“But that was before I knew he was a professional hockey player. You should’ve seen it last night at the coffee shop. There was a swarm of people waiting to take pictures with him and get his autograph. And the women were the worst! It didn’t matter if they were teenagers or grandmothers, they practically dry humped him!”

“Can you blame them, though?”

I give her an exasperated look. “How am I supposed to deal with that? He used to be this huge playboy, and I’m sure women are constantly throwing themselves at him. It’s nothing like I thought it would be, and now I’m connected to him for the rest of my life because of Kody. I just wanted a normal life.”

“You had a normal life, Lainey. It was making you miserable.”

“Being homeschooled and getting my degrees by correspondence isn’t normal.”

“What is normal these days? I know this is hard, but he’s going to be part of your life no matter what. You know what I think the real issue is?”

“What?” I mutter into my coffee.

“It’s not that he’s a hockey player—it’s not the lie, which I think you can probably get over. I think it has more to do with being afraid that he’s going to come swooping in and try to take care of you, and you’re going to equate that with losing your independence again.”

“That’s not—”

“True? Are you sure about that, Lainey? We drove across the country when you were seven months pregnant because your parents were smothering you. I’m going to go ahead and say you’re really not keen on anyone trying to take over your life like they tend to.”

“It was pretty extreme, wasn’t it?”

“We can always blame the hormones.”

“And now what do I blame?”

“Hormones and protective mothering instinct. And fear of having your heart broken, because let’s face it, Lainey, even though he didn’t mean to, that’s exactly what he did the first time.”

CHAPTER 19

WOO THE BABY MAMA

Rook

Leaving Lainey’s apartment last night wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. First and foremost, my experience with babies has been limited to my nephew and my teammates’ kids. Sure, I’m good with them. I can make them giggle and smile, but the second they start to cry, I pass them back to their mother and I’m on my way.

Kody is mine.

I made him.

And I’ve had sweet fuck all to do with his mother or him since his conception. So I’m a little out of my depth here.

Also, I know Lainey. As much as she’s changed, I’m aware that she’s the woman I rescued from a thunderstorm. The same one who had never been on a plane before her trip to Alaska. And the woman who’s been through some pretty traumatic stuff and still manages to be sweet, innocent, and a touch naive. But she’s also fierce, strong, and determined. And whatever happened to bring her to Chicago has brought out that strength, which is both sexy and, frankly, really fucking inconvenient.

A year ago she would’ve welcomed me back into her life without batting an eyelash. One heroic rescue attempt would’ve been all that she needed, but now she’s different.

I hit the gym, as one does when there’s stress and preseason training coming up. It’s ten by the time I’m done with my workout. I consider calling my brother, but it’s early on the West Coast, and if there’s half a chance Max is still sleeping, I don’t want to be the reason he wakes up—so I message my sister instead, since she’s an early riser, to see if she’s around to talk. She’s been in LA for her master’s program. She might be younger than me, but she’s female, and she can usually provide perspective I don’t have. Thankfully, she’s awake, so I video chat her.

“Hey, big brother!” Her smile turns into a grimace as my image fills her phone screen. “Whoa, you’re looking rough.”

“Last night wasn’t great,” I admit. The part where I met my son was, but the part where I made both Lainey and Kody cry overshadows that.

“I can tell. You look like a bag of shit, which is saying something, because you could probably go on a four-week bender and not shower once during that time and still manage to look decent—but right now you look like you’ve taken a beatdown by a gaggle of puck bunnies and you did not, in fact, come out on top.”

“Your brain is a weird place, Stevie.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She props her phone up and leans back in her chair. “So? What happened last night? Oh, wait, weren’t you supposed to try to see Lainey? I’m taking it that didn’t go as well as you hoped.”

I’ve already filled Stevie in on reconnecting with Lainey, my lie, and her response to finding out what I used to be like. “So she agreed to talk to me, but we went to a coffee shop, and I got mobbed.”

Stevie groans and rolls her eyes. “You can’t go to coffee shops when preseason is starting up.”

“I didn’t have a lot of options, and I didn’t think it was going to be as bad as it was. I haven’t been going out much, but the season promo has started, so people are all hyped up, you know? It was worse than usual, but eventually we got out of there . . . anyway, things are a lot more complicated than I expected them to be.” I pour myself a glass of water because my mouth is dry. I’m drained and wound up.

“Complicated how? Why are you so freaking fidgety? Does she have a boyfriend or something?”

“No. Well, she’s been seeing this guy, but I don’t think it’s serious, and I sorta trump him now.”

“Trump him how? Because you’re ridiculously good looking? Spit it out, RJ. You’re antsier than me after a freaking accidental energy drink.”

“So, last night I found out that Lainey has a baby.”

Stevie jerks up, and the phone clatters onto the table, giving me a view of the ceiling fan. Suddenly her face is three inches from the screen and out of focus. “What?” she yells.

“Lainey has a four-month-old baby, and he’s mine.”

Stevie flops back down in the chair, her face a mask of shock. I wonder if that’s what I looked like last night when Lainey told me.

“Holy shit. Are you sure it’s yours?”

“I’m sure. I met him last night, and he looks like me.”

“But . . . what if this is like that crazy chick who pretended to be pregnant with your baby and tagged you on social media for months?” I open my mouth to interrupt, but Stevie’s eyes are wide, and she’s on one of her tangents. “What if this Lainey woman has a type, and you’re it? What if it’s someone else’s baby and she’s trying to pass it off as yours because you’re rolling in money? God, this is like a freaking soap opera. Actually, it’s more like one of those scripted reality shows.”

I level her with an unimpressed glare. “This is super unhelpful—you do realize that?”

“Sorry, sorry.” She raises her hands in the air. “I’m just . . . shocked, I guess? You’re sure the baby is yours?”

“Pretty damn sure, yeah. He has my mouth—and my dimple. There are some very strong family resemblances.”