Chapter Thirteen
Kendall
The knock at my door comes just as I finally get comfortable on the couch. It’s been a week since Aleksi and I went to the ultrasound appointment together.
I groan as I push myself up and head a few feet to the door. The delivery guy grins when I open it.
“Package for Dr. Hensen,” he says, holding out a clipboard for me to sign.
I squint at the box. Baby-size, but heavy. The label reads Nordstrom Kids.
“Oh God,” I mutter, scrawling my signature.
By the time I haul it inside, my phone buzzes.
Aleksi: You home?
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble just as another knock sounds. This knock is heavier against my door.
I open the door to find six feet-three of dripping Finnish hockey player standing in my hallway, hair damp from the rain, grin way too bright for nine in the morning.
“You really don’t need to do this,” I tell him before he even steps inside.
He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Do what?”
“This…” I gesture toward the stack of boxes currently threatening to overtake my entryway. “The delivery guy knows me by name now. I think he’s starting to think I’m running a black-market baby couture boutique out of my apartment.”
Aleksi glances at the boxes and shrugs, stepping past me like he owns the place. “Then it’s working.”
“It’s not working,” I say, shutting the door. “You’ve already sent bottles, prenatal vitamins, and a stroller I have nowhere to put.”
He grins over his shoulder. “You liked the stroller.”
“Of course I liked the stroller. It’s the nicest one on the market. Isla almost had a heart attack when she saw it in my living room,” I admit, crossing my arms. “But you can’t keep doing this. I can take care of myself.”
He nods, wandering toward the counter where I’ve been living off saltines and orange juice for the past two days. The doctor keeps telling me that the nausea won’t last forever but it feels like it will never end. “I know you can.” he says.
“Then stop acting like I can’t.”
He turns, leaning against the counter, blue eyes soft but steady. “I’m not acting like you can’t. I’m just making sure you don’t have to.”
The knock comes just as I’m brushing the crumbs off my pajama top. Again.
The delivery guy grins when I open the door. “Morning, Dr. Hensen. Another one for you.”
I groan and scrawl my name on the scanner. “Let me guess… baby stuff?”
He taps the box, which is definitely not light. “Feels like it.”
Of course it does.
I thank him and drag the box inside, half glaring at the neat mountain of Aleksi’s generosity piling up beside my couch.
I gesture to the second box.
“What? I’m helping,” he says simply. “Also—” he gestures toward my belly, “—you look like you haven’t eaten today.”
I squint at him. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because you forget to eat when you get busy. And it’s lunch.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” he says, and before I can argue he adds, “I was going to grab pizza anyway. Come with me.”
The mention of pizza makes my stomach growl loud enough to betray me. His mouth tilts into that cocky grin that should be illegal.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But only because I’m starving.”
The smell of melted cheese and garlic hits before we even sit down.
We ordered a large half-veggie, half-pepperoni because he refuses to believe a pizza is complete without meat, and right now, pepperoni sounds like heartburn, yet another pregnancy symptom that Aleksi said means the baby will have lots of hair.
At this point, I’d happily take a bald infant if it meant the acid would stop burning my esophagus.
He leans back in the booth, relaxed in that effortless way only Aleksi can manage. “So,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes, “how’s the baby?”
“He seems happy,” I tell him, resting a hand over my bump. “I’m starting to feel more movement now, but it’s faint—like a little butterfly most of the time. Half the time I can’t tell if it’s him or gas.”
“The baby’s giving you heartburn and gas?” His mouth curves into a grin. “Sounds like all the things I give you too. Like father, like son.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “And gray hairs. Don’t forget those. You’ve been giving me a lot of those lately.”
He laughs, low and warm, the sound wrapping around me like a sweet memory. “Gray hairs? When?” he asks as he pulls another slice of pizza and takes a giant bite.
“Whenever you step onto the ice.” I admit.
He licks his lips, catching a little pizza sauce and the grease from the cheese off his lip. “You don’t like watching me play?”
“No… that’s not it. I don’t like watching you get hurt.”
He smirks. “I knew you cared.”
We both laugh and then our food comes. We talk about the season, about how quiet Seattle feels in the off-week, about where I can make things work in my studio apartment when the baby gets here until I can get out of my lease and afford a bigger place.
“Too small for a crib,” I tell him, taking a sip of my lemonade.
“You’ll move soon,” he says, like it’s already decided.
I roll my eyes. “You’re overly confident for someone who doesn’t have to find housing in this market.”
He laughs. “My father taught me practical optimism. Nikola Makelin was the epitome of the glass is half full.”
“Your father’s name was Nicola?” I ask. It’s the first time he used it. A name puts to much more weight to the man who raised Aleksi.
“Yeah, Niko is what my mom called him.”
“I like it.” I say.
“Me too,” he smiles down at me.
When we leave the restaurant, the air is cool, sunlight breaking through a wet sky. We’re passing storefronts when I notice a display in the window—a soft cream crib with carved edges and a matching padded rocking chair beside it. I stop without meaning to.
“You like the crib,” he says quietly.
“It’s gorgeous,” I admit, then shake my head. “But I don’t have room for it right now.”
Nor do I have the money since I haven’t had a funded savings account in the years since Tarron.
A part of me wants to demand he pay me back, but the other part knows that even if he pays me back for his debt he’ll act as if I owe him.
Peace of mind is expensive, it would seem. So is marrying the wrong man.
“Indulge me,” he says, already holding the door open. “It’ll be fun.”
“Aleksi—”
“Come on. You said you wanted a bigger place soon anyway, right? Doesn’t hurt to look.”
I should say no. Instead, I follow him inside, because I can’t help the fantasy of what life could look like someday. And shopping with Aleksi for baby things feels oddly like bonding. His excitement is contagious.
The baby store smells faintly of vanilla and new wood. Soft lullabies hum through the speakers. And damn it, I fall for everything in the store. The crib, the rocking chair that fits me like it was molded for my body, the plush blanket with tiny stitched snowflakes.
A cheerful saleswoman approaches. “Can I help you with anything?”
Before I can answer, Aleksi says, “Yeah, how much for the crib?”
I shoot him a look. “We’re just looking.”
“It’s gorgeous, right?” the woman beams. “We sell out every time. I actually only have one left in stock—then they’re backordered until spring.”
I start to nod politely. “That’s fine. I’ll come back.”
Aleksi, of course, has other plans. “How much?”
“Eight hundred ninety-five,” she says.
He nods. “We’ll take it.”
“What?”
“I have room in my storage unit. You’ll need it eventually.”
“It’s too expensive, Aleksi. And there’s no rush.”
“You love it,” he says, voice soft but firm. “You should have it.” Then—“How much for the chair?”
The woman lights up. “That one’s our luxury model—heated, massaging, bottle warmer built into the armrest. Twelve-fifty.”
“Aleksi,” I demand, “don’t even think about it.”
He grins, as if driving me crazy is half the fun. “We’ll take them both.”
Before I can grab his arm, he’s already handing over his black Amex.
The saleswoman smiles. “Would you like me to keep this on file in case she needs anything else?”
“Yes,” he says immediately as I say “No”. Then, turning to me, pressing the card into my hand. “It’s yours from now on. Anything you or the baby need.”
I stare at it. “I can’t take this.”
“You can, and you will.”
“This is insane.”
“It’s not insane. It’s me taking care of both of you.
And just so you know… it feels fucking amazing everytime you let me.
So make me happy, okay? You owe me since that shit head Tarron gets to walk around free and clear,” he says, entirely too pleased with the fact that he got me there.
I did ask for a big favor, even if it is to protect both of our careers.
But fine, I’ll settle on this one thing.
“Now we’re even,” I tell him, sliding the card in my wallet so I don’t lose it.
It’s a little terrifying to have a card with no limit in my purse. What if I lose it, or I get mugged. I try to push the thought away… for now. I know I worry too much.
The saleswoman returns with a receipt and a bright “Congratulations,” before I can dig myself out of the hole.
When we step back into the street, the box order confirmed, I’m torn between melting and murdering him.
“I still feel guilty for letting you do that,” I say quietly.
He stops walking, turns to me. “You’re doing all the hard work, Kendall. You’re growing me my own little best friend. So let me handle a few easy things.”
My throat tightens. I hate that he’s this good. I hate that it feels like love. I hate that he obsoletely means that this little boy is going to be his best friend. I already know that that's the kind of relationship my son will have with his dad.
I hate that he’s making it hard to push him away. To pretend that this was all just a one-night stand that we’re trying to make the best of it.
Before I can reply, my phone buzzes.
Penelope: Hey, did you ever send those charts to the physical therapist coming in tomorrow?
Crap. My stomach drops. I didn’t. It completely slipped my mind.
“I need to head into the stadium,” I say quickly. “Forgot to send a few files.”