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Chapter Seventeen

Lars

Going to the gym was the best idea I could have had.

Okay, unwrapping Adeline from her dad’s jersey was the best idea, but as I didn’t have that as an option, the gym was the next best thing.

I did everything I could to push thoughts of her away. Treadmill, elliptical, weights, all of it helped keep images of her sweet mouth on the down low for a few peaceful moments. Until Theo arrived and my efforts dissolved in the face of that all-too-familiar smile.

Was I forever doomed to this hell? One look at my captain and I think of his gorgeous daughter and all the wicked things I want to do to her?

The sooner I could hire an official nanny, the better.

Adeline would be gone, back to living with her parents.

I would probably have to stop going to the Kershaws for dinner because there was no way I could avoid looking at her and keep my dirty thoughts to myself.

Not after that kiss. Not after the feel of her in my arms.

Not after she put me in my place.

She had me dead to rights. I couldn’t joke around with her, talking about my dick and her impact on it. Ownership of my shit was all well and good, but honesty wasn’t always the best policy, not when I could never follow through.

I flexed my hands, trying to stretch and eliminate the muscle memory that had developed since holding her. Since touching myself with Adeline as the fuel to my fantasy. My cock twitched and I thanked the gods for my loose sweatpants.

“You okay?” Theo asked from the treadmill beside me.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your life’s upside down and you probably haven’t been laid in a while because you’re busy with a baby and worried about what’ll happen the next time you ejaculate.

Will it result in a baby brother or sister for little Mabel?

” Theo shook his head, grinning like a total dick.

“I get it. With Olympic swimmers like that, you start second-guessing yourself.”

Kershaw wasn’t far off the mark. I was cock shy, but that was the least of my problems.

Right now, the thought of sex with anyone other than Adeline repulsed me.

I wanted her and for now, I was going to keep it in my pants, at least until she was out of my house, and my life took on more semblance of normal.

If anything, her presence was a good way to prevent more mistakes of the conception variety.

“Sex is the last thing on my mind.”

“Already putting your dick in cryofreeze, NyQuil?”

That delightful query came courtesy of Peyton Bell.

Before I could respond, Boden weighed in. “Cryofreeze implies he’s going to be ready for action at some unspecified time in the distant future.”

“True. Once you have kids, your dick never gets any action again,” Bell said with the authority of a guy who had experienced nothing in his short twenty-three years on this earth.

Jacobs put down one of the 5k hand weights and picked up an 8k. “Until your wife says she wants another kid, which I blame on Nyquist and his cute baby. Then suddenly she’s all over you.”

“So what I’m hearing is that my cute kid is actually responsible for you finally getting some. You’re welcome.”

Theo pointed at Jacobs. “You need to send him flowers, Jakey.”

“Dear NyQuil, thanks for jumpstarting my sex life,” Bell said, like he was writing in his tween journal. “Love, my Dick.”

Everyone cracked up, even Jacobs.

“I think you’re all forgetting something.

” I jerked a thumb at our captain. “This guy thought his child-rearing days were over and look what happened. Another surprise in his stocking.” Theo and Elle had found out they were pregnant with Tilly around the time of a Rebels holiday party. “There’s hope for us all.”

Theo chuckled. “Yep. My sex life is stellar, even after five kids. So let’s not give up on NyQuil just yet, even if he is a little worried about getting ambushed in the Empty Net with another of my niblings.”

“The trainer is ready for you, Theo,” someone called out from the gym entrance.

He turned off the machine. “Time to have them duct tape it altogether.”

“You’re going to outplay us all, old man.”

I couldn’t imagine playing at his age, but then I didn’t have much to play for.

Kershaw had his family, his son on the team, this entire world he’d built with him at the center of it.

He could happily retire and enjoy the fruits of that, but he always had one more goal.

One more reason to strive. As role models went, he was A-plus.

Would Mabel ever see me as a role model? Look at her genetics. I tried to go against the grain of mine, but I’d yet to be tested as a father. Would I be a dick when she started talking back? Would I lose my temper and take it out on her? Would I turn into Sven?

As much as I hated the idea of Vicki having custody, I still felt it would be better for Mabel. Growing up Nyquist was no picnic and no daughter of mine deserved the legacy of my family.

I was so consumed by all this negativity that I didn’t notice Kershaw’s replacement on the treadmill: MacFarlane.

“How’s it going, Narquist?”

“What did you say?”

“Just a fun new nickname. Can’t choose your own, y’know.” He pressed a button on the treadmill. “Narquist.”

Narquist. Narc. Got it.

My part in Sven’s ban from the league wasn’t a secret. Seventeen years ago, the draft was approaching, and I was about to be named, when I got a call from the Commissioner’s office.

Are you betting on professional hockey games?

My world imploded. No. Not me, sir. It must be some mistake.

I knew what they were thinking: like father, like son.

Sven Nyquist had been suspended once, six years before, when he was caught gambling. Another infraction and he’d be out of the league altogether.

I assumed it was an admin error or someone with a beef against my dad. He’d made a lot of enemies over the years and his lack of remorse around being caught for gambling had only made him more.

I immediately called him. “Dad, I just heard from the Commissioner’s office.”

Sven made a noise in his throat. “What does that asshole want?”

Close to forty, my dad was on his last legs in the NHL, holding on for dear life after a series of bad investments had threatened the security of his retirement.

He drank too much and barely put in the effort anymore, but he had two years left on his contract with the Detroit Motors, and that team was in the second round of the playoffs.

Sven had won the Cup once in his first year out and had flirted with a Finals run a couple times since.

This was his last year. His final shot at going out in a blaze of glory.

“He says there’s an investigation into me. For wagering.”

My father remained silent, and that’s when I knew.

“What did you do?”

Another cough preceded too long of a pause. “Me? Nothing.”

“You did something. You— Dad, what did you do ?”

“It’s nothing. It’ll blow over.”

“I’m about to be drafted.” It had been my dream from the first day I set foot on the ice.

Every beating, every harsh word, every tortured moment as Sven Nyquist’s son, I could forgive it all if I made it to the pros.

Hockey was the scaffolding for the relationship with my father, the only thing we had in common.

I’d been so ashamed when he was suspended before, but we got through it.

Now, this.

“Dad, did you place a bet on a game?”

He chuckled. “Well, I didn’t.”

Fuck. I hung up.

During the investigation, I wasn’t allowed to take my spot in the draft.

By then they’d figured out my father had placed bets in my name, and I was innocent, but the powers that be insisted the optics weren’t good and I should wait until it all blew over.

Sven was kicked out of the league one game before the Motors won the Eastern Conference.

My father never made it to the Finals that year, or any year after. Banned for life.

The next year I signed a contract with Boston. But my father’s stink followed me around for years.

He never forgave me for not taking the fall for him.

He claimed that if I’d pretended those bets were mine, I would have gotten “a slap on the wrist.” My career would recover.

Instead, he had to suffer the ignominy of a ban in his twilight years, slinking off into the sunset in shame instead of full throttle in victory.

Detroit won the Cup that year but he wasn’t allowed to receive a championship ring.

I never spoke to him again. Seventeen years of silence. Not even when he got emphysema or cancer; he co-existed with one disease and was fighting the other when he snorted a line of coke, slapped pedal to the metal, and crashed into a tree.

These days, there was always some dick who thought it amusing to remind me of my roots. Of the fact I “sold” Sven out because I wouldn’t take the rap for him. Sins of the father and all that shit.

Rowan MacFarlane had been gunning for my spot as Kershaw’s partner since he arrived. He was hoping I’d blow up at him and give him an opening, but no way in hell was I surrendering my spot in Theo’s last season. We were the dream team on defense, and I intended it to stay that way.

“You have something to say to me, MacFarlane, say it.”

“Me? Nah, just messin’ with ya. You’re kind of prickly, so I’m guessing you’re not getting much sleep. Your kid’s a cutie, though. Saw her the other day when Adeline stopped by.”

Since when was MacFarlane on a first-name basis with my nanny?

“Don’t look at my … kid.”

“So touchy.” MacFarlane grinned while I pushed the incline on the treadmill higher.

Adeline

The Chicago School of Folk Music had recently opened a new branch in Evanston, much more convenient for one of their JiggleJams sessions, aimed at infants and toddlers past six months.

Tilly had loved these as she was becoming more mobile.

The combination of music, dancing—well, wiggling—and socializing was a great way to entertain while providing networking options for the parents.