Page 22

22

ANDI

“There’s Daddy!” I hold Tilly at the glass while Ford skates up to us.

Mask on top of his head, he grins at us.

“Hey, Tilly girl!” he calls to her.

“Your first game!”

She smiles and babbles and bats at the glass.

Ford makes faces at her and makes her laugh.

It’s so sweet.

She’s wearing a tiny red Storm hoodie over black leggings.

Ford wanted to get his name put on the back of it, but Archibald wouldn’t fit across her body.

She looks adorable though.

I have little headphones for her to wear during the game when it’s really loud.

People around us are smiling and pointing and I don’t blame them because my ovaries are melting from the cuteness.

Ford skates back to his net to face warm-up shots from his teammates.

We watch him stop puck after puck.

A few get by him but that’s because he’s not trying that hard.

Tilly seems fascinated by all the activity on the ice, her gaze following players around.

She loves hockey!

After a while we go back up to our seats where the wives and girlfriends all sit.

This scares the bejesus out of me.

I was a WAG before.

I know what it means when a player invites someone to a game using his seats.

Sure, there are women they’re casually seeing that they invite, but not usually.

The other Storm WAGs are going to see me here with Tilly and they’re going to come to conclusions that aren’t accurate.

I knew this would happen.

When Ford suggested I bring Tilly to a game, I hesitated.

I knew people would assume we’re together.

When I said that to Ford, he shrugged and said, “So what?”

I take my seat next to Mabel Smits, whose boyfriend and brother both play for the Storm.

“Hi!” she greets me.

We have met briefly before.

“Who’s this pretty girl?” She takes Tilly from me to bounce her on her lap and talk nonsense to her.

Tilly has no fear of strangers, and happily beams at Mabel.

While she does that, I find the bottle I packed in the diaper bag, ready to feed Tilly before the game starts.

“So… you and Ford…” Mabel says to me with a gently inquisitive look.

“Me and Ford what?” I smile at her with equal inquisitiveness.

She smirks perceptively but doesn’t push it.

I discovered the hockey Tumblr accounts and all the people who talk about hockey players and their marital or relationship status and rip apart the women who are dating players.

And a lot of them are interested in Ford.

They’re going to freak out that Ford has a baby when they thought he didn’t even have a girlfriend.

Only, I’m not his girlfriend.

But it feels like I am.

We spend so much time together now, and not just because of Tilly.

We have fun together.

We watch TV and movies, talk about sports and politics, and laugh a lot.

We hang out on his couch and eat popcorn and take Tilly shopping together.

And yeah, we have sex together.

And spend most nights together.

And despite our rules and our understanding of what this is…

I’m even more worried about my heart.

I point to Ford as he goes through his routine at the start of the game, skating loops in the crease, crouching down, sliding side to side, then a huge jump.

He taps his pads then the goalposts and then knocks his forehead against the crossbar.

“See, Daddy does the same thing every game,” I tell her.

“He’s a little weird that way, but that’s okay, he’s a good goalie.”

I hear Mabel’s muffled giggle.

I knew about baseball stans but I didn’t expect hockey to be so popular with women.

But now that I’m sleeping with a hockey player, and I’ve met a lot of the team, I get it.

I get all those thirst trap photos of him tossing his hair back and looking into the camera with his sexy, smoldering green eyes.

Doing his stretches.

Posing in a skintight compression shirt, muscles bulging.

I focus on the game, tensing whenever the puck is shot at Ford, cheering when he makes an amazing save.

He’s not actually being challenged that hard; the other team is not shooting the puck a lot.

At one point, he leans on the goalpost casually, as if waiting for the play to come back to his end.

We laugh during a TV time out when he skates over to the boards and poses for selfies that kids are taking through glass with him.

And again, when waiting for a faceoff in the other end, he starts dancing to the music.

As soon as the puck is dropped and the music ends, he drops into a dramatic stance, ready for action.

“He’s putting on his own show,” I say to Mabel.

She laughs.

“He is.”

The Storm are up five-nothing in the third period but then Toronto scores.

Ford is clearly pissed off, but when we watch the replay of the goal on the big screen, it was really fluky.

The other team iced the puck.

It bounced off the boards, not even hard, hit the back of Ford’s skate, and ricocheted into the net.

Tilly’s asleep in my arms so she doesn’t see this moment of shame for Ford.

She doesn’t see him hang his head, then swing his stick at the goalpost.

But he really doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of.

I guess he could have been tighter to the goalpost, but the puck wasn’t even moving fast, it looked harmless.

“He’s not going to be happy about that,” I say.

“Oh, well. No shutout. But they’re still going to win.” Mabel shrugs.

“I didn’t say the words. I did not say shutout. I didn’t even think it!” I turn to Mabel.

“You have to tell him that.”

She eyes me.

“Okay.”

“He’s really superstitious about that.”

“Most hockey players are.”

There are pictures everywhere online of Ford, Tilly, and me—me holding her up to the glass, waving her little hand at her dad, smiling at Ford with such open enjoyment.

Oh, boy.

I know better than to pay attention to that stuff, but I look at those pictures for longer than I should, smiling at the expressions on our faces.

We look so happy.

I am happy.

But I’m also a little afraid to let myself be happy.

Like this is a real relationship.

I should follow Ford’s advice: Don’t pay any attention to that shit.

I’m at Ford’s place carrying Tilly from the kitchen after giving her a first taste of a wedge of well-cooked carrot when there’s a knock at his door.

He lifts his eyebrows.

“Who the hell is that? You’re the only one who knocks on my door.” He walks over and yanks it open.

“Mom. Dad.”

Whaaat?

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Amsterdam.”

“We cut the trip short. Only by a few days.”

“Why? I mean… come in.”

Oh, boy.

I straighten.

“There’s that baby!” Ford’s mom holds out her arms and rushes at Tilly and me.

“That’s why!”

Ford lets out a low groan and covers his eyes.

My heart kicks against my ribs.

My mouth goes dry and my eyes dart from Mrs.

Archibald to Mr.

Archibald following behind his wife, to Ford, who looks like aliens with weapons just walked into his condo.

I attempt to school my features into a pleasant smile as Tilly is scooped up.

“Hello!” Mrs.

Archibald says to Tilly, holding her in front of her.

“Aren’t you beautiful!”

Mrs.

Archibald’s ash-brown hair with a big white streak in the front is worn in a mass of messy curls around her face.

She’s wearing a long russet-colored dress with a teal-colored…

thing…

over it.

I don’t know whether to describe it as a cardigan?

A jacket?

A coverup?

Her expression is genuinely elated, though.

She turns to Ford.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this? I have a serious bone to pick with you, young man.”

Ford closes his eyes.

Now I see Mr.

Archibald is carrying a suitcase.

Holy crap.

Are they here to stay?

I blink over at Ford again.

“Come see her!” Mrs.

Archibald says to her husband.

He’s…

astonishingly good-looking.

He has the same square-jawed face as Ford, his skin more tanned and weathered.

His mustache and beard are also similar, and even his hair—although his is longer than Ford’s.

Longer than his wife’s.

I snap my mouth closed and swallow.

Mr.

Archibald takes Tilly.

“Hello, little miss. I’m your grandpa. You can call me Grandpa Archie.” His eyes go misty and he looks at his wife.

“We’re grandparents, Dolly.”

“Yes.” She mists back at him.

Then she looks at me.

“I’m so sorry! We were just overcome with our granddaughter!” She rushes at me and throws her arms around me in a big hug.

“I can’t believe Ford didn’t tell us about you or our granddaughter! Ford, I am really going to have words with you.”

“Mom…”

“You’re very pretty,” Mrs.

Archibald says to me, studying me with a smile.

“I’m so happy to have a daughter.”

“Mom!” Ford winces.

“She’s not your daughter.”

“I mean daughter-in-law, of course.”

“Not that either.”

“Oh. You’re not married.” She lifts one shoulder.

“That’s no big deal. Are you going to get married?”

Omigod, omigod, omigod.

She thinks I’m Tilly’s mom and that Ford and I are a couple.

My jaw slackens and I send Ford a panicked look.

“Mom.” Ford’s voice is tight, his jaw clenched.

“This is my friend Andi.”

Friend.

That’s right.

I nod.

“She’s been helping me with Tilly. She’s not Tilly’s mom.”

Mrs.

Archibald’s head tilts.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows snug together.

“Well, where is Tilly’s mom?”

Ford scratches his cheek.

“In North Dakota.”

“This is sounding complicated,” Mr.

Archibald says.

He bounces Tilly on his knee.

She gnaws on her fist.

“Sit down, son. You too, Andi.”

Ford lowers himself onto the couch and I sit beside him.

Ford’s mom takes another chair.

“Start at the beginning, Ford.”

Ford takes a breath.

“Okay.” He starts at the beginning and tells them what’s happened.

I give his parents credit for listening and not interrupting, only making comments like oh my , and holy crap .

The one thing he doesn’t tell them is that we’re sleeping together.

Understandable, I guess.

“I need a gummie,” Mrs.

Archibald finally says, getting up to retrieve her purse.

She pulls out a package and takes one then hands it to her husband.

He also takes one and offers the pack to us.

Ford and I shake our heads, though I am sorely tempted.

“Well.” Mrs.

Archibald sits again.

She seems at a loss for words.

“I know, it’s wild,” Ford says.

“But that’s what’s going on.”

“Why didn’t you let us know sooner?” She fixes a chiding gaze on him.

“We could have come helped!”

“You were on your trip. You’ve been waiting your whole life to go on that trip.”

“We would have cut it short. Family is important.”

“I didn’t want you to do that. I wanted you to enjoy yourselves. You’ve done enough for me.”

She lowers her chin.

“Ford. There’s no such thing as enough when it comes to family. Yes, we supported you, but just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean that stops. We’ll always be here for you.”

I smile.

Mrs.

Archibald may be a free spirit, but she has a good heart.

“Okay.” Ford nods, looking a little emotional.

“We managed. And I have a nanny now. I’m not sure what’s happening with Willa and her parents, though.”

“I don’t know how a mother could leave her child that long.” Mrs.

Archibald shakes her head.

“Her parents must have been seriously injured.”

I look over at Tilly.

She’s staring off to the side and yawning.

I give Ford a nudge.

“Yeah, she said it was serious.” He looks at his phone.

“It’s time for Tilly’s nap.”

“Oh, she can stay awake a while longer! I haven’t gotten to hold her much.”

“No,” Ford says firmly.

“We’ve just gotten her on a schedule. Well, sort of.” He makes a face.

“She doesn’t always agree with the schedule. But it’s helped with her sleeping at night, so we’re not going to mess with it.” He stands and takes Tilly from his dad.

“She’s tired,” I say.

“She needs a nap before she gets overtired. Want me to put her down?” I stand, too.

Ford meets my eyes and his crinkle up at the corners.

“Thanks.” He hands her off and I take her to his bedroom.

I hear Ford and his parents continuing to talk while I get her in her bed.

She’s pretty good at settling herself if we get her here before she’s overtired.

That’s when we get reminded of her healthy lungs and spicy temper.

That makes me smile as I look down on her.

I admire the perfect curve of her cheeks, the tiny rosebud of her mouth, the arc of her long lashes on her cheeks.

I turn on the monitor and quietly leave the room to rejoin the others.

“Can I get anyone something to drink?” I ask.

“I’d love a whiskey,” Mr.

Archibald says.

“Sorry, Dad, I don’t have any,” Ford answers.

“Coke? Water? Gatorade?”

“There’s herbal tea, also,” I say.

“Herbal tea would be perfect,” Mrs.

Archibald says.

I go into the kitchen to make it.

Ford’s parents are telling him about their trip, which sounds amazing.

Clearly, they had the time of their lives.

They’ve switched to asking Ford about his game when I carry mugs of tea into the living room.

“Here you go, Mrs. Archibald.” I set a cup on the coffee table.

“Oh, please call me Dahlia,” she says.

“And thank you.”

“And you can call me Holden,” Ford’s dad says.

“You seem very at home here,” Dahlia says.

Her tone and expression are neutral, but I have a feeling the comment isn’t neutral.

I smile.

“I stayed here quite a bit looking after Tilly when Ford was at practices or games. Sometimes I took her to my place so I could get work done.”

“And what is it you do, Andi?” Holden asks me.

I tell them about my job, my business that I’ve started.

“She’s doing really well,” Ford tells them.

“She has more business than she can handle.”

I turn to smile at him, touched by his compliment.

He actually looks proud of me.

I catch Dahlia’s knowing smirk.

Uh oh.