Chapter 29 Everett
EVERETT
“Aren’t you going to join them?” Freya asks, dropping into the chair beside me as the guys set up a beach volleyball game.
“Uh…” I keep my eyes locked on my cell for a couple more seconds, waiting for the message I know is coming. But when it doesn’t show up, I reluctantly rip my eyes away and focus on Freya. “I will in a bit, yeah. I’m just waiting for something,” I explain, lifting my cell between us.
“Okay. Is…um…” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Is everything okay with—”
My cell buzzes, and I accidentally shout, “Yes,” a little too excitedly.
Freya says something else, but I’m too distracted swiping my screen and opening the message.
Baby Momma: Thank you for lunch. It smells incredible.
A smile spreads across my lips.
Rett: You’re welcome. I hope you both enjoy it.
Since the morning I took her to work, I’ve been sending breakfast and lunch for her at the salon.
To start with, she argued. She tried to tell me she didn’t need me looking after her, that she could do it herself.
But when I didn’t stop the next day, she quieted down and just started thanking me instead.
I love it. Every time I know she’s had a delivery, a little shot of adrenaline rushes through me.
Of course, it’s not quite like stepping out onto the ice in front of almost twenty thousand people, or sending some asshole into the boards, or finding the back of the net.
But it’s still good. And it’s giving me something to focus on.
“Donnelly, get your ass over here,” Killer calls as the guys line up to start the game.
I’m barely out of my seat before Casey drops into it with an exhausted sigh.
“Aren’t you playing?” I ask.
She shoots me a glare before waving me off. “Cocktails?” I hear her ask Freya as I join the others. The only other non-player here is Sutton Rivers, standing in front of Kodie, ready to try to beat our asses.
Not gonna lie, she might only be eight, but we all know where we stand where Sutton is concerned.
I come to a stop beside Killer and roll my shoulders.
“Don’t forget you’re playing against a little girl,” he reminds me.
“Dude, don’t talk about Monroe like that,” I tease. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back, man,” I call to Monroe, who looks like he wants to scale the net and throttle Killer with his bare hands.
“Ready, Peanut,” Kodie calls before lifting her up in the air so she can serve.
With the strength and accuracy of a professional, Sutton sends the ball sailing over the net.
Killer goes running and hits it straight back.
It flies in Monroe’s direction. He races backward and hits it just before stepping out of our “court.” He roars in delight as he watches it sail through the air, but it begins dropping faster than I’m sure he was hoping for and collides with the net.
“Motherfucker,” he barks before collapsing on the sand.
“See, told you he was a little girl.”
“And he needs to pay up,” Sutton declares, holding her hand out above him.
Instead of just chastising us about our language, she’s discovered she can charge us for it. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be able to buy herself a car soon.
Monroe groans as he sinks his hand into his pocket and pulls out a couple of bills.
Sutton curls her fingers around the money before dropping to her haunches beside Monroe. She reaches out and pats his cheek patronizingly. “Better luck next time, buddy,” she says before racing toward Casey to hand over her gains.
Monroe mutters something under his breath while the rest of us laugh at his expense.
“Careful, she’ll keep charging you all day,” Cole points out from behind me. “Ask me how I know.”
Kodie and Sutton are about to serve again when two sopping wet dogs come racing through the court.
Their presence isn’t much of an issue, but the second both stop beside me and shake…yeah, that’s not great.
“What the fuck?” I bark. “Handsy, get your dogs under control.”
“Aw, but you’re their favorite,” he coos.
“I am not. They can’t stand me.”
“Ah, yeah. Sorry, I guess that explains why they chose you to do that next to. They know an asshole when they see one.”
The second the dogs have stopped showering me with water, Sutton appears, her hand once again outstretched.
“You’ll have college paid for by the end of the day,” Cole states as she marches toward him to collect more fines.
“I don’t need college paid for. I’m going to be on a hockey scholarship,” she announces confidently. “I just haven’t decided how long I’ll stay. I want to play professionally as soon as I can.”
“You’re graduating first, Peanut,” Kodie calls, clearly having heard this a million times already.
Sutton, apparently also tired of this argument, rolls her eyes and calls back, “I’ll have time after playing professionally to get my degree.” She shakes her head in exasperation as she takes more cash to Casey.
“You’ve got some fun years ahead of you, Big D,” Killer points out.
“Don’t,” Kodie mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, attempting to ease the tension. “Just don’t.”
I chuckle, but my mind quickly wanders to what my own future might look like.
In a few years, am I going to have my own little determined, sassy girl?
Or will Bea give me a boy? Obviously, a boy seems easier.
I am one; I know what boys want and how to make them happy.
Girls are a whole other beast entirely. But thanks to Sutton, I’m learning that they’re not all that different, really.
She’s just as hockey mad as every boy I know.
And I’m not going to inflate her ego by telling her, but she’s better than most of them as well.
Talking about playing pro might be a dream for her right now, but we all know it’s going to happen one day.
She’s going to take the PWHL by storm, I just know she is.
At some point in the next twenty years, everyone will know Sutton Rivers’ name, and it’ll have nothing to do with her father.
“Are we playing or what?” the girl in question asks the second she’s back on court.
“We’re playing,” Monroe confirms before throwing her the ball to attempt that hit again.
We spend all day at the beach. The volleyball turned into soccer at some point, and the girls went off to grab food and more beer, and by the time the sun began to sink in the sky, we all headed back to Kodie and Casey’s for a barbecue.
Kodie wasn’t all that on board with it, but much like Linc and Cole, he is powerless but to go along with his woman’s plans.
Now, Sutton is splashing around in the pool, despite Kodie telling her a while ago that she needs to get ready for bed, and the rest of us are lounging around drinking beer and eating whatever comes off the grill.
It’s been the perfect kind of summer day.
I might be missing Linc and Parker, but these guys have welcomed me in as if I’ve always been here.
From my very first day back in LA, they’ve accepted me without question.
Linc told me they would, but I still didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself.
I was welcomed into Seattle with open arms, but I was a rookie back then; everything was overwhelming and incredibly exciting. Starting over here has been very different, and it hasn’t been helped by where my head has been at.
When I first moved here, I was in a bad place.
I’m still in a bad place. Hell knows I’m still fucking up left and right.
As they have all day, my thoughts drift back to Bea. I haven’t heard anything from her since lunch. Unable to stop myself, I pull my cell from my pocket and pull up our conversation.
Rett: How was your day?
The only other person I’ve ever checked in on like this has been Parker. But as weird as it feels to care about how someone else’s day has gone and if they’re happy, it also feels natural.
Baby Momma: It was good. Tiring. My feet are throbbing.
Rett: You need to get Sienna to give you a manicure.
Baby Momma: Do you mean pedicure?
Rett: Yeah, maybe. Whatever it’s called, you deserve it.
Baby Momma: I’ll see if I can talk her into it when we have some time.
Rett: What are you doing now?
Baby Momma: Lying on the couch with my feet up, trying to summon energy to walk to the kitchen for dinner.
I glance at the time.
Rett: You haven’t eaten yet?
Baby Momma: I haven’t needed to. Someone keeps sending me these incredible meals for lunch.
Rett: You’re literally growing another person. You need good food.
Baby Momma: I really appreciate it.
Rett: What are you having for dinner?
I know I need to stop going on about food. I’m probably driving her crazy. But I don’t care. There isn’t much I can do to help with all this baby stuff, but ensuring she’s got access to a range of healthy food is within my capability, so I’m going for it.
Baby Momma: Leftovers from lunch.
A growl rumbles in my chest, and before I know what I’m doing, I have my food delivery app open, and I’m scrolling to find her something else.
I select a Mediterranean restaurant and choose a range of light salad dishes and sides before tapping my basket. But I come up short when I have to fill in an address.
I know her building, but I don’t know her apartment number.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I think for a moment before switching over to Instagram and searching my messages for Sienna.
This isn’t the first time I’ve needed help.
Before placing my first coffee order for Bea the other morning, I dropped a message asking what the other girls in the salon wanted.
So every morning now, there isn’t just a decaf latte with salted caramel foam that arrives at the salon, but a whole tray of their favorites.
Bea tried ripping me a new one for it because she hasn’t told the other girls about the baby or me yet.
I told her to say it was a treat from her.
I think she assumed it was going to be a one-time thing, but it’s happened again every morning since. Whoops.
I fire off a quick message requesting Bea’s apartment number, and only five minutes later, I have it.
I place the food order and then return to my messages with Bea.
Rett: You should run yourself a bath. Really relax.
Baby Momma: That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.
The image of her submerged in a tub, her hot body hidden behind a pile of bubbles, fills my mind. Yeah, it’s a damn good idea.
Baby Momma: What are you doing?
Rett: Hanging out at Rivers’s house, watching his daughter play in the pool.
Rett: Thinking about you in the bath.
I probably shouldn’t have added that. But it’s the truth.
Holding my half-empty bottle of beer up, I snap a picture and send it over to her.
Baby Momma: Is that a half-naked hockey player blurred out in the background?
I look at the photo I took.
Rett: That’s Monroe. He’s wasted. I’m amazed he hasn’t fallen in the pool already. You shouldn’t be looking at him. He’s not man enough for you.
Baby Momma: Oh, right. So who is?