Page 40 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

Chapter Thirteen

“Everything is fine. Honest.”

Preston could tell from Chelsea’s tired voice that everything was not fine, but he didn’t call her on it because what the hell could he do to help her, when he was all the way across the country in L.A.?

He’d stepped out into the hotel hallway to call Chelsea, not wanting to disturb Victor, who had fallen asleep three minutes after they’d reached their hotel room.

There hadn’t been time to call her before the game, thanks to some last-minute promotional gig the team’s social media coordinator, McKenna Bailey, had set up. So, Preston had resigned himself to the fact he wouldn’t get to see her and Lennon via FaceTime today, thanks to the damn time difference.

Instead, he texted her just before heading onto the ice to say good night, and to ask her to give Lennon a kiss from him.

She hadn’t replied to that text until ten minutes ago…at one a.m. her time. When his phone pinged and he saw her name, he figured she was up for the middle-of-the-night feeding, until she confessed she hadn’t gone to bed yet.

That was when he decided to call.

Lennon was running a fever and had been restless all day, crying.

It was the first time their son had been sick, and Preston could tell Chelsea was frazzled and stressed out, even though she knew his crankiness and fever were the result of the vaccines he’d gotten earlier in the day.

He wished he could be there—to help Chelsea and to comfort his baby boy.

“He’s not sleeping at all?”

“Just brief spurts, no more than fifteen minutes at a go. Then he wakes up screaming and I walk the floor with him until he settles back down again. I’m currently on my fortieth trek around your condo.”

“ Our condo,” he corrected—also for the fortieth time, since she refused to consider his home theirs.

Chelsea and Lennon had officially moved in a month ago, and as far as he was concerned, they were hitting the trial run out of the park.

Chelsea was laid-back and not prone to drama, so he’d known from the get-go she would be an easy roommate.

She hadn’t proven him wrong. He’d done the cohabitation thing with a couple of his exes, but neither of those experiences had been without more than a few road bumps.

So far, he and Chelsea hadn’t hit a single one, their personalities lining up perfectly. He hated doing laundry, which was something she didn’t mind at all. So she’d taken over that chore and, in exchange, he did the grocery shopping, something Chelsea couldn’t stand.

As far as dinner went, on nights when they were both home, they took turns cooking. Preston had a woman who came in twice a week to do the general cleaning, so the condo maintenance ran like a well-oiled machine.

Just as the childcare duties had. Mrs. Murphy still babysat a couple days a week, the rest of the time divided between him, Allyson, Ethan, and Chelsea.

Since the bakery hadn’t opened yet, she and Ethan were maintaining workweek hours and taking the weekends off.

That would change in a few weeks, when the part-time nanny they’d hired took over caring for Lennon whenever his and Chelsea’s schedules overlapped.

They’d been fortunate to find a nanny who was willing to work flexible hours, though Preston knew Chelsea was still anxious about leaving Lennon in the care of a stranger.

When it came to Lennon’s bath and bedtime routine, he and Chelsea shared the duty, him filling the tub and handing her whatever she needed as she scrubbed their adorable little butterball.

Then the three of them would sit together on the bed in the guest room, each of them taking a turn reading him a story.

It was Preston’s favorite time of the day, one he hated missing whenever he was on the road for an away game.

Chelsea ignored his condo comment. “It’s just been a long day.

After the doctor’s appointment, I had to drop Lennon off with Mom because Ethan and I were meeting with a vendor.

The guy showed up late and then the meeting took way longer than I expected.

Then when I went to pick up Lennon, Rick’s mom, Angie, was visiting my mother.

She managed to bring Rick’s name up three times in a ten-minute conversation. ”

“Great,” he said sarcastically, his jaw clenched.

Preston had been fighting an uphill battle with Ellen Murphy, trying to prove himself worthy.

In addition to visiting with her whenever he picked up Lennon, he’d given her and Mr. Murphy season passes to the Stingrays games, and he and Chelsea had invited them over for dinner on two different occasions.

While she’d been polite, there was still a wariness in her expression whenever she looked at him that told him he hadn’t passed the test yet.

“And how is dear Rick?” Preston’s tone was pure smart-ass.

Chelsea snorted, her reply matching his voice, amusing him. “Oh, he’s fantastic. He’s just made partner at his law firm and he’s taking his parents out to Charleston Restaurant to celebrate.”

“Ooo. The Charleston. Fancy,” he joked, the two of them laughing. When Preston had spotted Chelsea with Rick at the bakery last month, and seen the man lean forward to kiss her, his vision had gone green around the edges. He’d nearly been knocked down by the strength of his jealousy.

That emotion faded a bit when she turned her head, refusing to kiss him back, then it vanished completely when Chelsea explained what he saw the day he’d found her in Baltimore, assuring him she had no feelings for her ex.

“Seeing Angie just topped off what had already been a spectacularly shitty day. God, I miss you.”

As much as Preston loved hearing those words, he hated that he wasn’t there. He’d agreed to her request that they return to platonic hell, but maintaining that distance was easier said than done.

Because…after stealing those forbidden, rule-bending tastes, it was hard to go to sleep, knowing she was in the room right across the hall. His teammates thought the dark circles he’d been wearing lately were the result of midnight feedings, and he hadn’t bothered to correct them.

In truth, Lennon only woke once a night, and that time had become Preston’s favorite part of the day.

The moment he heard Lennon cry, he went to the kitchen to grab a bottle, then, like at Christmas, he and Chelsea tucked their son between them, taking turns feeding him until he fell back to sleep.

For the first few nights, Preston returned to his bed, but on the fourth night, Chelsea told him he could sleep with them if wanted to.

As if he’d pass up that invitation.

Chelsea usually drifted back to sleep quickly, but it always took Preston longer. Because the image of her curled up with their son was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever seen. So he spent at least half an hour willing away his raging hard-on.

“I miss you too, Chels. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Maybe the three of us can take a long nap together.”

“Sounds like bliss.”

Preston heard Lennon start to cry in the background.

“Duty calls,” she said wearily. “Time for lap forty-one. Sorry about the game,” she quickly added.

“Can’t win them all,” he replied, aware just how out of character that comment was. Preston used to hate losing, but nowadays…other things felt more important than winning. “Good night, Joy.”

“Night, BFG.”

Preston hung up the phone and sighed, leaning against the wall, wishing he was back in Baltimore.

“Preston? Everything okay?” Coach Dean Fields stepped off the elevator, heading to his own room. “What are you doing in the hallway?”

Preston lifted his phone. “Called to check on Lennon. He got his vaccines today and he’s running a fever.”

“Ah. Well, that’s a normal thing, right?”

Preston shrugged. “I guess so. At least, Chelsea said it was. Apparently he’s fussy, and I can tell she’s at the end of her rope. I hate that I’m not there to help out.”

“I was just going to say you dodged a bullet,” his coach joked.

“Remind me again why you never married, Coach?” Preston asked, grinning widely.

Dean rolled his eyes, ignoring the bachelor jab. “Cut that coach shit out. Don’t mind hearing it from the young guys—nice show of respect—but when it comes from you and Victor, I feel a hundred years old.”

Dean’s last year as a Baltimore Stingray was Preston’s first, and the two of them had grown close during that season.

Sadly, Dean’s hockey career was cut short by a series of knee injuries.

Coming back following one or even two ACL tears was possible, but Dean simply couldn’t get his knee back into hockey shape following the third, so he’d hung up his skates and become an assistant coach in Vancouver.

Since then, they’d met for drinks whenever their schedules lined up. Then Preston had been thrilled when Dean was announced as the Stingrays’ new head coach at the end of last season.

“You’re not alone on that feeling-ancient thing,” Preston said.

“During that interview this afternoon, I mentioned the year I started playing hockey. Fucking Rookie interjected that was the year he’d started school.

Asshole was just going into kindergarten, and I was playing professionally. Talk about a kick in the teeth.”

Dean chuckled. “So other than the fussy baby, everything else going good with the new roommates?”

Preston’s love life had been the hot topic in the locker room since he’d found Chelsea at the beginning of December. Not that he cared. Given how much time he and his teammates spent together—on and off the ice—it wasn’t surprising they knew practically everything about each other.

“It’s great. Better than great. Which is why it’s hard to be here when they’re there.”

“That’s the life of a hockey player,” Dean replied.

Preston sighed. “It is. Before this season, I didn’t mind the away games.”

“And now?”