Page 39 of The Unexpected Lineup (Lost in Translation #2)

SHE’S GOT YOU WHIPPED ALREADY

RASMUS

A fter a typical two-hour practice, Papa Shane drops onto the cubby bench beside mine, running a towel through his damp hair. His shoulders crack audibly as he rolls them out. “Damn, I’m getting old.” When I don’t respond, he nudges me and says, “What’s going on with you?”

I shrug, checking the tape on my stick, even though it doesn’t need fixing. “Nothing.”

My captain snorts, the kind of sound that says he’s heard more bullshit in his life than he cares to count. “You’ve been brooding since warm-ups. You’re barely talking. Something’s going on.”

He leans back against the cubby, arms crossed, waiting me out. It’s annoying how good he is at this. He’s like a big brother figure combined with a therapist wearing a hockey jersey.

“It’s Haisley.”

“What about her? Are you thinking about her dad and his diagnosis? ”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. The thing is that I haven’t told her I want us to live together and share our lives forever. But it isn’t that easy after everything that has happened.”

Papa Shane tilts his head, looking at me like I’m a moron, his expression unimpressed.

“What’s insane is you sitting here, moping around as if she’s packing up and moving to another country,” he says and stretches his bruised legs with a wince.

His knee cracks this time, and he mutters a curse.

“You want to always be there for her and the baby, right?”

“Of course. What a stupid question.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Then why not show her through action if words don’t seem to come easily?”

I open my mouth, then shut it. I don’t have an answer. Not a good one, anyway.

Papa Shane sighs and gets up, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Look, I get it. You want her to live with you but don’t want to push her into something she might regret later. So why don’t you show her how you feel instead? Do something nice that shows your commitment to her and your kid.”

A brilliant idea hits me following his words. “I could set up the nursery in her place.”

“Now you’re getting it. Fucking finally .”

I push to my feet, eager to get started. “I need a favor.”

I explain my plan, and he agrees to get Lee. Jasper, who has been sipping his protein shake on my other side, stops mid-sip. He swallows, then wipes his mouth with his hand. “Let me guess. You want him to go to the baby store with you?”

“Not only him. Lee, too. ”

“I see,” he sets his bottle down, looking far too entertained for my liking. “You’re assembling the Dad Brigade. A bold move.”

I ignore the jab. “They’ve done this before. They’ll know what to get.”

Jasper studies me for a beat, then shrugs. “I’ll join you. Could be fun to see you sweat over all the decisions.”

Felix, who’s been undressing on the other side of the room, perks up like a damn dog who has heard the treat bag crinkle. His head snaps up so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “What’s fun?”

“We’re going shopping for baby stuff,” I admit.

“You mean right now?”

“Yeah.”

Felix shoves the rest of his gear into the hamper and claps his hands together in glee. “I’m coming.”

Jasper snorts. “You don’t even like kids, dude.”

“That’s not true. I like them in small doses and when they aren’t loud or mine. Plus, I want to see Rasmus trying to pick out stuff he thinks the baby needs.”

I glare at our goalie. “I hate you.”

“You say that now but wait till I help you pick out one of those baby mobile things with the most annoying jingle on the planet.”

Jasper swings his bag over his shoulder. His smirk is pure evil. “Alright, let’s get the dads and get this over with before Ras has a meltdown in the middle of the shop. ”

I don’t dignify his comment with a response, already marching toward the door. “We’ve got two more joining,” I tell Shane and Lee, who are already waiting for us.

Lee eyes our teammates. He squints as if he’s trying to do complicated math. “You two have kids we don’t know about?”

Felix grins, all teeth. What a dork. “No, but if Ras is panicking about baby gear, I’m reserving the front-row seat.”

Our teammate chuckles, shaking his head.

“Alright, let’s go educate the rookie daddy,” Papa Shane jokes and pulls out his car keys. “Time to learn the fine art of baby shopping. First lesson: don’t let them trick you into the wipes debate. It’s a trap.”

“There’s a wipes debate?” I ask, confused. “I thought wipes were good, no?”

Lee sighs dramatically. “Oh, Ras. You sweet summer child.”

As we all head out, Jasper slings an arm around my shoulders, his voice dripping with amusement. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

I groan. “Tell me something new.”

We pile into two cars, Papa Shane’s SUV and Lee’s sports car. Felix calls shotgun on Lee, leaving me stuck in the back of the SUV with Papa Shane and Jasper in front.

My former best friend tries my nerves, adjusting his seat so it nearly crushes my knees. “Cozy back there?”

I shove it back with a scowl. “Go to hell.”

Papa Shane chuckles from the driver’s seat. “You two behave exactly like my daughter and her cousins. ”

“Well, if Ras keeps acting like such a baby, maybe we should be shopping for him instead.”

“Funny,” I deadpan. “Really, hilarious.”

Papa Shane shakes his head, amused, as he pulls out of the player parking lot. Lee and Felix follow close behind, probably already arguing over what ridiculous things they are about to force me to buy.

Five hockey players walk into a baby store.

It sounds close to the start of a bad joke, but it’s my reality.

The automatic doors slide open, welcoming us into a pastel-colored battlefield masked as a store where people can buy everything they need and more for kids. The walls are lined with stuff from cribs to car seats and burp cloths. It’s overwhelming to the max.

Jasper exhales loudly. “Holy shit, it’s even worse than I imagined.”

“Look at all this unnecessary crap.” Felix whistles. “Babies are high maintenance as hell. Remind me not to have one.”

“You’ve no idea.” Lee, our resident new dad, shakes his head. “Alright, Ras, where do we start?”

“Um, nursery basics, I guess. A crib, dresser, changing table, or whatever else I need to make Haisley’s guest room baby friendly.”

The only one taking this remotely seriously, Papa Shane grabs a store catalog from a nearby stand. “You’ll need a sturdy crib. One that’ll last. Your kid’s gonna grow fast, so one that can be adjusted for a toddler could work.”

I grab a cart, and we walk to the wall with different bed options. Felix flips over a price tag in a random one and winces. “Damn, these things cost more than my first car.”

“But they’re worth every cent unless you want your baby sleeping in a box,” Lee crosses his arms.

“Actually, every baby in Finland gets a baby box from the government, including an actual box many babies sleep in during their first days,” Jasper shares.

I knew our dear Eastern neighbors were a bit strange, but a baby box takes it to another level.

We all ignore him and continue browsing the options. Felix grabs a random plush elephant from a display. “What’s the theme of this nursery, anyway? Jungle? Space? Classic Scandinavian minimalism?”

“The theme will be my son sleeps here .”

Jasper clicks his tongue. “Boring.”

“I agree,” Felix says as he shoves the pink elephant in the cart. “Congratulations, Ras. You’re now the proud owner of a nursery elephant.”

“Put that back.”

“Are you denying your son joy? Wow. He isn’t even here yet.”

I ignore him, stopping to look at a row of cribs. Lee and Papa Shane, our seasoned professionals, are already inspecting the different models. Meanwhile, Jasper and Felix veer off, drawn to something in the baby toy section .

Sighing, I run my hand over my face as I watch them wander off like unsupervised children in a candy store. I had no idea they would be so into this little shopping trip. At least the other two keep me on track with their helpful recommendations and tips.

It takes us another hour, thousands of dollars, and lots of laughs to find everything Papa Shane and Lee thought I would need for now.

Not to forget the random items including a mini hockey stick, baby-sized Peacocks jersey, and a stuffed octopus Felix told me baby Westerholm needs.

He surely knows how to spend someone else’s money.

And Jasper…well, he was the one who paid for the little jersey, insisting to buy the baby his first hockey gear. Because it made sense his Uncle Jasper would do that—his words, not mine .

I park Papa Shane’s SUV in front of Haisley’s brownstone later in the evening. The front door swings open, and Timmy steps out. His attention goes to the bags and boxes neatly stacked in the trunk.

“Did you buy the entire Babies R Us?" He jokes, helping me carry the items inside.

It’s my first time inside Haisley’s brownstone, and while I expected it to be nice, I didn’t expect it to feel so much like her.

There are colorful art prints in the foyer, small unique details here and there, and I can totally see her everywhere.

The place is also way bigger than it looks from the front.

The ceilings are high, the moldings look original, and the warm-toned wood floors add to the charm. It’s a mix of old and modern touches, exactly the kind of place I’d picture her in—cozy but elegant, comfortable but impressive.

I get why she wants to come back here. It feels more home than my place does.

Timmy nudges me as we step further inside. “Stop gawking, Lover Boy. We’ve got work to do.”

He leads me to the second floor, where the empty guest room is. The walls of the soon-to-be nursery are currently a soft cream color, but we’re about to change that. Haisley once mentioned in a text that she bought gray paint she wanted to paint the walls with. So that’s what we are about to do.

Timmy claps his hands together to get my attention. “Alright, Big Guy. Before we start, I have two rules. One, don’t fall off the damn ladder. Two, if you do, it’s your fault.”

“That a new rule you came up with or based on previous experience?”

“Listen, I have a track record of being an excellent painter,” he says mock offended. “But accidents happen.”

Stripping off my hoodie so it won’t get paint on it, my black T-shirt underneath rises a bit, revealing my ink. Timmy whistles. “Damn Westerbro, no wonder Haisley got knocked up?—”

I smack the back of his head playfully, stopping the words coming next. “Get the damn rollers and tape.”

We start taping off the trims, silence falling between us as we prep the walls. But it doesn’t last too long with my chatty new friend in the same room.

“You nervous?” he asks, covering the floor with a tarp .

“About what?” I ask, though I already know. It’s the same question everyone asked me after finding out about the baby.

He gives me a pointed look. “Don’t play stupid with me.”

I let out a slow breath, dipping the roller into the paint tray and pressing it against the wall. “Like I told Haisley and everyone else listening, I want to be a good dad to our boy. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Good. ‘Cause that little dude is going to have the best mom ever, and I’m hoping his dad is even half as good. But that’s still undecided.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mutter.

Timmy completely ignores my tone. “Now, let’s hurry up before she gets home and finds out we suck at painting.”

“She won’t be here until tomorrow or the day after, so we have time.”

He grins. “Oh, so we’re pulling an all-nighter, Ice Daddy? Just two dudes and a bucket of paint.”

“That sounds too close to that one viral video.” I shake my head, horrified and amused at the same time. “We’ll be done in a couple of hours if you stop talking and paint.”

“My chitchat is what makes this bearable,” he says, dunking his roller into the tray with a flourish.

Every once in a while, Timmy gets distracted and starts doodling nonsense on the wall. At one point, I catch him sketching what looks like a dinosaur if you look at it from a certain angle.

“What the hell is that? ”

“A masterpiece only those who love art would understand. So not you,” he replies. “You don’t seem to be a guy who gets modern art.”

“It’s more like a crime against art.”

“Hush, Man Bun Majesty.”

That one makes me chuckle. “Are you going to keep up with new nicknames, or should I choose my favorite?”

Timmy rubs his bearded chin, pretending to think about it. “Nah, it’s more fun to keep you on your toes. I gotta keep things fresh.”

I roll my eyes but keep painting, the steady strokes of the roller against the wall surprisingly calming.

The gray is nice. It’s soft but rich, a good neutral that’ll work well with whatever theme Haisley has planned for the nursery.

I only provide the basics, such as the paint job and furniture. She can plan the rest.

Timmy steps back, hands on his hips, and squints at the wall. “Alright, maybe we don’t suck.”

“High praise coming from you.”

“Hey, I set the bar low for a reason, Himbo Hulk.”

I chuckle, finishing another section and grab my phone to check the time. We’re making good progress, but there’s still a lot to do with the furniture.

“Expecting a text from your baby mama? Or are you avoiding my award-winning commentary?” Timmy asks.

“Neither,” I say, even though he’s not entirely wrong. I wouldn’t mind a text from Haisley.

“She’s got you whipped already. ”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, no shame in it. Just saying. It’s kinda cute.” He pauses, dipping his roller into the tray again. “I mean, this whole thing is. You stepping up, doing all this to keep her in your life. Not every guy would.”

I glance at him, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his voice.

“I never even truly considered not stepping up,” I say honestly.

“From the second she told me about the pregnancy, I knew this was it for me. Sure, there have been moments when I’ve wondered if my decision was the right one. But no regrets.”

Timmy nods, his usual playfulness fading. “Good. She deserves all that love and more.” Just as the conversation starts to take a heavy turn, he slaps his hands together. “Alright, back to work or I’ll get all emotional and cry into the paint.”

“Please don’t.”

He grins. “I could pull it off. Unlike you, Nordic Thunder.”

With that being said, Timmy starts singing off-key some pop songs from the early 2000s, the same ones Haisley loves. When I tell him to stop, he sings louder.

Somehow, tonight becomes another memory that will stick with me. And it’s just me, Timmy, and a bucket of paint for another hour.