyway, you’re coming with me, right? I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“Ain’t nothing like a woman’s support, right?” I smile and kiss his neck. He rests his head against me. Sharon frowns.

“You have no idea how true that statement is,” he says. “We should probably get going. The appointment is in thirty minutes.”

“I’m coming too,” Sharon says. Lawrence practically rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest.

The whole family piles into my car, as we go to the Goldstein Brothers Law Firm. We pull up to a giant building, at least ten stories tall.

“Wow,” I mutter.

“One of the biggest law firms in the biz,” Lawrence says. “They’re total assholes, but they get the job done. ”

We walk inside the building to be greeted at the front desk.

“Lawrence Jones? They’re waiting for you upstairs,” a woman says up front.

George starts crying loudly in Lawrence’s arms. He tries his best to sooth him, but it’s a learning process. I take him into my arms and whisper into his ear. I give the magic touch and he instantly goes quiet. The woman at the front desk lets out a barely audible scoff.

“Watch it,” Lawrence warns her. “That’s my son.”

“Right,” she says.

“What the hell is her problem?” I whisper to Lawrence.

“These people act like they eternally have a stick up their ass. It’s part of the gimmick,” he says.

“Lawrence Jones, it’s right down this hallway,” the woman says. “Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he says, with a look of dread on his face. “Walking down this hall always meant a bad week. Let’s hope the tides have changed.”

He knocks on the door and waits. Three seconds later, a tall, blonde man opens the door and puts out his hand.

“Lawrence-fucking-Jones. I don’t believe it,” he says.

“I’m getting this way too often,” he says. “Can we just come in and get this over with?”

“No time to waste. I like your style. Come on in. The whole family, huh?” he asks.

“Something like that,” Lawrence says. “Where’s your brother? I’ve never seen you work alone before.”

He says, “Flu season. He’s at home, sick as a dog, so I get to put up the slack and make double commish. Lucky me, right?”

“Lucky you,” Lawrence replies. “So what’s the word? All my money is tied up in this contract crap. I can’t play because those corporate bloodsuckers are throwing a shit fit because I left.”

“Well, you did leave them high and dry,” he says.

Lawrence looks the man in the eyes and says, “I’ve atoned enough, dammit. What can you do for me? Anything at all? If not, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Settle down, brother. We’re always here to help. You know that,” he says.

“I know that you’re basically owned by the NHL. You do their bidding,” he says.

“True. However, we represented you as our client for almost a decade. We know your worth, but most of all, we know your drive. I know how determined you can get when you want something. I see it in your eyes right now. You know what that means to us at the Goldstein Brothers?” he asks. “It means dollar signs. It means a lasting relationship. And of course, it means you getting to play again.”

“What?” I blurt out, without thinking. “He can play again?”

The man smiles and relaxes in his seat. Lawrence puts his elbows on the table. “Seriously?” he asks him.

“Seriously. I just need to talk with the representatives of the league. I’ll hand them my files and we can go from there. Anything can happen, but once I launch your media campaign, this whole thing is done,” he says.

“Holy shit.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe it!”

The man puts his arms behind his head and rests easy. “Lawrence, my man, you’re lucky that you have such a dedicated fan base,” he says. “And what’s better than a comeback story?”

The man stands up and extends his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says.

“Thanks,” he says. “And, uh, sorry for coming off so strong in here. It’s been a crazy year for me. I’m used to hearing bad news and being put on the burner.”

“No worries. I get yelled at on the daily. Money is money, though!” He claps his hands together and shows us the door.

Walking out, Lawrence nearly breaks down near the car. “I can’t believe it,” he says. “It’s going to work, right? I’m going to get a second chance?”

“On way too many fronts,” Sharon says. I turn and give her my own state of the art “bitch-face.”

She backs off and says, “But you’re doing good so far. I can’t deny that.”

“Thanks Sharon,” he says. “And I know in time you’ll grow to at least be okay with me. In the meantime, I’ll keep workin’ hard. Don’t you worry.” She nods and swipes her hair back.

Lawrence’s phone buzzes with more details. Text messages from the extended legal team, who’s been working nonstop on his behalf.

“What are they saying?” I lean over his shoulder to see.

“NBC is running a piece on me later today, before the big pre-season promotional push. It’ll air during the family, dinnertime news. They’ve already aired commercials for it, I guess. ‘A mysterious comeback’ is the theme they’re going for, whatever that means,” he says.

So we drive home in time to turn on the TV and just keep it running. We get out the wine bottles and beer. Lawrence even offers to cook us a big Chicken Parmesan dinner. Even Sharon seems to be in good spirits. When the time comes, we are huddled together on the couch, tense as can be. Well, except for little George. He’s smiling at the spinning ceiling fan.

“And now, for some pretty exclusive news for all the hockey fans out there.” The television blares loudly as it cuts to a darkened image of Lawrence. “A year disappeared. A career was lost. A hero has made his way back to the game he once cherished more than anything in the world…”

“A hero?” Lawrence sneers. “What is this crap?”

“Shh,” Sharon whispers. “I want to hear.”

“Daddy’s going to be on the television, Georgie!” I say. “Aren’t you proud?” He giggles.

The reporter continues, as an image of a cabin flashes on the screen. Smoke billows out of the chimney. Snow has fallen around the front steps.

“Lawrence Jones. You may have heard his name before. Winner of multiple Stanley Cup Championship trophies, he is known for being one of the best players to have ever graced the ice. So where did he go? Behind me is Marsha Farwell’s property, a lonely cabin in the woods. She claims that Lawrence Jones paid her in cash for it. She doesn’t know where he is now.”

I nearly jump out of my seat. “Marsha Farwell?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah, so?”

“That’s who I’ve been working for,” I say. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“No way,” he says. “Marsha? I’m sorry, but she’s nuts.”

“Can you both just stop it!” Sharon yells. “I want to see what’s next and you’re making me miss it.”

The reporter has continued on, taking the viewer into the cabin. I keep looking at the images on the screen in disbelief. It’s a one-bedroom cabin with a fireplace and kitchen. There’s an area where a television screen could go, but nothing is plugged in. I just can’t believe Lawrence would sacrifice his fortune for something like that.

“And so, where did Mr. Jones go? Well, according to his lawyers, he went right back to where he left. Seattle, Washington,” the man says. “One witness saw him on a Greyhound bus, no less. We have no way of knowing what is true and what isn’t. All we know is that it’s a fantastic story.”

“That’s it?” Lawrence asks. “That’s all they have to say?”

“Quiet,” Sharon says.

The cameras change back to the reporter at the station, who continues the story further. “Lawrence Jones is seeking to play for the Chicago Blackhawks again. Our inside sources tell us that he visited with Chicago Blackhawks and NHL representatives this week, but was turned down to play. But there’s more. We’ve been told he might have fathered a son along the way. When we contacted the league, they declined to comment. All we can do is report on the story. If Jones wants to play again, it’ll be up to his die-hard fans to shout like they used to when he brought his team to victory. I’m Douglas Moreno, reporting for…”

Lawrence clicks off the TV. “So, now we wait, huh?” he asks.

“Uh, guys,” Sharon says.

“Yeah, I guess we wait,” I say.

Sharon yells this time, saying, “Guys!”

“What?” We both throw our arms up in unison.

“I think you better look outside right now,” she says.

I walk over to the window to find a sea of people walking to my house.