Page 24 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Chapter Eight

Chelsea walked into Pat’s Pub, trying to beat back the anxiety that had been growing ever since Preston said goodbye earlier. For months, all she’d wanted to do was find him and tell him about Lennon. Now that she had…she was freaking the fuck out.

She’d been fine-ish at first, because she’d still been at the bakery with Ethan, who had sung Preston’s praises up one side and down the other.

And a lot of what he shared about Preston hadn’t just been about his skill on the ice.

Though God knew she heard more than enough of those stories as well, as Ethan recounted amazing Preston goals from years past. Ordinarily, she tuned her best friend out when he was on one of his long-winded hockey discourses, giving her unrequested replays and analyses, but this afternoon, she’d been practically spellbound.

What had interested her more, however, were the details about Preston’s charitable work.

Ethan followed all the players’ social media—as well as the team’s—so he lost no time pulling up Preston’s, showing her post after post of him working with underprivileged kids, reading in kindergarten classes, visiting fans in the hospital, and auctioning off sports memorabilia to raise money for very worthy causes.

She’d left the bakery feeling much better about tonight’s meeting.

Then she’d gotten home…to her mother.

When Chelsea explained to her parents that she’d found Lennon’s father, and that he wanted to be a part of his son’s life, she honestly thought they’d be thrilled.

And for the most part, Dad was. He obviously wanted to meet Preston, but he knew how important it had been to Chelsea to find him, and how much guilt she’d suffered over not being able to tell him that he had a son.

Mom, however, went the opposite direction, unwittingly putting the fear of God in her. Her comments hadn’t helped her nerves when her mother started listing off Chelsea’s own unspoken fears one by one.

Mom had latched on to Preston’s career as a hockey player, worrying that he was a playboy with a slew of baby mamas scattered around the country.

Then she’d managed to work in the fact that he’d be on the road for the majority of the year, so he’d be a much-absent, unreliable source of help.

From there, she expressed concern over Preston’s wealth, and how it would allow him to hire a successful lawyer who might find a way to “take Lennon away from us,” if that was what he decided he wanted. That thought was terrifying as shit.

“Chelsea.”

She glanced up and saw Preston was already there, seated in a booth. He waved her over, his smile so friendly and kind that she almost instantly felt calm again. She wasn’t sure what magic he possessed, but she had recognized the man’s ability to put her at ease a year ago, and it was still there.

She crossed the quaint pub, claiming the bench seat across from him. “I can’t believe I’ve lived in Baltimore my whole life, and I’ve never been here.”

“This pub has become a sanctuary for the Stingrays. We come here to celebrate our wins, and occasionally we drag our sorry asses here to drown our sorrows after a loss,” Preston explained.

“I’m going to do you a favor and not share that information with Ethan, or he’ll be camped out here after every game from now until the end of time,” she joked.

Preston laughed. “Go ahead and tell him. Being godfather to our son should come with some perks. I’d be happy to introduce him to my teammates. How was the rest of your day? Get a lot of work done?”

She shook her head. “It was exactly as I predicted. After you left, Ethan spent the next two hours breaking down your entire career with the Stingrays for me, and to make matters worse, it was done show-and-tell style, because he wasn’t kidding about having ninety-seven things for you to sign.

I saw way too many jerseys, trading cards, posters, pucks, and pennants this afternoon—not to mention the highlight reels of your best plays on YouTube. ”

“Oh my God. I’m not sure whether to apologize or call Ethan to thank him for talking me up.”

“Both are probably in order,” she mused.

“I’m sorry.”

She laughed. “I’m kidding. You’re an amazing hockey player.”

“How could you tell? As I recall, you come from a football family.”

Once again, Chelsea was touched by just how much of their one night together Preston recalled. She’d obsessed over those hours more than she cared to admit, so it was nice to know she wasn’t alone.

“I’ll have to correct that mistake. Or perhaps it’s safer to say, my dad will correct it for me, because when I told him who you were, he looked more than prepared to change allegiances as far as sports is concerned. Trust me when I say, that’s a big damn deal.”

Preston leaned back in the booth, looking equal parts pleased and uneasy. “So you told your parents about me?”

“I did.”

“And?” he prodded.

“And, obviously, they want to meet you.” Chelsea wasn’t sure how much to add to that.

While Dad was pretty accepting, Mom was going to be tough to win over.

Mainly because Rick hadn’t just been attempting to worm his way back into her life.

He’d shown up at her parents’ place shortly after Chelsea’s return to Baltimore with a check that he’d handed to her dad to cover all the money they’d lost on the wedding, offering them the same “heartfelt” apology she’d gotten.

Mom had held on to her anger for a while, but when Rick kept coming back with flowers and small gifts for her and Lennon, Mom had forgiven him.

Not that that was surprising. After all, it wasn’t just Rick pleading his case to her but his mother, Angie, as well. Mom and Angie had basically raised her and Rick together, jokingly planning their wedding from the time they’d been babies, so Mom had softened up way faster than Chelsea.

Dad—bless him—was reserving his judgment, agreeing with her that actions spoke louder than words. Rick’s actions on their wedding day had been deafening. His apology little more than a whisper in comparison.

“I would like to meet them,” he replied.

Given the fact she and Preston were a one-night stand with consequences, it felt awkward to discuss meeting parents with him, but since nothing about this situation could be called normal, she decided to just roll with it. “Did you talk to your parents yet?”

Preston shook his head. “No. I wanted to call them immediately, but I was afraid my mother would hop on the first plane from Seattle to meet Lennon. I figured we needed to chat first.”

Chelsea understood Preston’s uneasiness, because the idea of meeting his parents made her ridiculously nervous.

These kinds of introductions felt like a three-months-into-the-relationship thing.

Not a “Hey, Mom and Dad. This is the guy I hooked up with after the party and who’s now my baby daddy” thing.

“Hi, Padraig,” Preston said, as the bartender came over to their table.

“Hello, Preston. Sorry it took me so long to get over here. We got slammed at the bar with a bunch of ladies out barhopping for a bachelorette party.”

Chelsea glanced over where the bartender was pointing, grinning at the large group of giggling women indulging in blowjob shots. Given how loud they were talking, it was a safe bet this wasn’t their first stop in the hop.

Preston did the introductions. “Padraig, this is Chelsea. Chelsea, Padraig.”

She and the bartender shook hands.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“You too, Chelsea.” There was something about the way Padraig said her name that made her wonder if the two of them had met before.

Or it did, until he sent a questioning look in Preston’s direction.

It was a strange exchange, especially when Preston grinned and nodded.

Then it felt like Padraig knew who she was because of Preston… but that couldn’t be right.

“What can I get you two to drink?”

“I’ll have a Pbr,” Preston said, before looking at her.

“Just an unsweetened iced tea for me.” She lifted one shoulder at Preston before adding, “Need to be sharp for the midnight feeding. And the three a.m. one.”

Padraig’s brows rose briefly, then he nodded. “I’ll grab those drinks. Give you two some time to decide what you want to order.” He handed them the menus.

Chelsea wasn’t sure she could eat. Those butterflies in her stomach had turned into frogs, jumping around out of control. “What’s good?” She pretended to look at the menu, when really she was fighting to calm down.

She must have given something away, because rather than answer, Preston reached across the table and grasped her hand. “It’s okay, Chels. It’s just me. I’m the same guy you met a year ago. I know the situation is…” He paused, searching for a word.

“Fucked up?” she offered.

He laughed. “I was going to say unique.”

“Ah, ever the optimist.” Chelsea turned her hand in his, squeezing it back. “But thanks for that. I’m letting my nerves get the better of me.”

“I meant what I said earlier. I’m sure we can find a way to work this out so that both of us are happy. In fact, we won’t stop until we figure it out.”

She took a deep breath and released it, drinking in his confidence. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

“And for the record, the fish and chips here are amazing.”

She put down her menu. “That sounds delicious.” Then, because she was too nervous to start talking about the hard stuff, she landed on a harmless subject. “It really is a cool place.”

Preston spent a few minutes giving her a brief history of the pub and the family that ran it. Apparently, Pat’s Pub and the adjoining restaurant, Sunday’s Side, had been established by Pat and Sunday Collins, and it was now being run by their children and grandchildren.

“I’ll have to bring Ethan and Allyson here sometime. They’d love it.”

“Speaking of Ethan.” Preston pulled out his cell phone. “I want to make a note to remind myself to request tickets to the next home game for him. The team has a box for family and friends. I can get him a spot in there.”