Chapter 20
twenty
. . .
Riley
I wake up disoriented. There’s someone beside me in the bed, and I am most definitely not in my room. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept next to anyone, much less a man, but as I glance over my shoulder at Al’s sleep-slackened face, I’m starting to forget why it’s such a bad idea.
A rustling sounds from across the room, and I force myself out of bed. Emmy is awake in her bassinet, kicking her feet and grinning.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I yawn, then lift my baby into my arms and give her a snuggle. She’s trapped in her sleep sack, her sweet baby scent eclipsed by the stench of a soiled diaper.
Okay. First things first.
“Let’s leave your daddy to sleep a bit longer,” I whisper to her as I carry her into her room. A few minutes later, I leave her in the crib, freshly changed and dressed in a pink onesie, as I brush my teeth, wash my face, and fix my ponytail.
Fuck, I look wrecked. I’m amazed she let us sleep as late as she did, and that she slept on her own for the first time in the better part of two weeks. Maybe she’s finally turning the corner of this thing.
Once we’re settled downstairs, I prepare a bottle, and we curl up on the couch. My mind drifts to last night—or was it early this morning? I don’t know what possessed Al to bring me to his bed, to kiss me and hold me all night long.
But I can’t deny I liked it.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Of course, Emmy doesn’t answer me. She’s a baby. She can’t talk yet.
After settling her in her bouncer, I clean the bottle, wipe down the counters, and sweep the floor. I don’t know what to do. It’s weird going about my everyday life while Al’s upstairs sleeping.
It doesn’t last long, though, because a little past eight, he stumbles down the stairs. Considering he didn’t get home until nearly four, I have no idea how he’s upright.
“Morning,” he says, his voice deep and rumbly from sleep.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” There, that sounded normal. Totally normal.
“Like a rock.” He ducks down and kisses Emmy on the forehead, chucking her chin, before he crosses the room to where I’m standing. His arm snakes around my waist, his hand on my hip. Soft lips land on my temple, a fleeting kiss. “How about you?”
Before I can blink, he’s squeezing past me into the small galley kitchen, pulling a mug off the rack and pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“I slept mine. I mean, fine.”
“Good. You needed the rest.”
Hands on my hips, I try to glare at him. “Are you saying I look tired?”
Al pauses, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “Uh…”
I can’t help it; I laugh, and then Emmy giggles too, which makes me grin.
“I’m fucking exhausted. Those three and a half hours is the longest she’s gone without me having to hold her since you’ve been gone.”
“Well, I’m here now. I’ll hold her anytime.” But then he winces. “I do have to hit the rink for a bit. We’ve got the day off, so long as we do our weight training.”
“I’ve got her. It’s fine.”
I know the score. It’s part of the gig.
“I was thinking… maybe we can go to the aquarium after? It might be fun for her. They have a children’s pool. She can play with the starfish and splash in the water.”
My stomach flips. We. He wants to do something together.
“That sounds like fun,” I manage.
“Great. I should be home by the time she’s waking up from her morning nap.” He sips his coffee, his dark eyes on me. “Unless you guys want to come with me and she takes a stroller nap?”
I blink a few times. “You want us to come to the rink?”
“We’re just getting in a quick lift. I’ll be out in an hour, tops. You can see where I go everyday.”
“I’ve been to the arena.”
“The rink is different. It’s more… intimate.”
“Okay,” I find myself agreeing. “Let’s go to the rink.”
He grins at me, and the happiness on his face makes my stomach clench.
He’s so fucking beautiful. Maybe it’s a weird thought to have about my husband.
He’s not classically handsome, not with the giant nose that’s been broken a few times and the deep set of his hooded eyes.
His features are striking, sure. But it’s his happy-go-lucky, easygoing personality that makes him beautiful.
We get packed for the rink before he changes Emmy into a warmer outfit, and to both our surprise, she doesn’t scream bloody murder when he puts on her booties.
The training facility is in Brighton, and with midmorning traffic, it takes nearly half an hour to get there. I’m still not used to the constant traffic in Boston turning a seven-mile drive into something infinitely longer. I thought Phoenix was bad, but now I know there’s no comparison.
Al swipes his team badge through the security gate, finding a parking spot near the entrance since there are only a handful of cars here at this time.
He pulls Emmy’s stroller from the trunk and settles her in it.
As I expected, she passed out as soon as we got in the car, and I drape a lightweight blanket over the top of the stroller.
Hopefully, she’ll sleep better knowing her dad is nearby. I know I did.
He wheels the stroller through the front doors, stopping at a small security station.
“Steve, this is my wife, Riley. This is Steve. He’ll get you authenticated so you can come by without me.”
“ID please, ma’am,” the guard says.
He’s tall and wide, with a shiny bald head damp with sweat. I catch sight of a photo on the desk behind him. He’s standing with another man, each of them holding tiny newborns. They look happy.
We don’t have any photos of both me and Al with Emmy. I have a bunch of him with her, and plenty more by herself, and I’ve even taken a few selfies while holding her. But there aren’t any of the three of us together. Our family.
Steve types a few things on his computer, then gestures for me to stand in front of his booth. He takes my photo, and two minutes later, I have a brand-new security pass.
“This will get you into both the rink and the arena, so you’re good to go,” he says.
“Perfect, thank you.”
“Welcome to the family.” He grins. “We’re glad to have you.”
“Me too.”
Al clears his throat. “We’ve gotta get going.”
“Right. Have a good workout, Gonzo. Riley.” Steve salutes us both.
“The administrative offices are in the west wing,” Al says as he pushes the stroller down a hallway. “The rink is on the other side of the building. But we’re not skating today.”
“That might be fun. I’ve never done that before.” When he stares at me, I add, “Ice skating.”
He stops in his tracks. “You’ve never skated?”
My laugh bounces off the surrounding walls, and I cringe for a second, hoping it won’t wake Emmy. “Foster kid in Arizona. Never had the opportunity, and even if I had, it would have cost too much.”
“Okay, that’s it,” he says, grabbing hold of my hand. “We’re going to skate.”
He turns to the right, leading me down another hallway and into a lounge with couches and several long tables, two pool tables, and a giant TV. He stops to grab a bottle of water, handing it to me.
“Any of the drinks and snacks in here are fair game,” he says. “Feel free to watch whatever you want on the TV. I’ll be back soon.”
“I can’t watch you?”
His eyebrows dart up. “You… want to watch me work out?”
Suddenly nervous, I nod. “If that’s okay.”
“It might be loud. There are probably other guys in there.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You won’t be,” he says, steady and sure. “Come on. Let me drop my coat.”
We go through another hallway to the dressing room. He opens the door, takes a look around, and then beckons me to follow him.
It’s nothing like I pictured.
The locker room almost looks sterile. There’s worn linoleum flooring and simple metal lockers lining the walls.
“This is the changing room,” Al says. “Our dressing room is through that doorway, but this is where we change out of our street clothes.” He hangs up his coat in the first empty locker, adding his scarf and gloves to the pocket.
His Grizzlies T-shirt clings to his broad back, and as the muscles of his shoulders and lats bunch and flex, my face warms.
He reaches for me, and it takes me a second to realize he wants my coat, too. When he hangs it beside his, I have to admit I like the sight of them together.
Emmy is still snoozing in her stroller as he leads me through the dressing room, past the bikes and treadmills, and down another hallway to the weight room.
Three other players are already inside in the midst of their workouts.
Pounding rock music shakes the room, and I peek at the stroller, but she’s still fast asleep, clutching her favorite stuffie like a lifeline.
“Hey, Gonzo,” Logan says, giving him a nod. “Bring your family to work day?”
“Something like that. You okay with it?”
The defenseman nods, going back to his bicep curls. “Sure. No skin off my back.”
“Damn,” Henry says. “Wish I’d thought of that. Audrey would probably like it.”
Lewis laughs. “No, she wouldn’t. She’d like watching you.”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” the other goaltender says with a smirk.
Al positions us in the corner by a soft mat. He drops beside me and runs through a series of stretches.
I’m not shy about watching him, taking in the graceful way his big body moves. His muscles are hot, yes, but so is the rest of him. He’s incredibly fluid on the ice, and off it, he’s even more beautiful.
After a few minutes, he gets to his feet.
He ducks down, kissing me quickly, and before I can blink or protest, he’s across the room at one of the machines.
I watch with undisguised interest as his strong body lifts incredibly heavy weights.
He grows progressively sweatier, and when he whips off his shirt and his broad, hairy chest is on display, I think I might drool.
Fuck, my husband is hot. And with his new penchant for kissing me, I could be in serious trouble.
Emmy makes a soft snuffling noise, and I peek into the stroller to find her stirring. She sighs, shifting, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she wakes up screaming.
I wave goodbye to Al, but he’s focused on his workout and doesn’t see me. As he should be. He has a job to do.
Pushing Emmy through the halls, I find my way back to the lounge. She’s fully awake by the time we get there, and I pull her out and give her a snuggle.
“Who’s my perfect girl,” I coo, tickling her belly, and she giggles, kicking her feet.
After a quick change and a veggie puree pouch, she’s happy as a clam. That’s where Al finds us, his hair damp, changed into a new T-shirt and athletic pants. The fresh scent of his soap makes my stomach clench and heat rush through me.
“How’re my girls?” He chucks her chin.
I’m caught on his words. Girls. Plural.
“We’re good,” I squeak out.
“Awesome. You ready for that skate?”
“Now?”
“Come on.” He offers his hand, and I slide my palm against his, surprised by how right it feels. “It’ll be fun.”