Page 27 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Chapter Nine

Preston had just finished wiping down the kitchen counters, tossing the sponge into the sink, when he heard a knock on his door. He gave his condo—which had never been cleaner—one final glance before crossing the large open-design living room/kitchen/dining area to answer it.

He was more excited than a kid at Christmas.

Swinging the door wide, he quickly darted forward, grabbing one of the oversized bags Chelsea carried.

“Why didn’t you text me from the car?” he asked, taking a bouncy baby chair and second bag from her. “I would have helped you carry all of this up.”

Chelsea was lugging enough stuff he wondered if she was planning to move in, not that he’d complain about that. Once he’d relieved her of everything except Lennon, who was sound asleep in his carrier, he led her into his condo.

Her eyes widened when she saw the large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Inner Harbor. “Wow. That’s some view.”

Preston placed the bags on the floor, then reached out for Lennon’s carrier, peering down at his son.

He’d been less than worthless the past two days, every spare moment spent staring at the photos and rewatching the videos Chelsea had shared with him.

She had sent more yesterday, while he was on the road, keeping him in the loop on Lennon’s past thirty-six hours. It had been awesome.

His teammates, once they’d overcome their shock, were happy for him.

First, because he’d found Chelsea again, and secondly, because of Lennon.

However, he couldn’t help but feel like some of the happiness they directed his way was premature.

Because while he’d found Chelsea, he by no means had her back.

The other night at Pat’s Pub, he’d considered asking her about the man on the street countless times, but something had stopped him.

No. Not just something.

Fear.

He was afraid of finding out the man meant something to her, that she was in love with him. Their dinner at the pub had been little more than two old friends reconnecting, and while it was nice, it hadn’t been enough for him.

So he’d stupidly decided to test the waters by kissing her after walking her to her car.

For a split second, she’d responded to the kiss. But then, as if someone had dumped cold water over their heads, she backed away. It wasn’t confirmation that there was another man in her life, but it sure as shit felt like it to him.

Regardless of the uncertainty surrounding Chelsea, one thing was still definite…and amazing…and wonderful.

He was a father.

So this morning, as he and his teammates disembarked from the bus, Preston passed out cigars, the guys slapping him on the back and congratulating him as he showed off even more pictures.

“How long has he been asleep?” he asked, itching to hold his son again.

“Not long. He conked out in the car, which FYI is your first Lennon lesson. If he’s fussy and nothing seems to soothe him, go for a drive. It never fails to put him to sleep within minutes.”

“Good to know. It occurs to me I should find a notebook and pen.”

Chelsea laughed. “I think you’ll be able to retain what I tell you. Most of it is common sense. The rest I figured out through trial and error.”

Preston placed the baby carrier on the couch, sitting next to it so that he could study Lennon’s face as he slept. “I can’t get over how perfect he is. Like, he’s seriously the cutest kid ever, right?”

“One thousand percent,” Chelsea said, agreeing readily, glancing over at the playpen.

“I set it up to be a bassinet. Was that right?”

“That’s perfect.” Walking to it, she ran her hand over the soft blanket he’d laid atop the padded cushion of the bassinet. “I’m going to move him over here. It’s not good for them to sleep in the carrier for too long.”

Preston watched as she oh-so slowly unfastened and lifted him out of the carrier. Lennon stirred a bit, but she rocked him gently as she walked to the playpen. Placing him in it, she pulled the second blanket he’d bought over their baby. Lennon remained asleep through it all.

Preston was relieved that Chelsea seemed more at ease today than she’d been at Pat’s Pub. He’d spent a fretful couple of nights, afraid he’d pushed her too hard. First, in his requests regarding Lennon, and then, when he’d stole that kiss by her car.

Reconnecting with Chelsea again had reinforced his belief that she was the one, that she’d been made for him, his perfect mate, but that didn’t mean she felt the same way.

Preston had made that soul mate comment so many times over the past year to his friends, family, and teammates that he’d started to question himself, thinking he’d overplayed his feelings toward her.

He would never question them again.

Love at first sight was real.

Period.

End of sentence.

“While he’s napping, would you like a tour of the place?”

Chelsea nodded. “I would.”

He gestured at their surroundings. “Obviously this is the great room, and the main reason I bought this place. I love the open concept and, as you pointed out, the view.”

“It really is killer.” Chelsea walked over to the windows, looking toward the water.

Preston pointed to the small marina just below them. “See the boat second from the shore on the right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s mine.” He hadn’t lived in Baltimore more than a month before he’d fallen in love with being out on the water.

Within six months of being traded to the Stingrays, he’d bought the boat, spending a great deal of his summer cruising down the Patapsco River to the Chesapeake Bay, where he fished from his deck, soaking in the sunshine and sea air.

“That’s not a boat, Preston. It’s a yacht.”

He laughed. “Not quite, but when Lennon gets older, I plan to take him out fishing with me.”

Chelsea looked at him, smiling. “That sounds wonderful. Ethan’s aunt Agnes had a boat as well, but hers was nowhere near as big. She would take me, Ethan, and Allyson out on it, though our fishing expeditions were usually fraught with drama.”

“Drama and fishing don’t mix.”

She gave him a gorgeous grin. “You’ve never gone with Ethan, who refused to stab poor defenseless worms, or Allyson, who screamed bloody murder whenever we actually managed to land a fish.”

Preston laughed. “You didn’t add to the drama?”

“Hell no. I’ll have you know I’m an excellent fisherwoman. I baited Ethan’s hooks and took the fish off Allyson’s before setting them free. All the while, Agnes lay back in her lounge chair, drinking Aperol Spritzes and laughing her ass off at us.”

“Agnes sounds like a lot of fun. Is this the woman who had all the hats and no television?”

Chelsea’s eyes widened. “I forgot I’d told you that story.”

He and Chelsea had spent hours in that hotel room last year, alternating between the hottest sex of his life and sharing childhood stories. He remembered being fascinated by Chelsea’s adventures with Ethan’s aunt.

“She’ll never get to meet him,” Chelsea said sadly, glancing over at Lennon. “Aunt Agnes would have loved Lennon.”

“I’m sure she would have.”

“Ethan has sworn to take on her role in Lennon’s life, exposing him to the same adventures and games and scavenger hunts.”

“Then I’m glad I managed to score tickets for him.

I know I mentioned the team box, and I can definitely get him a spot there whenever he wants, but I thought for this first time, he might prefer being center ice, lower bowl, near the glass.

Best spot to really feel like he’s part of the action.

” Preston walked over to the kitchen counter, retrieving the envelope with three tickets for tomorrow night’s home game.

“I know you’re not sure if you can make it, but there’s one in there for you just in case. And for Allyson, of course.”

Chelsea accepted the envelope. “Oh wow. It was so sweet of you to think of her, and I know Allyson will go. Ethan’s done nothing but sing your praises since he met you at the bakery.”

Preston noticed she didn’t say anything about her attendance, but he didn’t push, even though he really wanted her there. Hockey was a huge part of his life, of who he was, and he wanted to share that with her, wanted her to see him out on the ice.

“My dad and I watched the Boston game last night.”

He smiled. “Oh yeah. What did you think?”

“I was blown away, because that sport is seriously nuts.”

“Nuts how?” he asked, chuckling at her wide-eyed expression.

“How in the hell do you skate like the wind, all while pushing a puck down the ice and getting shoved into the boards by other giants, then manage to get that teensy puck by the biggest giant in the rink and into the tiny net? It’s nuts!”

“I guess it is. But it’s fun.”

“How sharp are the skates?” she asked.

“Razor sharp.”

She shuddered, then narrowed her eyes, looking at him more closely. “How many of those teeth aren’t your originals?”

Preston laughed loudly. “A few, but I’m not revealing which ones until at least our eighth date. Don’t want to scare you away.”

Chelsea’s brows furrowed slightly, leaving him to wonder about her reaction.

Was it the word date that was tripping her up? Granted, today wasn’t a traditional date, but in his mind, it was exactly what it was. He’d invited her because he wanted to get to know Lennon, but he also wanted to spend time with her.

He considered tackling the subject of the other man again, then changed his mind. They had approximately twelve million other fish to fry before he could propose that they pick up where they’d left off last year. Dammit.

Preston led her across the room to the large shelf he’d had built especially for his aquarium.

His mother was deathly allergic to both dogs and cats—all pet dander did her in—so the only pet he’d been allowed to have as a child was a fish.

Which was fine with him, because in his mind, there was nothing more peaceful than watching fish swimming around.

“Oh, is this Johnny and June?” Chelsea asked.