Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Some kind of alien had to have body-snatched Drew Dumontier.
That was the only explanation for why he was currently being nice to me. Actually nice. Not his usual brand of fake politeness that came with hidden barbs, but genuinely grateful and almost apologetic.
It was honestly starting to freak me out.
“Thanks again for being willing to meet here instead of the coffee shop,” he said, bouncing slightly as he paced back and forth across the living room with his daughter strapped to his chest in one of those baby carrier things.
I still couldn’t get over the fact that he had a kid.
And even weirder was watching him dote on her.
She’d been fussing since I got here fifteen minutes ago to work on our psychology project.
“It’s just easier with all her stuff being right here, and I’m not really ready to answer all the questions people would have if I showed up on campus with a baby. ”
“Sure,” I mumbled from my spot on the couch as I spread my psychology notes across the coffee table.
To be honest, when he’d texted yesterday asking to change our meeting location, I’d expected some kind of trap or another elaborate prank designed to humiliate me.
Maybe he’d have the whole hockey team waiting to film my reaction to some cruel joke.
Maybe this was all an elaborate setup to get me alone somewhere so he could really go for the jugular.
But fifteen minutes in, and there was no punchline. No hidden cameras. Just Drew, looking more exhausted than I’d ever seen him, trying to juggle academic work with a crying baby.
I’d walked into the hockey house to find Drew Dumontier transformed into something I’d never expected to see.
A father.
And apparently, having a kid had overnight turned him into a nice person.
What the hell was happening right now? I felt like I’d walked into an episode of Black Mirror.
Every time Aurora made the slightest sound, Drew’s entire focus shifted to her. The only time I’d ever seen him this focused was when he was on the ice. Except where he pushed hard on the ice, with the tiny baby in his arms he was careful, as if he was handling something infinitely delicate.
Which, I guess, he was.
Drew was pacing back and forth across the small space, a tiny pink bundle in his arms, bouncing and swaying in what looked like a desperate attempt to calm her down. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and there were dark circles under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t been sleeping much.
His voice was tender but heavy with exhaustion as he spoke to the baby in a way I’d never heard from him before. “Come on, Rory. Please. I fed you, I changed you, I tried the bouncing thing…” His voice cracked slightly. “I don’t know what else you want.”
“I thought her name was Aurora?”
“It is, but I shortened it.”
Her response was to cry even louder, her tiny fists waving in the air like she was personally offended by his existence.
Drew looked up at me, and for a moment his expression was completely unguarded. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t exactly ideal for working on our project.”
“When’s the last time you slept?” I asked, because he looked like he was about to fall over.
“What day is it?” He attempted a smile, but it came out more like a grimace.
“I feel like she’s been crying nonstop for days, but I know that’s not true.
I’ve gotten a little sleep here and there.
But she hardly slept at all last night, and nothing I try is working. I think I’m doing something wrong.”
His admission was filled with so much worry that my heart actually broke for him a little bit. His whole world had changed in an instant, and he looked like he was one more baby meltdown away from feeling like a total and utter failure.
I watched him struggle for another minute, some internal war playing out between my head and my chest. This could still be an elaborate setup—Drew was smart enough and cruel enough to fake desperation if it served some larger purpose.
But looking at the genuine panic in his eyes, the way his hands shook slightly as he tried to soothe his daughter, I found myself making a choice I never thought I’d make.
Before I could second-guess myself, I opened my mouth. “Can I…” I started, then stopped. What was I doing? This was Drew Dumontier. My sworn enemy. The guy who’d singlehandedly made my life a living hell.
But his daughter hadn’t asked for this. And I certainly knew what it was like to be born into the wrong family.
“Can you what?” he asked, his voice barely audible over Rory’s cries.
“Can I try?” The words came out before I could stop them. “Sometimes babies just need a different person to hold them.”
Drew stopped bouncing and looked at me with surprise that quickly shifted to something that might have been relief. But then hesitation crossed his face.
“You don’t have to—” he started.
“Drew.” I stepped closer, holding out my arms. “You look like you’re about to collapse. Let me help.”
For a moment I thought he might refuse. I could see the internal war playing out on his face—his obvious exhaustion battling with his need to be the one taking care of his daughter.
Finally, Rory’s increasing volume won out. “Okay,” he said, carefully transferring the warm, angry bundle into my arms. “Just…support her head, and—”
“I’ve got her,” I said softly. “I used to babysit the Magnussen kids. I know how to hold a baby.”
“Fuck, those kids were little terrors.”
We shared a small smile, and for the briefest moment, I forgot that I was supposed to hate him.
I broke eye contact first and focused on the tiny bundle in my arms. She was so much smaller than I’d expected, so delicate.
Her little face was flushed pink from crying, with the tiniest button nose and impossibly long eyelashes.
Fine, dark hair covered her head in soft wisps, and when she opened her eyes to look up at me, they were that newborn gray-blue color.
She had Drew’s nose, definitely, but the shape of her eyes was different from his.
She didn’t stop crying immediately—I was good with kids, but not a miracle worker. But as I swung her slightly in my arms, her fussing started to settle.
“Hey there, sweet girl,” I murmured. “What’s got you so upset?”
When I was little and couldn’t sleep, or when I was upset about something, Mom used to sing to me. It was the same song every time—a gentle lullaby that always made me feel safe and loved. It had been well over a decade since my mom had sung it to me, but I still remembered every word.
Before I could second-guess myself, I started singing it softly.
Rory stopped fussing immediately. Her gray-blue eyes fixed on my face with an expression of complete attention, like she was fascinated by the sound of my voice.
I continued singing, swaying gently as I held her.
I was so focused on keeping Rory calm that I didn’t notice Drew had gone completely still until I glanced up and saw his face.
He was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t quite place. It was tender and surprised and maybe a little sad.
“I haven’t heard you sing in a long time,” he said quietly.
The words stopped me cold, because I knew exactly what he was referring to. The last time Drew had heard me sing was in sixth grade, during those three impossible weeks that December when we’d somehow been friends.
God, I’d been so stupid then. So naive. I’d actually thought he cared about my music, especially when he sat through all those practice sessions listening to me work through my solo for the winter concert. He’d even helped me with the high notes, encouraging me when I got frustrated.
And then I’d overheard him laughing with his friends, calling me a dying cat. The memory was even fresher after sharing our history at girls’ night.
I’d never sung in front of anyone again after that. In fact, that was when I decided to focus fully on instruments and dropped choir altogether.
But here I was, singing to his baby daughter while he watched me with that same expression he’d had all those years ago. Like he was seeing something he’d forgotten existed.
And it just made me feel stupid all over again.
“That was a long time ago,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. My skin was starting to itch with the desire to get the fuck out of here. What had I done to deserve to be stuck with the one person who knew all my weak spots and always—always—managed to hurt me?
“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice still gentle. “It was.”
There was something else in his tone that made my throat feel tight. Like maybe he regretted how things had ended between us back then. Like maybe he remembered those three weeks the way I did—as something that could have been beautiful if we hadn’t been so young and stupid.
But that was probably wishful thinking. Considering all the shit he’d pulled since then, I had no doubt the only time he’d been truthful was when he’d told his friends I sounded like a dying cat.
I couldn’t let myself forget who he really was.
His daughter might be making him soft, but I couldn’t let her make me go soft on him. That was the fastest way to disappointment, and I already knew it.
Rory made a small sound, breaking the moment, and I looked down to find her eyes fluttering closed. Her breathing had evened out, and her tiny fist was curled around a piece of my sweater.
“She’s asleep,” Drew said, wonder in his voice.
“Yeah,” I whispered, afraid to talk too loudly and wake her up.
Drew sank onto the couch like his legs had given out, running both hands through his hair. “I’ve been trying to get her to sleep for hours. I’m starting to think she’ll only go to sleep if she’s sung to.”
He looked at me then, and for a moment I felt like I was twelve years old again, sitting in the choir room while he listened to me practice.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m starting to worry I’m not cut out for this—that I might not be what she needs, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I gently sat down next to him, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in my arms. “You’re doing your best. That’s all anyone can do.”
I didn’t know why I felt the need to comfort him. I had no doubt, if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t be nearly as nice to me.
We sat there in the sudden quiet of the house, Rory sleeping peacefully in my arms, and I tried to ignore the way my heart was beating faster than it should. I’d known working with Drew was going to be dangerous, but I’d never expected it to be like this.
“So,” Drew said after a moment, his voice careful. “Psychology project?”
I glanced down at Rory’s sleeping face, then back at him. “Maybe we should focus on attachment theory,” I said. “I think we might have some insights to offer.”
Drew’s smile was small but genuine. “Yeah. I think we might.”