“Oh no!” Daisy puts a comforting hand on Skye’s arm. “That’s awful.”

“It was such a disappointment. The condom slipped off in the middle, and I ended up having to fish it out after.” Skye shudders, and Violet makes a gagging sound. “One good thing came from the experience, though.” She turns to Violet and pats her on the cheek. “I got you.”

Violet’s mid-sip, so she spit-sprays ginger ale all over her mother’s face and also gets my cheek. “What?”

Skye wraps her arm around Violet’s shoulder. “I was almost five months along before I realized I was pregnant. In hindsight, I should’ve figured it out sooner, but sometimes things happen for a reason. I had zero interest in that hockey player, so I raised you on my own until I met Sidney and we fell in love.”

“My dad was a professional hockey player?” Violet asks.

“He was. Not a very good one, mind you, but a hockey player nonetheless.”

“I can’t believe this is the first time I’m hearing this! Why didn’t you tell me before now? I always thought he was some random.”

Skye gives Violet a patient smile. “He was a random, honey.”

“Does this random have a name?”

“Of course he does.”

“Do you remember it?”

Skye makes a face. “Well, yes.”

Violet arches a brow. “Care to share?”

Skye sighs, maybe realizing she’s not going to get out of this. “His name is Dick, which is kind of ironic really, considering his was so small and all.”

“My father’s name is Dick?” Violet looks unimpressed.

“Sidney is your father, Violet. He gave you away at your wedding. I think that trumps being a sperm donor.”

“Agreed, but still—even if Dick is a dickless dick, he’s my biological father, and I think I have a right to know who he is, Especially since he’s contributed half of my DNA, and I’m pregnant, and who knows what effect his genetic bullshit will have on this kid.” She motions to her stomach, eyes wide with horror. “What if we have a boy and he has a tiny little penis?”

“You’re almost exactly like me, and nothing like your biological dad. I’m sure Alex’s DNA will win out in this case.”

“Still, it’d be good to know. Does dickless Dick have a last name?”

“Of course.” Skye grimaces and mutters something.

“What was that?”

“His last name is Head.”

Violet blinks. And blinks again. “Come again?”

“Head. His last name is Head.”

“My dad’s name is Dick Head?”

“Technically it’s Richard, but yes.” Skye takes a healthy gulp of her drink. “Maybe we should talk about this later.”

“Richard Head? And he played for North Carolina?”

“Yes, honey. Are you okay? You’re really pale.” Skye gives me a worried look.

“Maybe you should sit down.” I put a hand on Violet’s shoulder and urge her to the closest stool. Something about this conversation is very familiar, and I can’t place why that is.

Lily appears, having returned from the bathroom. “Is everything okay? What’s wrong with Violet?”

“Skye just told her who her birth father is.”

“What?” Lily’s eyes go wide.

“She’s pretty drunk,” I say.

Lily frowns. “I thought Violet was pregnant.”

“Oh, Violet’s not drunk, Skye is.”

“And I thought Butterson was a bad last name.” Violet shakes her head. “I guess Head isn’t the worst, unless you name your kid Richard, and even then, you could go by Rich, or Richie, Why go by Dick?” She looks like she’s hovering between shock and horror. “You’re just setting yourself up for a world of ridicule. What kind of person, other than a dickhead, goes by the name Dick Head? My fucking father, that’s who.”

Lily grabs her shoulders. “What did you just say?”

“My sperm donor’s name is Richard Head, but he goes by Dick. Seriously, he must be the biggest asshole in the history of the world with a sad, tiny dick,” Violet replies.

And then I remember why this conversation is so damn familiar; two New Year’s ago, before Randy and Lily were super serious, we talked about Lily’s biological father, and Violet couldn’t get over his stupid name.

Both Violet and Lily’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God!” they say in unison.

“Your bio dad’s name is Richard Head?” Lily asks.

“And your deadbeat dad’s name is Richard Head,” Violet replies. “Did he play for North Carolina?”

Lily nods slowly.

“What are the chances . . .” Violet trails off. “Holy shit. Does this mean you’re my half-sister?”

DARREN

I’m not sure if the cost of winning this game will be worth it. The only thing that’s going to make me feel better is Charlene. I want to put the lid on her jar and never let her go.

I realize, very clearly, that I’m in a terrible frame of mind. I’ve kept her on edge all day and probably shouldn’t have since she was already there to begin with. I’m also aware that having done this to her is fucked up, but it seemed better than telling her things she’s not ready to hear, especially when I’m not sure if I’m ready to say them.

Alex is quiet and in a shit mood as we make our way to the bar. He’s not angry that we won the game; it’s how we won that he’s upset about. It’s not jealousy, it’s bigger than that. It’s about his worth to the team. It’s the position he feels he’s putting me in. It’s knowing that my chances of being pulled in the expansion draft get higher the more I pick up the slack he can’t manage. It’s the nine-million-dollar-a-year salary he doesn’t think he’s worth anymore.

The bar is loud and busy. I look around for Charlene and the rest of the girls, but they’re not easy to find since pretty much every female in the place is decked out in our team gear. Loud shrieking and jumping draws my attention.

“There they are.” I point to where Violet and Lily are hugging.

“I’m glad Vi can’t get wasted. I need in my wife tonight,” Alex says.

I scan the area around them and finally find Charlene. Her pearls are at her lips, her expression reflecting none of the excitement Violet, Lily, and the other girls seem to be experiencing. Which makes me question what’s going on.

We weave through the crowd slowly because of the volume of people. Thankfully, not many attempt to talk to me, probably because I don’t come across as friendly, and I don’t often engage in conversation with people I don’t know.

I step up behind Charlene, who’s still worrying her pearls against her lips, and drop my mouth to her ear. “What’s happening here?”

She startles and nearly fumbles her drink as she spins around. She tips her head back as I straighten, eyes finding mine. Emotions flit across her face, pain floating around in there. I’m unsure if it’s physical, emotional, or both, and I regret keeping her hanging all day.

“Violet and Lily just found out they have the same father,” she says softly.

“Is this a joke?”

Her voice cracks, along with her forced smile. “I wish it was.”

I want to ask her to explain, but Violet is jumping around, screaming at the top of her lungs. It’s drawing a lot of attention. “Isn’t this awesome? Both of our moms made terrible choices!” Violet motions between herself and Lily. “Can you see the resemblance? Boobs aside, of course.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Maybe I should put on one of your bras and stuff it with socks so it’s easier to see the resemblance.”

Randy comes up to stand beside me, observing the spectacle. “Did I hear that right? Vi and Lily have the same dad?”

“Apparently.”

He runs a hand over his beard, looking from one woman to the other. “I don’t see it.”

I shrug because neither do I. Apart from the fact that they’re both female and on the petite side, that’s all the similarity I can find. Violet is busty and curvy where Lily is narrow and lean. Lily also has a couple inches on Vi. “Does Lily look more like her mother?”

Randy nods. “Yeah, kind of like Vi looks like hers.” He tips his head in Skye’s direction. She really does look like Violet, plus about twenty years. She also dresses very much like her daughter.

I’m grateful for the soap-opera-style family drama, because it takes the focus off tonight’s game. I should be happy that we’re going to the next round, and for the team I am, but the call I received this afternoon before I went on the ice worries me. My agent let me know that Lucas, the owner of the Vegas team, had contacted him for the third time, wanting to talk numbers. There’s been interest from other teams too, and I’m still unsure where Charlene and I are headed. I feel like I’m just figuring out how to do this new version of us right, and I don’t want to screw that up.

It’s another hour before I finally manage to get close to Charlene again. She’s drunk, and based on the empty glasses scattered over the table, someone thought shots were a good idea. She’s positioned herself at the end of the table, slightly apart from the other girls, quiet instead of engaged in the lively conversation. She reminds me of how I get when there are too many people and I feel exposed.