Page 10

CHAPTER

TEN

MAX

B y the time I step through the front door, the house is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you instinctively lower your voice and tread softly.

I toe off my sneakers and shrug out of my jacket. Glancing around, I spot a blue sticky note on the foyer mirror that says:

Fire Station.

Furrowing my brow, I take in the words again, Fire Station written in neat, bubbly cursive letters.

Pulling the note from the mirror, I head toward the living room. The lights are low and warm, and the space is almost silent.

I’m dead on my feet. My legs ache, my back’s tight, and the pain in my shoulders is the kind of deep soreness that lets me know I left everything on the ice.

Coach didn’t take it easy on me today, and I hadn’t expected him to.

I showed up late, after all. With my starting position on the line, every second counts.

Every drill, every shot on goal, every hit—I pushed harder than I have in weeks.

I stayed later than the others, trying to make up for the practices I missed, hitting the weights afterward.

Trying to prove I still want this.

But even as I gave it everything I had, there was this tight coil in my chest—because I knew the longer I stayed, the more likely I would miss bedtime. And now, here I am. Too late.

Delaney is on the couch, curled up with a blanket over her legs and a mug in her hands. Her hair’s still in a messy bun. She’s wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt.

She looks up when she hears me and offers a warm, sleepy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I say back, my voice low. “Sorry I’m late.”

She sets the mug on the coffee table and tugs the blanket aside. “You look exhausted.”

I cross the room and sink down on the other end of the sofa, letting out a long sigh as I melt into the cushions. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little,” she says, grinning. “Rough day?”

I nod. “I stayed late. Needed to show Coach I’m back and serious.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second, just looks at me in that way she does—like she actually sees me. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s admirable. Wanting to show up for both things, even when it’s hard.”

Her gaze drops to my hand, reminding me of the note. I hold it up and shake it. “Heading out to go drinking or what?” I grin.

Her eyebrows squish together. “Um, no.”

“So what’s with the note?”

“It’s just a reminder to sneak out sometime when you’re here tomorrow to get the new car seat checked.

Oh, I used your card to buy a new car seat, by the way.

I hope that’s okay. I realized after you left today that you didn’t leave one.

In case of emergency, I really should have one in my car, too, you know. ”

I shake my head. “Wait. What? How did you get my credit card?”

She points toward the back of the house where the office resides.

“You have it saved on your computer. Don’t worry.

I did lots of research and bought the safest style and brand, and I had it rush delivered.

” She looks at me expectantly. “I know I should’ve asked, but I didn’t want to bother you on your first day back to work, and your computer isn’t password-protected or anything, so I didn’t think you’d mind. ”

My tired brain takes a second to register everything she said. Do I find it a little weird that she went on my computer and used my credit card to buy something? I don’t know if I do. It was for Caroline, and that is her job.

“Right, okay.” I shake my head and return back to the note. “But why do you have to take a car seat to a bar?”

“I’m not. I’m taking it to The Station. There is usually someone trained to check car seats for proper installation at all firehouses. I’m almost positive I did it correctly, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”

“Are you talking about The Station that is a few blocks over? Tall windows, old-school firetruck in the parking lot?”

“Yeah, I drove by it on my way here.”

“That’s a bar.”

“No, it’s…”

I chuckle. “Laney, I’m telling you…it’s a bar.

The team goes there quite often. All you’ll find there is Betty, the bartender, who doesn’t have kids and probably has no idea how to install a car seat, a few servers, and the bus boy Gus, who is high twenty-four seven and can barely clear a table without breaking a glass. That’s not the place you want.”

“Oh.” She pouts out her lips, which I find completely adorable. “So The Station, which looks like a firehouse and has a fire truck in the parking lot, is a bar?”

“Yup. It used to be a firehouse decades ago. Great bar. It’s our favorite.”

She blows out a breath and shrugs. Reaching toward me, she pulls the note from my hand. “Okay, fine. I’ll google a real fire station, but the note stands.”

“Sounds good.” I smile, but it fades quickly when I think of Caroline. “Did she go down okay?”

“She did,” Delaney says gently. “Out like a light.”

I exhale through my nose and drop my head back against the couch. “I missed it.”

“I know,” she says, and a small frown forms on her face.

There’s a long pause. I stare at the ceiling and try not to let the guilt pull me under. “I’ve never missed bedtime. I mean… not since she got here. It seems too early for bed.”

She nods. “I’ve started aiming for a set bedtime—seven to seven. It’s ideal for her age. Helps with brain development, and it makes the days more predictable.”

“Seven to seven,” I repeat.

“Yep,” she says. “Babies her age need a lot of sleep. And consistency.”

I process that. It makes sense. Logical. Still hurts that I missed saying good night.

“I just hate that I missed it,” I admit.

Delaney’s voice softens. “She’ll have many more bedtimes. Don’t worry.”

I raise a brow. “How do you know she’s going to stay down until seven in the morning?”

She grins. “I don’t, and honestly, she probably won’t tonight. It will take her a few days to get used to it. But we were very intentional about naps today. I kept her stimulated in between so she wasn’t taking little catnaps whenever she wanted. So, hopefully, she’ll sleep well.”

I look at her. Really look at her. She has to be around my age with no kids of her own, yet she’s freaking Mary Poppins. “How are you this good at this?”

She chuckles under her breath. “I honestly don’t know.

I’ve just always been good with kids. I didn’t have any younger siblings or cousins, so I don’t know where it came from.

I kind of fell into this line of work and read everything I could about raising kids.

Plus, lots of trial and error.” She shoots me a wink.

“You’d be surprised how motivated one can be when they’re desperate to do right by someone else’s child. ”

“Well, you’ve barely been here a day, and I can already tell you’re a pro. You’re doing great,” I say quietly. “Better than great. I’m serious. This house feels… different. I didn’t realize how tense everything’s been until I walked in, and it wasn’t.”

Delaney doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she pulls at an errant string on the hem of the blanket. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. The kind that’s easy and heavy at the same time.

There’s a lot to unpack in this new arrangement.

She’s a new roommate and an employee at the same time, yet…

it feels like more. Maybe a friendship. There’s no denying we have chemistry.

She’s so easy to talk to and be around, which is crazy, thinking about the first time we met outside that grocery store.

“You eat?” she asks.

“Grabbed something on the way home,” I lie.

She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me.

“Okay, fine.” I smile. “I didn’t. But you don’t have to cook for me. I’ll figure out something to eat in a bit.”

“I don’t mind,” she says. “I mean, I have to cook for myself anyway, and eventually Caroline. Your kitchen is pretty stocked, actually. It was easy to find ingredients. I made some alfredo pasta with broccoli if you want to warm some up.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

She throws back the blanket and hops up from the sofa. “I’ll be right back.” She stands and walks to the kitchen without waiting for a response. A few seconds later, she returns with a warmed plate and sets it in front of me. “Eat.”

I take a bite and moan softly. “So good. I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”

“I said I couldn’t guarantee my cooking was any good.” She grins, tucking herself back into her spot on the end of the couch beneath the blanket.

“Well, you’re definitely good, and while this is delicious, I’m serious when I say you don’t have to cook for me. Your only job is to care for Caroline.”

“First, you pay me enough to care for five Carolines. The least I can do is make extra when I’m already cooking for myself.”

“Five Carolines, huh?” I quirk a brow.

She shrugs. “You told me to name my price. I left room for negotiation. I had no idea you’d accept the first number I threw out.”

I nudge her foot beneath the blanket that’s stretched across the sofa. “Really? I told you I would.”

She presses her lips in a line, trying not to smile, and provides another shrug.

“Doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “I would’ve paid more.”

Her mouth falls open, causing me to laugh.

Delaney turns on a rerun of the show Friends on the TV, and we watch as I eat the pasta.

It’s surreal how still and peaceful this space feels, and so very different.

Just weeks ago, Jaden and I would’ve been playfully yelling at one another over a video game rivalry, thoughts of the one-night stand I had the evening before still fresh in my mind.

Now, Jaden is living with his girl, Anna, and our bachelor pad has turned into a home complete with a woman making me dinner and a child tucked away in her nursery. The contrast is blinding.

And while it hasn’t been long, that bachelor lifestyle seems like forever ago. Truth is, I don’t miss it. Perhaps because I’m too exhausted to miss it, though I think it’s more than that. My heart feels strangely full.

Delaney was right to encourage me to go back to work today. It felt good, especially knowing that Caroline was in the care of Delaney.

I set the now empty plate on the coffee table and look over at Delaney to thank her again for the meal. Her head is back against the sofa, and her eyes are closed. She took 100 percent of the nighttime baby duty last night, so it’s no surprise she’s exhausted.

“You should go to bed,” I say softly, squeezing her leg.

She opens her eyes, startled, and blinks a few times, and I find the innocence that lines her features simply adorable. She yawns and stretches her arms above her head. “Yeah, I should head to bed. Who knows when your little cherub is going to wake tonight.”

“Do you want me to take a night shift?” I ask.

She puckers her lips and looks at me with furrowed brows. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you pay me the big bucks for. You need a good night's sleep. You have a game tomorrow night, right?”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Exactly. So don’t even worry about it.” She stands. “Good night, Max.”

“Night, Laney.”

I linger in the living room a little longer, eyes on the TV, though I couldn’t tell you what was playing. Eventually, I push to my feet, turn it off, and take my dishes to the kitchen, rinsing them before placing them in the dishwasher.

On the way to my bedroom, I stop by the nursery and peek inside. The room is dark, thanks to the blackout curtains Delaney must’ve put up earlier. I open the door a little wider, letting the light from the hallway spill in just enough to see.

There’s a low hum of white noise coming from a small machine on the dresser—soft static filling the quiet space.

Blackout curtains and white noise. It’s simple but smart. Probably common knowledge for seasoned parents, but to me, it feels like a revelation. Just another reminder that I really lucked out finding Delaney.

Caroline is on her back, hands curled by her face, her chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm. She looks like something out of a painting—tiny, perfect, and completely at ease. I smile to myself, my heart squeezing a little.

Carefully, I ease the door closed.

As I step back into the hallway, my eyes drift toward Delaney’s closed door. A soft glow escapes from the bottom—maybe a lamp or the light from her phone.

I pause. The thought of knocking crosses my mind, uninvited but insistent. Just to say good night again. To thank her for… all of it.

But I don’t.

Instead, I shake my head, quiet the thought, and head down the hall to my own room.

Where I belong.