Chapter One

Reed

“She might not make it, Mr. Matheson.”

I sat in the cold, metal chair of the doctor’s office feeling numb and lifeless. I’d already gone through pissed, sad, and scared. No, not scared.

Fucking terrified.

I glanced up at Dr. Nielson. Speared her with my knife-like gaze would be more like it. I’d whipped that lethal glare out often throughout my entire NHL career as one of the top centers in the league. The top goal scorer for the Minnesota Caribou for seven years straight. Until I’d blown out my knee skiing. Skiing had ended my professional hockey career. If my heart weren’t already shattered by the diagnosis staring me straight in the face, it would break all over again at the memory of my untimely forced retirement.

“What can we do, Dr. Nielson?” The deep voice to the right of me jolted me back to the present. I’d rather live in the past and dream of hope for the future, but my body remained in the present, the only place I didn’t want to be.

“There’s a new drug on the market that just received FDA approval. It’s been extremely effective in clinical trials. In fact, we were fortunate enough to host one here at the Mayo Clinic, and I was thrilled with the results.”

Milo shifted in his seat. His two hundred and twenty-pound frame encased in the metal and chrome prison like a breakfast sausage on a brunch buffet. Since college, he’d packed on even more muscle.

“Then we need that drug,” he said. “How do we get it?”

Dr. Nielson pressed her lips into a thin line. “It’s not covered by Minnesota Care. And it’s…” She drummed her fingers on the desk.

Milo leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “It’s what?”

“It’s really cost prohibitive.” The good doctor stared at me with pity lacing her kind eyes. Anyone on Minnesota Care didn’t have a pot to piss in. Rich people had the gold standard of coverage and didn’t need subsidized health care. Judging from her expression, she’d already figured out that I’d fallen from financial grace.

Milo hissed out a breath. “I don’t give a shit what it costs. My goddaughter will have it. How do we get her on the drug, and how fast can we do it?”

I stayed Milo with my hand before he launched himself out of the chair and across the good doctor’s desk, bottle rocket style. “It doesn’t matter how much it costs, Dr. Nielson. If Jessica needs that drug to have a chance to survive, then I’ll make sure she gets it.”

Everyone knew about my plummeting free fall from being a rich and famous professional athlete. My personal disgrace had been splayed all over the Minneapolis Star and Tribune for months, not to mention every tabloid and webloid in existence. How my ex-wife had hidden money for years and then had an affair with my bastard agent. How almost everything I used to have was now embezzled into an off-shore account in Switzerland. How legally, my hands were tied, even if I had money to pay a lawyer, which I didn’t. The only thing Robin had left behind was our daughter because she’d never wanted her and still didn’t.

Robin doesn’t want her own fucking daughter.

I shook my head to eradicate the mental image of my wife waving goodbye. Now, here I sat, facing the worst possible scenario that a cruel and cold world could throw at a man. Divorced and broke. Worked over by a couple of white collar criminals. My folks would be so proud. Good thing they weren’t alive to see it. I didn’t have anyone now since I’d been an only child. My only support was my Polish brother. Thank the heavens above, he’d been unwavering.

When I really thought about it, I was broke, scared, and alone. So, I tried not to. With a sidelong glance, I caught him looking at me with an eager expression, like it was already a done deal. But pride would never allow me to let my friend pay for Jessica’s medication. No. That was a job for her father, and I’d find a way. I just needed a few days to mull it over. Since high school, I’d always been resourceful and determined. If there was a way, I’d find it.

“Mr. Adamski,” the doctor replied, a frown creasing her perfect brow. “There is a detailed application process. Protocol to follow. We can’t just hand over the medication today.”

Milo’s chest puffed out, and he hissed in a breath. It made me think of that playoff game against the Pumas back in 2011 when Nathan Spledbetter cross-checked Milo into the corner and my friend had taken Nate’s helmet off his head with a solid right hook. Right now, he wore that same look he sported right before he beat the living shit out of his opponent. I knew that damn look.

“Doctor,” he spat while I cringed. “Do you think I give a flying fuck about your red tape bullshit paperwork? I care about my goddaughter, and I’m about to go all Polack up in here.”

“Polack?” Dr. Neilson chose to ignore his colorful language and passive aggressive threats, which made me like and trust her even more. Calm, cool, and grace under fire. The perfect medical professional to be treating my critically ill daughter. A detached smirk created a tiny dimple in her left cheek. She wasn’t taking crap from anybody. Especially not Milo the Meathead.

I glanced down to the nameplate on her desk. M. Neilson M.D. I’d bet it took a ton of personal sacrifice, not to mention study, to attain an MD, let alone become one of the top children’s oncologists in the country.

“Doctor,” I said, drawing in a breath, and pausing for effect. “May I call you by your first name?”

Her lips puckered ever so slightly. That’s it, honey. Come to papa.

“Miranda, but I’d prefer Dr. Neilson, thank you.”

Milo shot me the oh for fuck’s sake this isn’t about using the old Matheson charm glare. I ignored it and nodded to the doctor. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Dr. Neilson,” I affirmed. “Well, you can call me Reed. My daughter’s name is Jessica. She’s my whole life now, so you can appreciate that I will do whatever is necessary to obtain the best treatment possible. How do we begin the application process and expedite it so we can get the ball rolling here? Time’s of the essence, obviously.”

“You’ll need to show proof of adequate medical insurance or else verification of funds,” she said matter-of-factly and turned to her computer keyboard. My heart plummeted to my feet. I didn’t have either. Not since her. “But I will initiate the application on my referral. You can complete the forms at your convenience, but I’ll need them and either a plan number or an open credit card by the end of the month. My assistant will print them for you on your way out.”

“Thank you, doctor.” I signaled Milo that we’d overstayed our welcome.

Miranda Nielson nodded, looking actually sympathetic for the first time since I stepped foot inside her gilded cage masquerading as an office. “We’ll do our best, Mr. Matheson. Your daughter is in good hands here. The best.”

In the hallway outside the doc’s office, I leaned against the wall, my bum knee shuddering and threatening to give out. Shit, I looked like the one who needed care instead of Jessica. Milo shoved his Popeye-thick forearm up under my armpit and kept me upright. As much as he sometimes annoyed me, I could always count on him for anything I might need. And lately, that had been more than I cared to admit.

“Steady there, Grunt. You’ve got to put on a brave face for my precious goddaughter. Sit your ass down for a minute before we go up to her room.”

My friend guided me to a chair near the nursing station where Dr. Nielson’s assistant glanced over at me. I could tell she recognized me, but not as a client. I hadn’t completely gotten over my bitterness at a sports career gone from soaring through the stratosphere to wallowing in piles of steaming shit. Along with my net worth. My face burned a little. But Milo’s words rang true. I needed to brace myself for what I’d see inside that hospital room.

“You can stop offering to pay my way,” I grumbled, emotions causing me to want to lash out at anyone or anything, even my best and only support left in the world. “I’ll find a way to get the money. You know how I feel about charity.”

“Since when did taking money from your oldest and dearest friend become charity? Now, if the money was earmarked for your sorry ass, I might agree, but this is Jessica we’re talking about. I think she hung the moon just like you do. I saw you try to cast your charm-net over the nice lady doctor. What are you gonna do? Turn tricks at the Motel 6 off I-90? Good luck with that, loverboy. They’ll leave the light on but not for you.”

The doctor’s assistant called my name, shuffling a stack of papers in her hands. The pain in my knee had eased off, and I rose from the chair pissed that I felt like a decrepit fifty-year-old when I wasn’t even close.

“You laugh,” I said to Milo out the side of my mouth. “This bod’s got a trick or two left in it. When I get arrested for solicitation, I’ll say it was your idea. Pimp Adamski has a damn nice ring to it. All you need is a pinstriped suit and fedora, and you’ll be golden.”

Milo chuckled. “Okay, Motel 6 it is, manwhore. But first, we gotta go see your best girl. Put on your game face. Jessica cannot even suspect there’s trouble in paradise. That’s the last worry I want preying on her mind. Getting better needs to be her sole focus.”

I threw him a snarky glare in response to this new nickname, then tipped my head in acquiescence. “I guess it’s better than ‘Grunt,’” I muttered as I walked over and took the pile of forms from the nurse.

My chest went tight as we neared Jessica’s room. Every time I looked at her, my heart felt like it would split in two. I’d give anything to trade places with her, have it be me lying in a hospital bed instead of an innocent little girl who hadn’t done anything in the world to deserve the agony of illness.

I couldn’t even pronounce the name of her disease, only that it was some rare form of leukemia that attacked maybe one in two million children. That’s my fucking kind of luck. Why couldn’t it be a winning lottery ticket instead of this bitter nightmare?

We turned into the open doorway of my daughter’s room, and I tamped down my fear and apprehension. Jessica would see the strong father figure by her side. An impenetrable rock that she could trust and cling to. I would be that rock.

Always.

She seemed even smaller than yesterday, her body tinier than any six year old’s should be, further diminished by the fluffy bulk of blankets tucked all around her. Her pale face broke into a smile as she saw me and raised her arm in a weak wave, tethered as it was by an IV tube. I steeled myself for this every day, focusing on the memory of us in happier times, strolling in the park or going for a pony ride, plastering the solid visage of cheer and confidence on my face.

Until she spoke the sweetest words a father can hear, and my macho façade crumbled like a bombed-out warehouse.

“Hi, Daddy. I missed you.”

I swallowed my emotions like a giant sour gumball. “Morning, sweetheart. You look beautiful today.” Her once luxurious chestnut hair fell across her pillow. She still had most of it, unlike some of the other kids in the cancer ward. Every time I brushed it, a few more strands came away on the bristles, bringing unshed tears to the back of my eyes.

Her grin grew wider, and her bright eyes flicked to my left. “Hi, Uncle Milo.”

“Hey, Jessinator.” Her burly godfather with the fondness for nicknames had dubbed her Jessinator because like the Terminator, she’d obliterate cancer into the ethers. I wished I had Milo’s unwavering faith in God.

“Did you bring me ice cream today?”

One of Milo’s many indulgences to his goddaughter often came in the form of contraband ice cream. Fudge brownie. I knew he wanted to give her so much more, and he could afford it. But pride goeth before the fall and all that biblical bullshit Milo constantly spouted. His Polish immigrant parents had laid it on thick. Like most Duluth natives, mine had only worshiped at the altar of all things hockey.

I glanced down at the bundle of papers in my hand and folded it up as best I could. It was so thick it barely fit into the breast pocket of my jacket. Damn. It would take more than a tree’s worth of bureaucratic red tape to deter me from saving my daughter. I would find a way. I had to. Nothing like having your back against a brick wall to get the creative juices flowing.

A nurse came in and interrupted Jess and Milo’s happy banter. “Hey, it’s play time,” she said, casting a loving look my daughter’s way. One thing about the Mayo, they boasted world-class medical staff. Empathetic as well as talented. World class. It wasn’t any wonder that presidents and foreign dignitaries came here to receive the best medical care money could buy. “Your favorite part of the day.”

“Yay!” Jessica said, bringing her palms together in soft applause. “Will Jared and Penelope be there?”

“I’ll bet they’re waiting for you,” the nurse said, adjusting Jessica’s bed into sitting position. “Let’s get you dressed.” She turned to look at Milo and me. “Excuse us, gentlemen. The kids here have a playdate every Wednesday in the common room. She loves seeing her friends, so I’m sure she’s anxious to get there. Studies have shown that it’s conducive to healing.”

I nodded and leaned over to plant a kiss on Jess’s forehead. Her skin felt warm, and I wished I could somehow breathe healing from my lips into her little body and make her well. Then I could rip away all these damn tubes and monitors, pick her up and take her home where she belonged. I longed to see her hair streaming behind her in a chocolate halo as she ran, but today wasn’t that day.

“See you later, sweetie. Go have fun.”

“Bye, Daddy. Bye, Uncle Milo.”

I followed Milo out of the room, my shoulders slumped in helpless defeat. I never wanted to hear her say goodbye again because there was always a chance it could be the very last time. The clock was ticking on a course of treatment to force remission. As we trudged to the elevators, I pulled the sheaf of papers from my pocket and looked them over. Fuck, I’d never seen so much print on a page, not even on my last NHL contract. My shoulders sagged with dread of how I was going to get through it, not to mention coming up with the six-figure number it would take to pay it.

“You want some help with that?” Milo asked, gesturing to the forms. “I could have my assistant deal with it. Just bother you for the personal stuff that she wouldn’t know.”

No fucking way. If I do that, then you’ll know how bad things really are, and I’ll never hear the end of it.

I shrugged and sucked in a big breath. “Thanks. Right now, the only thing that will help me is a stiff drink. You buying?”

“Absolutely. There’s a new martini bar just opened downtown. Real swank and the kind of clientele that’s kind of… you know.” Milo gestured with his hands, pressing up the tip of his nose with an index finger. “Needy and well-heeled, I hear. I’ve got some shit to do this afternoon, but I’ll pick you up at say, six, and we’ll check it out, okay?”

“Okay.”

It would give me time to at least print my name and address on the forms if nothing else. Needy and well-heeled? Well, I’d certainly fit into the needy category if not the other. But the greatest need was for my daughter to be cured. It was all that mattered to me now.