Chapter 21 #2
“She took it,” Jaz whispers with relief.
“That’s my girl,” Rourke says, giving Aria a kiss on her nose before stroking her hair away from her sleepy face.
“She should probably have a diaper change before I put her down,” I say.
“I can do it,” Rourke offers, holding his hands out for Aria. “Janie?”
I’m so exhausted I can barely think straight. But the part of me that’s been doing everything alone for so long doesn’t know how to let go. Even when I desperately want to.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Her forehead is so warm. What if she cries again—”
“Then I’ll figure it out,” he says. “Like you have been all night.”
My arms tighten around her for a second—an instinct I can’t control especially when my baby’s sick.
Rourke notices me hesitate. “Hey,” he says softly. “Let me help.”
I let her go, watching as he cradles her against his chest.
“I’ll be right here if you need me,” I say, unable to help myself.
“I know.” He’s humming softly to Aria as he heads for the stairs. “But I won’t.”
I stand there watching until they disappear, my arms feeling empty and strange.
Jaz slides on her coat, studying me. “He’s a really good man, Janie.”
“I know.” I give her a weak smile. “So why is it so hard for me to give up control?”
“Because you’ve been doing everything yourself for so long, you forgot what it feels like to have someone actually show up for you.” She pauses, sliding her phone into her pocket. “Nick taught you that depending on a man means getting hurt. But Rourke’s not Nick.”
“I know that too.” I wrap my arms around my knees, suddenly feeling like she sees more of me than I realized. “What if he gets tired of all the messiness that comes with a family?”
“And what if he wants the mess?” Jaz counters.
“I don’t know how to trust that,” I say.
“Then start by trusting what you can see. He’s here. He showed up. That’s evidence, not just promises.” She opens the door, then glances back. “Now get some sleep before you fall over. Exhausted moms make the worst decisions. Trust me, I’ve made plenty.”
After she heads out the door, I collapse onto the couch, thinking over her words before my body finally surrenders to sleep.
The next thing I know, I’m blinking awake in the dim lamplight.
The house is silent—no crying, only blessed silence—before I remember Aria’s fever. I sit up with a start, then I see them.
Rourke is dozing in an armchair across the room, shirtless—he must have gotten warm holding her—with Aria sleeping on his chest. His hand spreads across her tiny back, and for the first time all day, her little face is content.
I cross the room and gently press my palm to her forehead. Her skin is cool to the touch.
For a moment, I stare at them in amazement. This man—this Christmas-hating hockey player—is cradling my baby girl.
He looks like he was born for this. And that’s very inconvenient for my heart.
“Hey,” he whispers, his voice rough as he rubs an eye. “Her fever broke about an hour ago. She’s been sleeping like this, so I didn’t want to move her.”
“You’ve been holding her this whole time?”
“Yeah.” He looks down at Aria, then back at me. “I didn’t mind.”
I put a hand to my mouth, trying to keep from losing it. Why does this wreck me in the best possible way?
“Janie,” he says. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I blink rapidly. “I’ve never been more okay in my life.”
“Good. Because Aria’s a fighter.” He strokes her hair. “Just like her mom.”
No amount of blinking is going to hold back the waterworks now.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is thick with emotion. “I’m glad you showed up.”
He shakes his head. “It was nothing.”
“It was everything, Rourke,” I correct him.
“She’s important to me.” He hesitates. “You both are.”
I settle on the arm of his chair, close enough that I brush against his bruised shoulder. “You took a nasty hit tonight. You should be sleeping in bed, not sitting here holding a baby.”
His brow furrows. “How did you know about the hit?”
This is it—the moment when I either keep pretending or let him see the truth I’ve been hiding. “I watched the game.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “How much did you see?”
“The entire thing.” I pause. “I watch all of them. I tell myself it’s on for the background noise, but…” I meet his eyes in the dim light. “I hold my breath every time someone hits you. I cheer when you score. I even know the names of everyone on the team now.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything.
“When you went down tonight and didn’t get up right away…” I bite my lip. “I thought my heart was going to stop. And that’s when I knew.”
“What?”
“That I’m completely, hopelessly falling for you…despite trying not to.”
“Janie…”
I put my hand up to stop him. “Let me finish, Rourke. Because if I don’t say it now, I might never be brave enough to tell you the truth.
” I pause. “I know my life is complicated. I know I come with a baby and baggage that could fill a jumbo jet. But I can’t pretend anymore that these feelings don’t exist. I love everything you bring to our lives.
I love that you sing lullabies and drive to pharmacies at midnight and make my daughter and me giggle.
I love that you see us as a family when I’m still learning how to function as one. ”
For a beat, all I can hear is Aria’s soft breathing.
“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he says, “because I fell for you the night I watched you sleep in my arms.”
I tilt my head. “Which time?”
“All of them. And for the record, I already knew you watched my games. Brendan let it slip. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “So you knew I was keeping this from you? And you didn’t say anything?”
“I knew you were protecting your heart,” he corrects, brushing a strand of my hair back. “There’s a difference.”
I study his face in the soft glow, taking in the mess of his hair, the dark circles, the fresh cut from tonight’s game.
His past is a different kind of broken than mine, but we’re still figuring out how to love again, still learning what it means to trust someone enough to let them see all of you—even the damaged parts.
He shifts in his chair to make room for me, tugging an arm around my waist and pulling me onto his lap. “Come here, angel,” he says. “I want you closer.”
I curl against him, fitting perfectly in the space between his arm and Aria, my cheek resting against his chest.
“I should move,” I mumble. “Let you get some real sleep after your game.”
“Don’t,” he says, his arm tightening around me.
“But we’re like sardines.”
“I happen to like sardines,” he says. “Being close to you is a privilege I’d gladly suffer for.”
I can’t help the smile on my lips. “You say that now, but in the morning…”
“I’d do it every night if you asked me to,” he finishes.
As I tilt my face toward him, I can’t believe this is really happening, that love can feel this safe after everything I’ve been through.
I never thought I could ever give my heart to anyone again after Nick.
But then I met this hockey player who’s stitching my heart back together with patient hands and all the time in the world.
And I think I love him in a way I never have before—because he’s holding my heart the same way he holds my daughter against his chest, her vulnerability against his strength, her softness against his rough edges.
This is the kind of man who’ll win my heart forever.
“Do you want me to take Aria?” I ask.
He sweeps a hand across her hair. “She seems content where she is. If my favorite people are happy, then my whole world is right.” He gives me a grin and my heart melts.
His favorite people.
I don’t miss the casual way he said it, as if there was never any question.
As if we’d always been his.