Page 21 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Chapter Seven

“Please let me stay,” Ethan murmured.

Preston vaguely recalled that Chelsea had a gay best friend named Ethan, so while this man wasn’t the father, that meant the guy from earlier…

Fuck. Was that guy her boyfriend? Her husband? Preston couldn’t see her ring finger, thanks to the baby blanket covering her hands.

“No,” Chelsea replied, under her breath. Obviously, she was trying to keep her conversation with Ethan private, despite the fact Preston was standing right there and could hear every word.

“I’ll go over there and stand in the corner.

You won’t even know I’m here. I won’t say a word, promise.

” Ethan made no effort to lower his voice.

In fact, he was looking at Preston as he spoke to Chelsea.

“Preston Jacobson,” he added, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And my sweet little Cupcake. Unbelievable.”

Preston didn’t have a clue what Ethan was talking about, but he was clearly exasperating Chelsea, who blew out a hard sigh.

“Don’t you have something to do in the kitchen or somewhere else?” she asked pointedly.

Ethan shook his head. “Nope. You’re not going to talk loud enough for me to hear you all the way in the kitchen.”

Chelsea closed her eyes briefly, as if praying for patience. “Go away. Please.”

Ethan’s smile widened, and he finally decided to include Preston in the conversation.

“Tell you what I’ll do. Preston, why don’t you and Cupcake take some time to reconnect?

My apartment is only six blocks away. I’m going to run home really quick.

If you’re still here when I get back—and I think you will be—I have approximately ninety-seven things I’d love for you to sign. ”

Ethan’s request was so unexpected, Preston couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the fact his heart was splintering into a million pieces.

He’d spent a year thinking about Chelsea, wishing he could see her, talk to her, and the whole time, she’d been moving on with her life, falling in love, and starting a family.

“Ethan,” Chelsea said. “Seriously. Go. Away.”

“I’m going, I’m going. Super nice to meet you,” Ethan said, shaking Preston’s hand effusively. “Seriously, huge fan. Huge .”

Preston nodded, even though his attention was locked on Chelsea, who was feeding the baby.

The baby blanket was too high for Preston to see the little one’s face, so it was impossible to gauge the child’s age.

Considering they were together a year ago, and she wasn’t dating anyone else at the time, the baby would have to be a newborn.

Ethan left the bakery and, given how fast he was walking, Preston suspected the man hadn’t been joking about returning with things for him to sign.

“Do you have time to sit and talk?” Chelsea asked.

Preston nodded, aware this conversation was likely to be painful. The idea of Chelsea happy and in love with someone else shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

It was only one night.

He’d repeated those same five words to himself countless times over the past twelve months, but they never stuck, never gave him the power to push her out of his mind.

Preston took the seat Ethan had just vacated, watching as Chelsea sat as well, adjusting the baby slightly before popping the bottle back in his mouth.

Ethan had referred to the baby as “little man” when he comforted him, and that tracked, given the blue blanket and the dinosaur-clad arm he could see that was reaching up toward the bottle.

Not that the child was old enough to hold it himself.

“You’re a mother,” he said, kicking himself the second the words crossed his lips.

Hello, Captain Obvious.

“I am. I…um…” She looked down at the baby, her cheeks flushed.

“Paris didn’t work out?” he asked, when her pause lingered. Chelsea was clearly as uncomfortable with this reunion as he was.

She shook her head. “No. I knew I would need help when the baby came along, so moving home was the wisest option.”

“Baltimore is home? Not Philly?”

“Allyson and I drove to Philadelphia for that party. The original plan had been to crash at her cousin’s house afterward.”

Original plan. The one that had changed when she’d suggested the two of them leave the party together.

“Quite a coincidence. I’d been planning to spend an hour or so at the party, have a beer with my buddies, then drive back home to Baltimore that night.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Huge coincidence. How did you find this place? Me?”

“Dumb luck. I had breakfast with a teammate this morning, and I was walking to the restaurant when I saw the sign on the window.” Preston gestured toward the front of the building. “You said your dream bakery would be called Sugar and Spice.”

She smiled. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember everything from that night.” The second he said the words, Preston wished he could call them back. But only until…

“So do I,” she whispered.

That confession from her would have lit up his insides like a Christmas tree if she weren’t holding someone else’s baby.

“Preston,” she started, her face too serious, suddenly.

He drew in a deep breath, preparing himself. She was about to address the baby-sized elephant in the room.

“I tried to find you,” she said, her words catching him off guard.

He liked the idea that he’d made enough of an impression that she looked for him. Of course, given the baby in her arms, that impression hadn’t been lasting. Not like his twelve months—and counting—obsession.

“I tried to find you too,” he confessed.

She grimaced. “You didn’t buy a ticket for the party. I called the inn, but no one named Preston had purchased one.”

“I didn’t have a ticket at all,” he admitted. “My buddy, Elio, runs the inn with his wife, Gianna. They invited me to come, since I had an afternoon game in Philly that day. He was the one I called and talked to, to ask about you.”

Chelsea leaned back, her shoulders slumping. “The front desk clerk I spoke to—her name was Tory—didn’t know you.”

“She wouldn’t,” Preston confirmed.

“And the clerk at the Rittenhouse Hotel was an asshole. Completely refused to give me your name.”

It sounded like she really had been searching. “Why were you looking for me, Chelsea?”

Chelsea fell silent as her gaze slid down to the baby in her arms. She pulled the empty bottle from his mouth and set it on the table.

As she did so, the blanket shifted. The baby wasn’t a newborn.

Preston didn’t know a lot about babies, but his buddies—Elio included—had kids, so he could tell this baby was likely a couple, three months old.

Preston leaned forward, gently tugging the blanket down so that he could see…

Large gray eyes darted in his direction.

The same color eyes Preston saw in the mirror every morning.

“Chelsea,” he whispered.

“I swear I tried to find you!” There was a desperation in her tone that gave Preston the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

“Mine?”

She nodded, glassy tears shining in her eyes. “I wanted to tell you, but…”

Preston couldn’t stop staring at the baby in her arms. “He’s mine.”

“Yes.”

“A son,” he murmured, stunned.

Holy.

Fuck.

He had a son.

“What’s his name?”

Chelsea’s lips tipped up in a small, tremulous smile. “Lennon.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “That’s the best name I’ve ever heard.”

She laughed, but it was a shaky one, more nerves than joy.

Preston rested his elbows on his knees, shock taking over. His entire body went numb as a million truths crashed on his head at the same time.

He had a son named Lennon. With Chelsea, the woman of his dreams.

He was a father. He was a father. He was a father.

It was that realization that started playing on repeat as if his brain was trying to force the rest of him to catch up and get with the program.

While shock rendered him speechless, nerves were impacting Chelsea differently as she suddenly started talking fast. “He was born on September first. A Virgo.”

“Like you,” he murmured.

“God. You really do remember everything. He came a week early. He was nine pounds, four ounces, and twenty-two inches long. I was glad he didn’t wait any longer to be born because…well, look at that head.”

Preston couldn’t take his eyes off the child, who was the most adorable baby he’d ever seen in his life. And yes, he was definitely prejudiced.

Chelsea hastily rambled on, shooting fact after fact at him. “He’s currently off all the charts for height and weight. A big boy, like you. He was born with dark hair, but most of that’s fallen out and what’s growing in now is closer to your shade. And his eyes…”

“They’re gray. Like mine.” Preston’s gaze locked with Lennon’s, whose hands were swinging around wildly. He reached out, thrilled when his tiny son grasped his finger and held tight.

“He’s the best baby ever,” she continued. “Hardly ever cries, always smiling, and so, so sweet. He’s not sleeping through the night yet, but that’s just because he’s always hungry.”

Preston soaked in every word. Part of him was grateful for the recap, but it didn’t feel like that was her intention. Instead, it was like Chelsea was trying to sell him on his son.

She bit her lower lip. “I know this is unexpected, and I know we used condoms… But I swear, he really is your?—”

Did she think he didn’t believe her?

“Chelsea. Stop. I know he’s mine. I know you wouldn’t lie about something like this. We might not have spent a great deal of time together, but I know that much for damn sure.”

“It’s just…I didn’t know you were a professional hockey player. That’s cool, but…I mean, maybe women… Shit. I’m saying everything so badly.” Her face was bloodred, and her eyes were downcast. Her stress was currently giving his shock a run for its money.

Preston thought back to that night. “The first condom slipped,” he said. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but I should have.”

She nodded. “So should I.”

“And we weren’t exactly careful in the shower,” he added.