Page 41 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

“Chelsea and I are still trying to find our way, and every time we start to get into a good routine, it’s disrupted by me hitting the road again.

It’s also impacting how quickly I’m able to form a bond with Lennon.

When I get back home after being gone a few days, it feels like I’m starting from scratch with him. ”

“He’s only a baby. That’ll get easier as he gets older.”

“Yeah, I guess.” But Preston didn’t like the idea of Lennon getting used to him being away.

“Juggling this career and a family is hard work, Preston. The trick is to manage a life/work balance. I never figured that out myself, but if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve always been good at prioritizing things in the right way. It might take some time to get there, but you will.”

“What if I don’t want to get there?”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

Preston hadn’t broached the subject of him hanging up his skates with anyone on the team except Victor, nearly two months ago. “I’m thirty-five, Dean. You know as well as I do, I’m quickly approaching the sell-by date on this career.”

“Plenty of guys play into their forties these days.”

“Says my coach.”

Dean smirked. “Physically, you’re still in top shape, Preston. I wouldn’t play you if you weren’t keeping up, but the fact is, you are. And more than that, you’re a hell of a role model to the young guys just coming up. They look up to you.”

Preston appreciated hearing all of that, but his current issues with hockey didn’t stem from his abilities.

“It’s not the body that’s struggling. It’s this.

” Preston tapped his temple. “And this.” He dropped his hand to his heart.

“Because I’m standing in this hallway right now, resenting the fuck out of the fact I’m here instead of with them. ”

Dean leaned against the opposite wall, grimacing. “Sounds to me like you’ve made up your mind.”

“I haven’t,” he said quickly, because he hadn’t.

Not really. Although, it was something he’d been thinking about more and more with each passing day.

It was stupid to even bring the subject up to Dean, considering he was Preston’s coach.

However, the man had been his friend first and he respected his opinion.

Dean rubbed his jaw. “As your coach, I feel compelled to convince you to stick around, to continue playing, but as your friend…”

“As my friend?” Preston prodded.

“I always put hockey first, Preston. Always. And it cost me. When I was younger, all I ever wanted was to be on the ice or living the life of a big-shot athlete—complete with puck bunnies and bad financial decisions. I made all the wrong choices. You love this sport as much as I do…so trust me when I say, you should leave before this resentment you’re feeling right now turns into something much worse. ”

“What’s worse than resentment?” Preston asked.

“Regret.”

There was no question Dean was speaking from personal experience, but Preston knew his old friend well enough to know that was as much as he was going to say on the subject.

Hell, that was more than Preston had ever gotten from him.

Dean was tight-lipped when it came to talking about his personal life.

“I need to reiterate that this is just me thinking out loud,” Preston reasserted. “I really haven’t made any solid decisions.”

“I understand. I won’t say anything to anyone else. I appreciate you giving me a heads-up, and I hope you’ll let me know once you do decide.”

“I will,” Preston vowed.

“Got any idea what you’ll do after you retire?”

Preston shook his head, even though that was a lie.

As far as he was concerned, stay-at-home dad sounded like a pretty sweet gig.

“Well, if you find yourself missing the sport too much, let me know. I’m sure I could find a place for you on the coaching staff.”

Preston was touched by the offer—but not tempted.

“Alright, then,” Dean said, pushing off the wall. “I’m fucking exhausted. Going to bed. Hope Lennon feels better soon.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Preston said, with a shit-eating grin as Dean flipped him off.

“Good night.”

Preston returned to the room, sighing heavily. Sleep was going to elude him, and not just because of Victor’s snoring.

Nope. Tonight, he was fighting with himself.

Stay-at-home dad in one corner.

Hockey in the other.

And he didn’t have a clue which one was going to win.

Chelsea sat on the couch, staring at the TV, even though it wasn’t turned on. She was exhausted—from the sleepless night and from walking a tightrope she didn’t want to walk anymore.

Her love for Preston grew more and more with each passing day, making it impossible to maintain this roommate facade.

She was letting fear hold her back.

If Aunt Agnes was still alive, she would read Chelsea the riot act for being such an idiot about this relationship with Preston.

Then she thought about what Agnes had said in her will, suddenly seeing the words in a different light.

Chelsea had only considered Agnes’s advice from the perspective of opening the bakery, but she could see it applied to much more than that.

Because Agnes was right. The most important decisions were made with the heart.

Chelsea was letting her stupid head run the show, feeding her a bunch of preconceived notions about professional athletes—none of which were true about Preston—and some ridiculous idea that love required years, not minutes.

That, combined with her fear of having her heart broken again—thanks to douchebag Rick—was guiding what she thought were smart, well-thought-out choices.

“You have my permission to haunt me,” Chelsea directed toward heaven and Aunt Agnes. “I deserve it.”

She jumped, her heart spiking, when she heard a knock. For a split second, she thought it was Aunt Agnes’s ghost responding to her invitation. She rolled her eyes at herself when she realized someone was at the door.

Chelsea peered through the peephole, surprised to find Mom standing in the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, as she opened the door and Mom walked in.

“I had a few errands to run today, and I thought I’d drop this by.” Mom held up Lennon’s favorite blanket. “You left it yesterday.”

“Oh, thanks. I was looking for that this morning.” Chelsea took the blanket, following as Mom crossed the living room, peering into the bassinet to steal a peek at Lennon, who was—finally—sleeping peacefully after their restless night.

“Is he feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Chelsea said. “His fever broke around four a.m. and we finally managed to grab a couple hours of sleep. Mercifully, it’s the weekend, so I don’t have to go to work today.”

Mom studied her face, giving her a sympathetic smile. Obviously, Chelsea looked as wrecked as she felt. She hadn’t had a chance to shower, so she was pairing the dark circles under her eyes with a spectacular bedhead hairdo.

“When does Preston get home?”

Chelsea glanced toward the kitchen, checking the clock on the oven.

She blew out a hard breath. “In two hours.” Then she looked around the condo.

She’d been on the go since Preston left town the day before yesterday.

As such, she’d let the place go to hell.

There was a pile of laundry on the dining room table, waiting to be folded and put away.

The sink was loaded with dirty dishes and the counter covered with bottles waiting to be sterilized, as well as food she’d failed to put away.

The living room was equally cluttered, with toys, shoes, and clothes scattered everywhere.

Ordinarily, the chores wouldn’t seem so daunting, but she was coasting on fumes after managing only a few hours of sleep last night.

“You fold the clothes,” Mom said. “I’ll tackle the kitchen.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Many hands make light work,” Mom interjected, as she walked to the sink.

Chelsea smiled tiredly. “Thanks. I’m usually better at keeping up, but the past couple of days have been nuts.”

Mom rinsed the dishes before loading them in the dishwasher. “You’re doing just fine, Chelsea. To be honest, I don’t know how you manage to do as much as you do.”

She looked up from the shirt she was folding, trying to figure out if she’d heard what she thought she had. A compliment? From Mom ?

Her mother must have caught her confused/amazed expression, because she gave her a rueful smile. “I know I’m not the easiest person to live with.”

Chelsea had to bite her lip not to laugh, not that her effort was necessary, since Mom narrowed her eyes, feigning anger. “Okay, Henry. I know you think that’s an understatement.”

She laughed when Mom called her by Dad’s name, something she always did whenever Chelsea did or said something he would.

“Did Dad say something to you?” Chelsea wondered if her father had instigated this visit and conversation.

“No, he didn’t. It’s just…” She paused, and Chelsea could tell whatever she planned to say next would be hard for her mother.

“I heard Angie yesterday, singing Rick’s praises to you, and I was afraid maybe you thought that I…

” Mom sighed, changing directions. “I’ve been worried about you this past year.

I mean, you decided to move to Paris on a whim. ”

Chelsea wanted to argue that it wasn’t a whim, but the truth was, she’d let her broken heart and wounded pride make that decision.

Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if she’d still be there if she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

She sort of suspected she wouldn’t. Because she’d been terribly homesick her first few months, and that was before she knew about Lennon.

“Then you moved back, pregnant after a one-night stand. And you didn’t even know the man’s last name.”

Chelsea winced slightly, because when her mom said it like that, she could see just how bad it all sounded.

“When Rick started showing up again, I was just as annoyed and angry about it as you were, because he hurt you badly. But then…he kept coming around and, well…I’ve known the man since he was born.

I could tell he was sorry. Between him helping us set up the nursery and Angie talking in my ear, telling me how Rick admitted leaving you at the altar was the biggest mistake of his life…

I guess I started thinking perhaps the two of you could work things out. Especially after you forgave him.”

“I forgave him for me , Mom. Not him. I was tired of being angry all the time.”

Mom nodded. “I get that and I respect it.”

Chelsea wasn’t sure how to reply to that because…wow.

“When you came home from Paris, seven months pregnant, and decided to open your own business, Chelsea. I was afraid that was another whim.”

This time, Chelsea defended herself. “I’ve dreamed of opening my own bakery since I was a kid. You know that.”

“I do, but it still scared me. I was afraid you were taking on too much, and I was worried…”

“I’d fail.”

Mom shook her head, then shrugged. “Maybe at the beginning. But I’ve seen how hard you and Ethan are working, and I’m impressed by everything you’ve set in motion. Your bakery is going to be wonderful.”

Chelsea smiled, blinking rapidly so that she didn’t cry. This was the most peaceful conversation she and her mother had had in months. “Thank you.”

Mom cleared her throat as she bent to put a pod in the dishwasher before starting it. “And then Preston showed up.”

Dammit. She should have known the peace couldn’t last.

Chelsea would die on the Preston hill. He’d been nothing but amazing since day one, and if her mother criticized him, she would seriously lose her shit.

“When you came home and said you’d found Lennon’s father, and he was a professional hockey player, all the anxiety I’d been feeling for a year was amplified. I was terrified that he’d take Lennon from you.”

“He would never—” Chelsea started.

“I know he wouldn’t.”

Wait. What?

“There’s nothing worse than seeing your daughter crushed by a broken heart. I was so scared you’d be hurt again, but the more I get to know Preston, the more I can see that he won’t. He’s a good man, Chelsea, and a good father. I understand why you’re in love with him.”

Chelsea hadn’t said that she loved him. At least not aloud, even though she knew she did. “We’re not really a couple.”

Mom frowned.

“I sleep in the guest room,” she confessed, shocked to the core that she was confiding in her mother. “I told him we should keep things between us platonic.”

“Why? It’s obvious you’re both crazy about each other.”

“I’m worried if things fail, it will hurt Lennon.”

Mom’s shoulders drooped. “ I made you feel that way, didn’t I?”

Chelsea shook her head, then lifted one shoulder, because while her mom had planted the seeds of fear, Chelsea had watered them until they took root.

“Are you sure you’re holding back because of Lennon?” Mom was reading her like a book today.

“I’m afraid of getting hurt again too. When Rick didn’t show up at the wedding, I was devastated, and it took me a long time to pull myself back together. If Preston broke things off, it would be so much worse, and I don’t think I’d ever recover.”

Mom wiped her hands on the tea towel, crossing the room to her.

Placing her arm around Chelsea’s shoulders, she gave her a comforting squeeze.

“Of course you would. Because you’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.

Sweetheart, love always comes with risks, but the rewards make them worth it.

Preston loves you and Lennon, and I think the three of you will make a wonderful family. Stop letting your fear hold you back.”

It was the exact same thing she’d just decided for herself. Hearing her mother say the same lifted the weight that had been crushing her since she found out she was pregnant.

Chelsea didn’t bother stemming the tears, letting them flow down her cheeks as her mom embraced her, softly swaying with her in that way moms did. Chelsea did the same thing whenever she was trying to comfort Lennon.

It took a few minutes, but Chelsea finally managed to pull herself together. Once she did, she and Mom worked together to finish all the chores she’d let slide. Then Mom hung out for a little while, cuddling Lennon.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair now,” Mom said, handing Lennon back to her. “I still have those errands to run.”

“Thanks for all your help, Mom,” Chelsea said. “And for the advice. I needed to hear it.”

“No. You need to take it,” her mom replied sternly, because Ellen Murphy always thought she knew best.

Of course, in this case, she was right.