Chapter 6
Six
Theo
The problem with attending a holiday party with hockey players is that these guys were tall, so tall I was having a hard time finding my wife.
Or my kids.
Or anyone else’s wife or kids.
Man, there were a lot of Rebels here, even more alums than current.
That was the thing about being part of this org: once touched by Rebel fever, everyone wanted to stay connected. A lot of players had ties to the area, especially while raising their kids here, so were usually available for reunions.
The older I got, the more I saw the value of these threads. The guys I’d bonded most closely with back in the day—Hunt, Bond, Foreman, even that cranky bastard, Reid Durand—had all retired but still lived in the neighborhood.
I raised a hand to our former tender, Erik, one of my favorite people and still blond as ever (had to be from a bottle). He pointed at the kitchen, which meant he’d brought some crazy unpronounceable herring dish I’d be expected to partake in later. Never change, Jorgenson, never change.
Maybe I was getting sentimental in my old age, but I figured we’d stay in Chicago after my retirement. My gran, Aurora, had finally moved in with us when she got her breast cancer diagnosis five years ago—and kicked its ass, of course. The apartment we’d built for her on our property gave her independence, though she joined the fam for meals and was the perfect—and loud—sounding board for the kids’ problems.
Yeah, we’d probably stick around. Besides, I’d hate to miss any Rebel shenanigans, such as when the team’s power forward, Ren Forsyth, got a glass of champagne thrown in his face by a girl he’d dumped. Or that time Tate Kazminski re-proposed to his ex-wife at the Empty Net for the third time, and finally got a yes. Or how about every time a Rebel groveled to a woman who didn’t deserve him.
That never got old.
Still no sign of Elle. I was just about to shoot her a text when Gunnar Bond shoved a cocktail, complete with candy cane and holly sprig in my face.
“No beer?”
Double-Oh ( Bond, Gunnar Bond ) grimaced. “There is, but I promised Kyla we’d try this. She wants to be a mixologist.”
Kyla was Gunnar and Sadie’s eldest daughter and was currently manning a cocktail bar in the corner of Chase Manor’s great room. I took the glass filled with something pink and glitter-green and sipped, gamely avoiding facial injury courtesy of a spiky holly leaf.
“Tastes like … Christmas?”
Gunnar smirked. “Yep. Now raise your glass to my kid.”
I sought out Kyla and did as I was told. She sent me a heart-hands gesture back. Such a cool kid even if her cocktails left a coating of Pine-sol in my mouth. Beside the bar stood her aunt Lauren talking to my brother Jason. Thick as thieves, those two, so involved in their conversation my brother didn’t even wave my way. Not sure I approved of his presence at a competing team’s holiday event.
“Speaking of daughters, have you seen mine anywhere? Or my wife? Or …” I looked around again. “Your wife?”
“Nope on all counts. This is why you need to retire. You can see your family members 24-7 that way.”
“Is that your not-so-subtle way of saying I should pull the trigger?”
“Fuck no.” Dex O’Malley had entered the chat just as Nat King Cole started crooning about his chestnuts. “I have at least five more years in me and I refuse to spend it with these man-children. Stay the course, Kershaw. Don’t leave me behind to assume the task of elder statesman.”
Gunnar and I stared at O’Malley in wonder.
As usual, I assumed the task of spelling out the obvious. “No one will ever accuse you of being an elder statesman, Oh-Em-Gee—and yeah, I can still call you that even if no one remembers why I gave you that nickname in the first place.”
Hatch had suddenly appeared, as stealthy as O’Malley in his prime. “Wasn’t it because he got caught with his pants down with some chick on camera and she screamed OMG when she?—”
Dex cut him off. “Old news, Kershaw Junior. We don’t talk about my checkered past in mixed company.”
“What’s mixed about it?” Hatch asked. “We’re all guys here.”
“Mixed, meaning generations.” Dex patted Hatch on the shoulder. “You’re far too innocent for that kind of talk, youngling.”
“The Internet is forever, Uncle Dex. Or should I say Oh-Em-Gee?”
“Permission to push my honorary nephew around, T.”
I chuckled. “Permission not granted. Chickens coming home to roost, Dexter, and you can’t blame my kid for calling it as he sees it.” I turned to Hatch. “Seen your sister or your mom?”
“No. But the twins are running a poker game in Remy’s den if anyone wants in on that action.”
“They just took me for close to a grand.”
We all turned to Dash Carter, the Rebels’ recently acquired right winger, who had just uttered that inane comment.
“A grand? I’ll talk to them and have them hand it over.”
Dash laughed. “No worries. They’re just being entrepreneurial. So have you guys met Summer?”
A very attractive blonde peeked out from behind Dash’s shoulder and waved. “Hey, there!”
“Yes, we have,” I said, “because she works in the Rebels front office, which means she is senior to you as a member of the Rebels org.” I leaned in and kissed Summer on the cheek. “Nice to see you, Summer.”
“Thanks,” she said cheerfully. “Doesn’t everyone look so nice in their Christmas threads? Gosh, I love this time of year.”
I divided a glance between Summer and Carter. “Are you two … on a date?”
Summer blushed while Carter laughed. “Yeah, I managed to grind her down. She thinks it’s a conflict of interest.”
I shot a quick glance at Gunnar, who gave me a look that said not to bother. If this dalliance went tits up, the hockey player would come out of it just fine.
“I didn’t say that, exactly,” Summer said, looking embarrassed. “I just have my career to think of.”
Carter grinned and rolled his eyes, but Summer didn’t see that. What a tool.
Summer arced a gaze over the crowd. “I know everyone here from the team, veteran and new, except for …” She smiled at Hatch.
Who looked like he’d never seen a pretty girl in his life, a fact I knew to be blatantly untrue given the number of girls he was caught sneaking around with during his teens. He was staring at Summer like she’d stepped on his foot in stilettos.
“This is my son, Hatch,” I said after the silence stretched to awkward.
Summer smiled gently, clearly accustomed to dealing with men of limited intelligence. I wouldn’t have called Carter the sharpest tool, especially if he was letting my kids rook him at cards.
“Hi, Hatch. Great to meet you.”
Hatch nodded, kind of curtly. “Yeah, likewise.” He jerked a chin at Carter. “Good to see you, man.”
Okay, weird. Maybe Hatch took exception to Carter’s diss of Summer’s concerns about dating a player. Before I could smooth that over, I was distracted by the sight of my gorgeous wife approaching with Jordan in tow. Earlier I had thought she looked worried; now I was convinced of it.
But I didn’t want to make a big deal of it in front of everyone. My Ellie hated the spotlight as much as I craved it. ( Was that why I wanted to keep playing? The things you discovered about yourself at the most inconvenient times.)
“Hey, baby.” Curving an arm around her waist, I pulled her in close. “I missed you.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to insert himself, O’Malley stepped in and kissed Elle on the cheek. “You look amazing, Elle. Glowing. Did you do something different with your hair?”
My wife looked startled. “Uh, no, nothing. Just put a brush through it.”
O’Malley squinted. “Definitely something different. You kind of look like Ash did when she was pregnant with our Bea.”
Gunnar shook his head. “Jesus, O’Malley, no chance of anyone ever thinking you’re the team’s elder statesman.”
Pretty innocuous comment, though, so I had to wonder why Elle blushed. She caught my eye and, uh oh , that was a lot of action.
“Hey, let’s get a drink.”
Instead of heading to bar, I continued on to the kitchen, where Harper was busy instructing some poor guy on tray etiquette. I set the barely drunk pine needles concoction on a countertop.
“Two of my favorite people!” The Rebels boss offered the expected kisses, then stood back with a crumpled brow. “No holiday cheer?”
“Need a spot for a private chat, Harper, if that’s okay.”
She immediately got it. Smart lady. “Laundry room down the hall. Perfect for the must-have convo when the throngs won’t relent.”
Elle still hadn’t said a word since O’Malley blurted out that pregnancy quip. Maybe that wasn’t it. Besides, how could it be? A few months ago, I’d taken care of business, so my wife didn’t have to, but what if—no, just talk to her and find out what’s going on.
Inside the laundry room, we faced each other.
“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is Dex O’Malley actually right for the first time in living memory?”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe?” That emerged sort of shriek-y.
“I just took a test with Jordan and Violet upstairs. And it was positive.”
It could be a false alarm, but for every one of Elle’s pregnancies, the tests always had it right.
“Do you … feel pregnant?”
Nodding, she worried her lip with a sexy little teeth drag. Not the time.
“Theo, I know this is not what you want to hear, especially with the kids so close to being out the door. Though Adeline might be back for good, and I have no idea what happened to make her come running.”
“I’m going to talk to her soon. Or we will together if you think that’s better.”
“She’s always been a daddy’s girl.” She sighed and placed her hands on my chest. “It still could be a mistake.”
“But also not? So, Ellie, you just said something kind of strange. About how it’s not what I want to hear.”
“You might feel that it’s forcing your hand, bringing on retirement before you’re ready. Assuming we decide to hop on this merry-go-round again.”
I could feel my lips tugging in a grin. Was it possible I thought this was not terrible?
“Well, if this is happening, then I’m not going to leave you with a newborn like the first time. Maybe it’s the kick in the pants I need to call time on my career.”
“Why are you smiling? This should be terrible news!”
“Is it, though?” I pulled her close, my hands slipping to cup her that perfect ass. Her tits always looked amazing but with this new information, I was pretty sure they were even more spectacular than usual. “Is that how you really feel? That it’s bad news?”
She took a moment to consider that. “I think I was more worried about how it affects you. To be honest, I’ve always loved being pregnant. The first time was toughest because of the stress of it being unplanned and my parents in the shadows and trying not to fall in love with you.”
“How you held out on falling in love with me for so long is still one of life’s greatest unsolved mysteries.”
She barked out a laugh. “But the times since? I really enjoyed it. Except it’s been years since the twins. Jordan said this would be a geriatric pregnancy.”
I growled. “Stupid journo with her fancy vocab. If this is the real deal and it’s what you want, it’s going to be a perfect pregnancy. Finally, we can get it right with this kid.”
“Theo!” Elle laughed, which was my intention in casting aspersions on our current, perfect brood. “We did okay with this lot.”
“Yeah, we did,” I said softly. “I love you so much, Ellie.”
She looked a touch misty-eyed. “And I love you, Kershaw. So much. But a fifth kid? At our age?”
“We’re not old! We’re only the hottest parents of four teens-slash-young adults ever. And when the guys hear that my ultra-powerful swimmers still managed to knock you up even after the snip? Hell, the Kershaw sperm will enter into the annals of legend.”
While I was pretty sure it was already unofficially there, being formally inducted into the Shoot Your Shot Hall of Fame was an honor I was happy to accept.
This time her laugh bordered on hysterical. I wrapped her in my arms and touched my lips to her forehead.
“You’ve got to laugh, right? And if this is not what you want, we can sort that out. We have choices and your mental and physical well-being mean more to me than bragging rights for my genetically superior sperm.”
“Oh, God.” She swiped at a tear. “It just reminds me of the first time, how terrified I was, how much I wanted to resist you because I was so scared of relying on you. On anyone. And we’ve built this amazing life. We’ve been so blessed, haven’t we?”
I nodded, a little unsure of where she was going.
“And just when you think things are settled and your life is going one way, here comes that puck over the plexi right into your noggin. I was worried it was getting a bit boring there.” She chuckled. “As if that was possible.”
“Like I said, we can stay boring. Boring is good. Boring is perfect. Whatever you want, Ellie.”
“I’ve never wanted perfect, Theo. I’ve only ever wanted you.”
I dropped a soft kiss on her lips, thrilled when she returned it with interest. This was perfect. She was perfect, even if she claimed not to want it.
But I knew what she meant. Our start was bumpy and as our family expanded it had evened out, but never to the point of apathy or a rut. We were incredibly fortunate.
Could we handle even more blessings?
“Can I be honest?”
She smiled. “Always.”
“We’re at our best when we’re parents. It just brings out the essence of us. I think any baby born into this family would be incredibly lucky to have us guiding them to adulthood. I’d love to share that journey with you again, but only if you think it’s right because I recognize that this will be hardest on you.”
Her gaze grew watery. “Oh, Theo, that night you got locked out of your apartment, wearing nothing but a towel and a smile, was the luckiest night of my life.”
“ Our lives, Ellie.” I kissed her again, this time deepening the connection. My heart was thumping a hundred miles a minute. She still excited me, like no other woman.
But as much as I wanted to have a little fun, I probably shouldn’t start any sexy trouble in the laundry room at my boss’s house during the office Christmas party.
Tell that to my hot wife.
“What are you doing?”
News flash: she’s unzipping your pants and slipping that small, greedy hand inside to cop a feel.
“If after twenty plus years you don’t know, then I’m not sure I can help you.”
I groaned as she applied exactly the right amount of pleasure. The perfect amount, and here I was just letting her do all the work. Not right, that, especially as I had two perfectly good hands that knew exactly how to score.
Gripping the hem of her dress, I pulled it up a few inches, then a few more. Slipping my fingers past the lacy border of her panties was the work of a moment. Finding her wet shouldn’t have surprised me. Our chemistry had never been an issue and years of familiarity had failed to bank the fires.
We were Theo and Elle. Superglutes and Mother of Hatchlings.
We could do anything.