Page 35 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Preston shook his head. “No. I really do consider Baltimore my home now. It’s where my friends are, where you and Lennon are. And most importantly, it’s where my boat is,” he joked.

Chelsea burst out in laughter, the loudness causing Lennon to flinch. “Oh no,” she said, placing her hand on their son’s chest. “I’m so sorry, baby. Did Mommy scare you?”

Lennon settled quickly, continuing to suck down the milk in his bottle like it was his last meal. Preston’s mom swore he’d done the same thing when he was a baby, always guzzling every drop of milk, then seeking out more.

Of course, it was at that point Mom revealed she’d packed his baby album in her luggage, and she’d pulled it out, comparing the pictures he’d texted her of Lennon with ones of him when he’d been little.

There’d been no denying Lennon took after him, something Chelsea good-naturedly joked about being unfair, considering she carried him inside her for nine months, before pushing his bowling-ball-sized head out of her body.

Preston would never forget the look of shock and amusement on Chelsea’s face when Mom responded to that joke, saying “preach” and lifting her hand to Chelsea’s for a fist bump.

“I guess I’m silly for worrying about something that’s years in the future,” Chelsea said, referring to his retirement from the sport.

“I’m not sure it will be years away,” he confessed. With the exception of Victor, Preston hadn’t told anyone he’d been thinking about retirement recently.

“Really?” Chelsea’s tone told him just how much he’d surprised her.

“This past fall was not a great time for me. Usually I’m chomping at the bit for the start of each season, ready to hit the ice again.”

“You didn’t feel that was this year?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve played in the majors for fifteen years, fourteen of them right here in Baltimore.

Things I used to enjoy—like working out, the road trips to away games, hanging out with the guys after wins or losses—have started to feel more like, well, obligations, and not ones I necessarily look forward to.

And it’s only gotten worse since…” Preston looked down at the baby in his arms. “Him.”

“Him?”

“And you,” Preston added, going for complete honesty. “I hate anything that means I can’t be with the two of you, even if it’s just for a few hours.”

Chelsea smiled, and for the first time, he got the sense there wasn’t any of that ever-present doubt in her eyes.

It felt like she truly believed what he was saying.

“You’re still brand-new to this parenting gig.

The month after Lennon was born, I literally took three-minute showers because I hated that he was out of my sight.

It gets easier with time. Or so Ethan tells me,” she added with a giggle.

Preston didn’t laugh, because there was too much truth to the joke.

“That guy really is an authority on babies for someone who doesn’t have any.

He gave me a twenty-minute lecture on teething, telling me what to expect.

When I asked how he knew so much, he said he’d hit me up with some links to good baby sites.

He sent me thirty-two links, Chels. Thirty-two . ”

Chelsea closed her eyes, shaking her head, her smile growing even bigger. “He’s read every word ever written about babies since finding out I was pregnant. And to be honest, I love him for it.”

“He’s a good friend, and the world’s greatest godfather. You picked a good one.” Preston reached over, squeezing her shoulder.

Lennon wiggled, letting out a long sound, like he was trying to join their conversation.

Chelsea looked at her phone. “Oh. It’s getting late. Bath time for this little one. You ready for it?”

He nodded. “Hell yeah.”

Chelsea talked him through the bath routine, showing him how to check the water temperature, how to wash Lennon’s hair, and then she pointed out all the bits that were easy to miss, like under his arms, behind his ears, and beneath those rolls in his neck.

Lennon splashed, giving them a wide, gummy grin throughout.

According to Chelsea, Lennon loved bath time.

From there, they put him in a clean diaper, onesie, and sleep sack.

Preston had also bought a rocking recliner for the nursery.

“This chair is amazing,” she said, running her hand over the soft fabric. “You rock him while I clean up the bath stuff. I’ll get another bottle ready for him. He won’t drink much more, but it’s the only way to get him to go to sleep.”

Preston nodded, not needing to be asked twice. On her way out of the room, Chelsea turned off the overhead light, leaving him and his son alone in the soft, soothing light of the nightlight sitting on the dresser.

Preston rocked Lennon, who was sleepy after exerting all that splashing energy in the bath.

Before he realized it, Preston was humming, the tune to the lullaby his mom used to sing to him popping into his head. He wasn’t much of a singer, but Lennon didn’t seem to mind when he softly crooned, “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…beautiful boy.”

They rocked in peace for a full fifteen minutes before Preston even thought to wonder where Chelsea was. He’d been so intent on the sweet, restful face of his son, he didn’t realize she was leaning against the doorframe, watching them.

When he caught her gaze, he stopped singing, and she approached quietly, handing him the bottle. Then, without saying a word, she left the room, somehow knowing how precious this time alone with Lennon was to him.

Lennon drank this bottle more slowly, the sucking more for comfort than hunger, and before long, his eyes drifted shut. Preston didn’t rise immediately. Instead, he continued to rock, overwhelmed by a love greater than anything he’d ever known.

After a half hour or so, Chelsea peeked into the room. “Okay?” she whispered.

He looked up at her and nodded. Then he forced himself to rise, even though he would have been perfectly content to sit in that chair all night, rocking his son.

He carefully laid Lennon down in the bassinet next to the bed, hovering close for a moment or two to make sure he remained asleep.

He made sure the baby monitor he’d bought was pointed in the right direction, checking the feed on the app on his phone, before following Chelsea back to the living room.

“You’re a natural,” she said softly.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders after they sat down on the couch, tucking her tight against him. “Thanks for staying tonight. That was the perfect Christmas gift.”

She lifted her face, her eyes shimmering with tears that told him she’d been as moved by the last hour as he had.

They sat there, simply looking at each other, until he finally couldn’t resist leaning closer and giving her a gentle kiss.

It was a quick one, lasting no more than a few seconds, so it could be reasoned it was a friendly buss.

However, he knew that argument wouldn’t hold up because of the powerful emotions behind it.

Preston drew the back of his fingers along her cheek, then forced himself to pull away. It was either that or shatter the hell out of her platonic rule.

He hid his satisfied smile when he got the sense it was taking her a moment to compose herself. The impatient part of him liked that, liked that she wasn’t as immune to the sexual tension that radiated between them as she pretended.

Preston released a soft sigh.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Tonight had reinforced his feelings regarding the future of his career. “I hate that I found you again mid-season,” Preston admitted. “Knowing the bath and bedtime routine now is only going to make it harder for me when I have to hit the road again.”

“Hockey is your job,” she stated. “And you’re great at it.”

He appreciated the compliment, loving that she’d become a serious die-hard fan practically overnight.

He’d established a habit the past couple of weeks where he called her the morning after a game, simply because he loved hearing her gushing recap.

Or in the event of a loss, her “you’ll get ’em next time” encouragement that was always combined with a list of the refs’ shitty calls that cost them the game.

“It’s been my passion for most of my life, but even saying that, I’ve always known that hockey isn’t forever. It’s not exactly a career you hang on to until it’s time to start drawing social security.”

She pondered that. “So you’re really thinking of quitting?”

“It’s considered retiring, and…” He shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m one of the older guys on the team, so I’ve seen a lot of turnover, watched a lot of good friends walk away from the sport when their time was up.

At thirty-five, I’m hitting the upper range, and my body is letting me know that.

Most of my teammates are in their early to mid-twenties. ”

“What do you plan to do after hockey?” she asked.

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

She tilted her head. “You’ve really never given it any thought?”

“Of course I have,” he reassured her. “I just haven’t come up with anything I think I’d love as much as hockey. And,” he smirked, “I wouldn’t ever have to work again if I didn’t want to. While I’ve treated myself to a nice car, an awesome waterfront condo, and a sweet boat?—”

“As well as redecorating this place as a baby mecca,” she interjected.

Preston chuckled, because he had gone overboard on the baby furniture. “Regardless of all that, I’ve socked away a hell of a lot of money and made some very profitable investments.”

Chelsea narrowed her eyes. “Must be nice. The only money I have in the bank came from Aunt Agnes, and I’d give back every single penny of it just to have her still alive and well.”

Preston gave her a comforting squeeze, aware of how much she missed Ethan’s beloved aunt. “I know you would. I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

Chelsea rested her head on his shoulder again, and they sat together, content in the silence.