Page 37 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Chapter Twelve

“I’m a masochist,” Chelsea muttered under her breath as she pulled a pan of cupcakes from the oven and set them on a rack to cool before getting started on the frosting. The batch was half test run, half she was too excited to wait to try all the new shit in the bakery’s kitchen.

Chelsea had rung in the New Year with her parents and Lennon six days earlier, all of them watching Preston and the Stingrays play Calgary. She’d watched enough hockey by now that she knew nearly all the words to the Canadian National Anthem, which, as far as anthems went, was freaking awesome.

She sighed. While the cupcakes looked and smelled delicious, they didn’t distract her from her current state of…yeah…masochism.

Because her thoughts were a chaotic mess.

She tried to tell herself that was understandable. After all, this morning, right now, was the first time Preston had Lennon on his own.

Preston had shown up at the bakery to steal a morning squeeze from his “beautiful boy” and walked in to find her in the midst of a mini meltdown.

Lennon was going through a stage where he needed to be held constantly.

That wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t have a million things she had to do and if he didn’t weigh so much.

Sixteen pounds didn’t sound like a lot, but it was when it squirmed and wiggled constantly.

Chelsea was supposed to be creating her list of permanent products, staples they would sell at the bakery daily. Of course, they would have a special of the day, either a cookie or pastry, but for now, she was trying to focus on setting the standards.

Lennon’s “carry me” phase was working in direct counterpoint to that goal. Ethan was out today, meeting with a graphic designer to establish their brand. She was glad he was taking care of all that crap because she didn’t have a clue what any of the marketing lingo he used meant.

Preston had walked in, sensed her frustration, and immediately taken the squalling sixteen-pound boy into his arms. When she’d unloaded her stress over establishing the menu and Lennon’s sudden clinginess, Preston offered to take the baby with him while he ran a few errands.

She wasn’t sure what she’d projected after the offer, but he’d quickly assured her it was fine if she was uncomfortable with the idea.

He’d probably mistaken her delayed response as unease. But that wasn’t it.

It was just that a major truth had crashed down on her head and knocked her slightly silly.

She realized in that moment that she trusted Preston with their son.

Completely.

Then, when she told him she would appreciate the help, that gorgeous, sexy-as-fuck smile erupted on his handsome-as-sin face and triggered yet another avalanche.

She was falling in love with Preston.

Nope.

Scratch that.

She had fallen in love with Preston.

She’d done the one thing she told herself she couldn’t do because Lennon had to come first. She was determined to protect his happiness and his future and his security. Starting an affair with Preston would be the height of irresponsibility, because if it failed…

Well, she didn’t want to think of all the bad shit that could go down because it involved that word custody , which never failed to make her want to throw up.

The problem was that, while she thought it was her maturity—ha fucking ha—that kept her from giving in to her and Preston’s obvious attraction to each other, that wasn’t the whole truth, or even half the truth about what was holding her back.

Tomorrow, it would be one month since Preston had walked into this bakery. One month in the scheme of an entire lifetime was little more than a blink. And yet, this past month had meant more to her than all the other months of her life combined.

So much so, it had reawakened a hard truth she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She was scared.

Terrified, actually.

Of being hurt again.

Rick’s failure to show up at the church had struck hard and deep, leaving behind one hell of a scar. Losing Preston would feel a million times worse.

Her phone chirped with an incoming text, and she wiped her hands on her apron as she walked over to where she’d left it on the counter.

She tried to ignore the fact she was hoping it was a text from Preston, who’d already sent a couple photos of him and Lennon strolling through a toy store.

She’d texted back asking if a toy store had really been on his lists of errands.

He’d replied with a noncommittal shrug emoji that made her laugh because, knowing him, it probably had been.

Sadly, this text was from Rick. God, it was just like Beetlejuice . She thought his name and he appeared.

Apparently, Rick must have viewed her sleepover with Preston on Christmas night as her waving some sort of red flag in his face, because he’d been quite tenaciousness ever since.

Like an idiot, she thought Rick had given up after she told him she wasn’t interested in anything beyond friendship, because he’d gone radio silent. She should have known better.

He’d started reaching out after Christmas, texting every couple of days just to see how she was doing. She’d ignored them all.

Haven’t seen you in way too long. Wanna binge Below Deck tonight?

She sighed. Below Deck had been their show when they were engaged, the two of them never missing an episode. Clearly ignoring him wasn’t doing the trick.

Can’t. Busy.

She didn’t add more because what she did was none of his business, and she couldn’t help but wonder where the hell all this attentiveness had been when they were engaged.

Shit, she would have been grateful for just a third of the dedication he was currently showing her back then. Now, it was just annoying as shit.

Seeing him?

Apparently, Rick assumed her silence was Preston’s fault, rather than the result of him crossing the line she’d drawn in the sand regarding their “just friends” status.

She rolled her eyes at Rick’s question and the petty way he refused to refer to Preston by name, simply saying him , as if that pronoun was a personal affront.

Chelsea leaned against the counter, considering her reply.

All her energy and focus the past month had been on Preston and Lennon, watching the father and son build what was truly a beautiful bond.

She’d been so wrapped up in that, she’d shoved Rick out of her mind, hoping he’d simply fade into the distance once and for all.

Clearly, it was time to come clean, to tell Rick she didn’t share his feelings and officially rescind the friendship offer. Offering even that much had blurred the lines for him, giving him hope that simply wasn’t there. Doing it over text felt shitty, but she refused to let him keep hanging on.

We need to talk.

She groaned when Rick’s response came immediately.

I’m in the neighborhood. I’ll come over now.

Fuck.

While she knew this conversation was past due, she’d hoped to handle it all over the phone.

She put her cell back down and finished the frosting. Chelsea did her best thinking while baking. With the cupcakes cool, she’d just started icing them when she heard the bell over the front door tinkle and noise from the street filter in.

“Chels?” Rick called out.

“In the kitchen,” she replied.

He walked in, all charming smiles. Unlike Preston, who sported a sexy five-o’clock shadow half the time, Rick was court ready—clean-shaven, hair combed neatly, expensive suit pressed.

“Something smells good.”

“Red velvet cupcakes.”

His eyes widened. “My favorite.”

She knew for a fact his favorite cupcake was chocolate chip, but clearly he was trying to butter her up.

Chelsea handed him a frosted one, schooling her annoyance when he nodded his thanks, then put it down on the counter without taking a bite. Rick wouldn’t dare run the risk of leaving here with food in his pearly white teeth.

“It’s been a long time. I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I was sorry when I didn’t get to see you on Christmas. Did you get the gifts I left for you?” he asked.

He’d bought her a sweater—something his mother had obviously picked out—and a pair of fuzzy holiday socks.

“I did. Thank you.” She hadn’t gotten him anything, seemingly yet another too subtle hint.

“I know you’ve been busy lately. With the bakery and…other things,” he said. Obviously other things was code for Preston.

“I have,” she started. “It’s important to me?—”

“I’m sure you’re exhausted, but it looks like you’re really starting to get a handle on the bakery,” he interrupted, gesturing around the kitchen, which was nearly fully stocked. “And your mom was showing me some pictures of Lennon over the holidays.”

Chelsea made a mental note to kill her mother.

“He’s getting so big,” Rick continued. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen him.”

The fact Rick was mentioning Lennon spoke to his level of desperation, considering he rarely paid attention to her son.

Time to cut him off at the pass.

“Rick, this isn’t working for me,” she said.

His nod was too relieved for him to have understood where she was heading. “I’m not surprised. You’re burning the candle at both ends, and you’re never going to get the help you need from a professional athlete who’s on the road all the time, doing God knows what…and with who.”

Chelsea frowned, shocked that the irony of Rick’s statement was completely lost on him. Had he already forgotten that he’d struck up an affair when they were ENGAGED? Did he fail to recall that he was the one who’d skipped out on the wedding because he was doing God knew what …with Vanessa?

“Is he being difficult about Lennon? I know your mom is worried about a custody battle, but I’ve got a friend who’s a divorce lawyer, and he says it would be virtually impossible for Preston to take Lennon from you, despite his name and money.”

Rick had talked to a lawyer?

“His name isn’t on the birth certificate, so it’s a simple matter of us getting married and me legally adopting Lennon,” Rick added.

What. In. The. Sweet. Mother. Fuck. Was. Going. On?!