Chapter 10
10
JONAS
I spot Alexa at the SFO baggage claim, looking way too put together for someone who's been crammed into an economy seat for six hours. The kids see her a second later and their shrieks cut through the airport buzz like a fire alarm.
"LEXA!" Jace escapes my grasp and bulldozes through the crowd. "You’re here!"
"Inside voice, Jace," I remind her, but I'm grinning too. The two weeks of video calls didn't prepare me for how cool it feels to see Alexa here, catching my daughter in a flying hug, designer outfit not even slightly creased.
"Quite the professional greeting," she says as she reaches me, still holding Jace tight.
"The most professional," I agree, as Lukas attempts to climb her like a tree. She balances him on her hip, still managing to look like she stepped off a fashion runway, not a Boeing.
"Did you bring volcano rocks?" Lukas demands. "Did you learn new hockey swear words? Did you?—"
"Hey, let her breathe, man."
To be honest, I’m about as excited to see her as the kids are, but I, unlike my little ones, I have enough game to play it cool.
The drive home turns into an Jace-guided tour with the kids pointing out every San Francisco landmark we pass.
They blather in an insane stream-of-consciousness that I can barely keep up with. While this would send most people running, Alexa takes it like a champ. "That’s where we get the best ice cream." "That's where Daddy loses at hockey to guys half his age." "That’s where I saw a dog that looked like a walking cloud."
Alexa pretends to take notes on her phone, claiming it's for her article. But I catch her smile every time Jace claims something as "our" anything—our park, our library, our ice cream shop.
At the hockey rink, the kids' excitement skyrockets.
"This is where Daddy works," Lukas presses his face against the glass, leaving a nose print. "Sometimes he goes SUPER fast and?—"
"Inside voice," I remind him, futilely.
"And that's where I’m gonna play when I’m big," he continues, completely ignoring me. "After I'm done being a hockey-playing astronaut pirate."
"Can’t wait to see that," I reply. "Make sure you figure out the dinosaur part too."
"Knight." Vince Vincent, our PR guy, appears with his tablet like always. "You didn't mention your... friend... would be visiting."
His smug pause around "friend" rubs me the wrong way. So I ignore it. But Alexa does not.
"I’m here for research," she answers smoothly. "For my article about family-friendly spots in San Francisco."
"Of course," Vince’s smile is more PR than pleasure. "The one that just happens to overlap with pre-season?"
"Purely coincidental," Alexa chirps, her million-watt smile working its magic on him as he takes a step back and just smiles at her. Turns out not even an asshole like he can resist her.
I watch them, both masters of the PR dance, as Jace announces, "Lexa's gonna learn hockey. She already knows about volcanos, but Daddy has to teach her about ice."
Vince's eyebrows do a little dance. "'Lexa'?"
She nods, as if this is all totally normal.
When the team starts arriving for practice, the unsolicited comments ratchet up exponentially.
"The vacation romance returns," Chuck Newcomb, the team’s latest recruit, sing-songs. I make a mental note to kill him later, or at least kick his ass on the ice. "TMZ loved that sunset dinner shot, man."
Really?
"This is purely professional," I try, but Jace ruins my attempt.
"Lexa's gonna live here and teach me princess hair and watch Daddy's games and?—"
"Just visiting," Alexa cuts in, her cheeks are a telling shade of red.
"Mmm hmm," Chuck smirks. "That explains the pep in your step lately." He smacks me on the back, a little too hard, and I throw him a stink eye that leaves him doubled over, laughing.
This means war. In the best way possible, of course.
"Is this the reason for the new records in training?" an assistant coach asks as he walks past.
"It’s not—" I start, but Tyler, my teammate, interrupts.
"Dude’s been smashing his personal bests since his little Hawaii vacation," he tells Alexa, a grin splitting his face.
"Delighted to assist," she says, her voice dry.
"Dad, can I show Lexa your locker?" Lukas tugs at her hand. "It's got his name and everything."
"Only if there’s nobody dressing," she laughs, letting him lead the way.
Vince sidles up to me again. "So, any comment on the new muse for your record-breaking pre-season?"
"No comment," I say, sharper this time. "And let’s keep it respectful. She’s here on professional terms."
I also want to tell him to not fuck this up for me, but that would be showing my cards, and that’s the last thing you want to do with a guy like him. He’s legendary at exploiting weaknesses.
"Knight, you’re a public figure. A bit of lost privacy is part of the game," he lectures.
I'm about to step on his face when Jace shouts.
"Daddy! Can Lexa watch practice?"
"For the article," Alexa clarifies hastily. "Professional observation."
"Uh-huh," Vince mumbles.
After a day where my kids have ignored every rule we have and Alexa has absorbed an unnecessary amount of hockey knowledge, we head home.
Home, where she'll be staying. For "research."
"This is our house," Lukas announces as we pull into the driveway. "Your room is right next to mine so I can tell you everything about hockey.”
"Can’t wait," she says, helping Jace out of her car seat like a pro. “I am a professional, if nothing else, and I definitely need my own room.”
"Always," I agree, my eyes locked on hers. "Anything else you need while guesting at our place, please just holler,” I say, trying to suppress my smile. And dirty thoughts.
"I can think of a few things," I say, our hands brushing as I hand her Jace's backpack. "All in the name of research, of course."
That night, I slip into Alexa’s room, where a dim lamp casts a soft glow. I find her curled up in bed, the picture of sexy comfort. Sliding under the covers beside her, the bliss of being next to her, warm and close, washes over me. I’ve been waiting all damn day for this.
As she turns to face me, her body pressing against mine, my heart thuds. I can’t deny it. I lift her hand to my lips, kissing her fingers. She murmurs, then breathes my name. Just my name. And it feels like everything.
I’m fucking done.
“I was sleeping,” she mutters.
I grin in the dark. “Not anymore.”
This makes her laugh even as my mouth comes down on hers with a quick nip of teeth. She gives in to the moment, the mood, and wraps her arms and legs around me.
“How fast can you get it done?” she asks. “After all, you are trespassing. And there’s a little spy next door who misses nothing.”
I slide a hand up her side, then down again. “Are you after fast or effective?”
“I know you.” She arches up against me. “You can handle both.”
“A challenge then.”
She arches again, pressing into me and my erection. “You’re up for it, I see.”
I laugh, even as I capture her mouth again.
“So far, so good,” she whispers a little breathlessly. Then loses her breath again as my mouth ravishes her breast. With her heart hammering under the assault, she slides her hands over my chest.
I move over her, savoring every inch. I can make her tremble, and she can make me ache. Every gasp, every sigh I draw from her beats in my blood like a goddamn drum.
I drive into her, bury myself, fill her. We pause, breath ragged, eyes locked.
Her hands lift to my face, her fingers shoot through my hair. The craze of my need overtakes me, her hips matching rhythm beat for beat.
She muffles her cries, flings herself off the edge. I am right behind her.
I let my hands roam over her, her chest, her legs, all that smooth skin. Her hands roam over me, her nails digging in, letting me know my need pleases her.
When I grip her hands, she links her fingers with mine and holds on. I want to feel her break beneath me. I want to drive her into helplessness before her power whips back and conquers me.
“Goddamn, baby. I need you.”
“I know.” She pushes me off her. I lie back and watch her straddle me. She releases a long sigh as she takes me inside, engulfing my cock.
“Fuck, baby,” I whisper, “I don’t know how long I can hold it?—”
She presses a finger to my lips and speeds up, pistoning me so hard there’s no controlling my aching balls. In seconds, I empty myself into her just as her head drops back and she convulses, her nails driving into my abdomen as she tries to hang on.
When she settles, we fall into a comfortable heap. She burrows into my neck and quickly falls back asleep.
But I am wide awake, unable to avoid acknowledging the inevitable. In the next few days, or at least before she leaves, I'll have to lay it out for her and spit out how I feel. Then deal with whatever comes next.
For now, I hold her, enjoying the moment, not thinking about tomorrow or anything that takes me away from my delirious contentment.
The first hint that we might be hitting our stride comes during the morning rush one week after her arrival. Alexa, who once thought 9 a.m. was cruelly early, now has Jace's braids on point before I've even finished brewing the coffee.
“It’s all about strategic incentives,” she explains, deftly weaving the final strands while simultaneously stopping Jace from dousing her school uniform in more glitter. “Braids mean we're out the door without meltdowns. Throw in super-good behavior, and she earns points towards picking the bedtime story.”
“That’s pretty clever.”
“Just applying a bit of kid psychology,” she grins.
“Sy-colla-gee,” Jace parrots, not getting the word but clearly enjoying the sound of it. “I behave Daddy.”
Even Lukas has synced up with Alexa’s system, getting dressed on the first ask instead of only after a series of stressful negotiations.
“If we’re fast, Lexa says we can do pretend hockey drills before school,” he tells me, wrestling with his shoelaces but batting my hands away when I offer to help. “Hockey players tie their own laces, Dad.”
Frenchie, our nanny, notices the change as soon as she steps in.
“The kids, they are... different,” she observes, watching Lukas tidy up his toys without the usual repeat requests. “Perhaps more... settled?”
“Thanks to some professional guidance,” Alexa shouts from the kitchen.
“Très professionelle,” Frenchie chuckles, giving me a knowing look. “And you, Jonas, you seem lighter. Like you’ve shed a burden, yes?”
She’s spot on. Things do feel lighter. And smoother. It’s like the puzzle pieces I didn’t know were missing are being found. I don’t know if I like it, or if it’s scaring the shit out of me.
Or both.
At the rink, practice sessions are tighter, more focused—probably because I’m actually sleeping through the night now that Alexa’s bedtime story routine has cut down on the kids’ bartering. My games are crisper, my mind sharper.
It’s fucking strange.
My media duties are less of a drag, and Vince’s efforts to trot me out as the “face of the team” seem a bit more tolerable, maybe because Alexa started sneaking Jace’s stickers onto my interview cards “for luck.” Vince nearly lost it when I pulled out a card covered in sparkly unicorns during a live ESPN interview in view of everyone, but even he had to admit afterward that the interview was a hit.
“You’re disgustingly chipper,” my good buddy Rake teases during a warm-up. “You’re messing with the team’s mood.”
“How does my being happy mess with your mood? And further, why should I give a shit? Your mood, or that of the team’s is none of my concern,” I scoff at him, just to be extra dick-ish.
“It sets the bar too high for the single guys. Not everyone gets a stunning travel writer dropped into their lap.”
“She’s here for her article, for one, but two, why should I feel sorry for single guys? After all, I am one of them, in case you forgot.”
“You’re widowed, not single.”
“I am widowed and single, you moron.”
He twists the wedding ring on his finger, unsure how to argue back.
The annoying, nosy-ass observations aren’t limited to Rake or the team. The next comes during our latest video chat with my mother-and father-in-law, who’s taken up a new interest in my little family after a couple years of indifference. I think it just hurt him too much to be involved in our lives. Not sure what changed, but the two of them have picked up on the changes happening around us.
“The kids seem... happier,” Gloria observes cautiously during a quick visit between her social engagements, watching Jace show Alexa her latest homework project—a bizarre but effective system involving stickers and a complex point system that I’m still trying to wrap my head around. “It’s like they’ve found their...”
“Rhythm?” I suggest.
“Family,” she corrects, her eyes shimmering. “They’ve found their family again. And you...” She pauses, her voice cracking, “You remind me of how you were when you and Genny first...”
She doesn’t finish, thank God. I don’t need to hear it. Because I feel it too—that sense of rightness, if I can call it that.
I really don’t want to think too hard about it. This is a moment in time. A nice one, but it’s not forever. Alexa will be gone, eventually, and we’ll all be back to square one. Whatever that is.
“Genny would be overjoyed,” she continues, steadying her voice, “to see you all like this...”
I change the subject using some lame-ass excuse I’m sure Gloria can see right through.
That night, after the kids are tucked in and dreams are already taking them on adventures, I find Alexa in the kitchen, updating a shared calendar she created.
“Getting quite domestic, aren’t you?” I tease as I peek over her shoulder.
“Just thorough research,” she replies, her smile broad as she pencils in another hockey game. “Can’t write about family life without immersing myself in it, right? Needs detailed documentation.”
“Absolutely,” I nod, pulling her close, feeling her fit perfectly against me. “Your dedication is commendable.”
“I’m known for my commitment to...” Her voice trails off as I plant a kiss behind her ear, a spot I know will make her forget her train of thought. “To... professionalism...”
“Distance?” I suggest, my tone playful.
“Something like that,” she laughs, turning to wrap her arms around me, her earlier professional poise giving way to something far sexier.
Together, in the quiet of the kitchen, I remind myself to enjoy the moment. I know all too well how quickly things like this can end.
Stumbling upon the house listing was purely accidental. Alexa left her laptop open on the kitchen counter, the browser open to a real estate page showcasing a five-bedroom Victorian in Pacific Heights. It's the kind of place with a backyard with more bathrooms than there are days of the week, and that screams birthday parties. The chef's kitchen looks ready to take on Alexa's ambitious meal-prep experiments, and the designated home office is tailor-made for her writing. Then there’s the playroom, painted in what Jace would undoubtedly declare "princess colors." It is, without a doubt, a home built for a family.
She snapped the laptop shut the moment she caught me peeking. "Just some research for my article on San Francisco neighborhoods," she muttered.
"Digging pretty deep, aren't you?" I teased, leaning in closer.
"Exactly." Her cheeks turned a shade pinker as she re-opened her laptop, shifting to another tab about local school ratings. "It's about analyzing the family-friendly housing market. Very professional."
Before I could rib her about her newfound interest in the San Francisco housing market, my phone chimed with a calendar alert—a reminder of next month’s team publicity event, the annual holiday shindig where players' kids get to meet Santa. Last year, Lukas asked Santa for a power play for Christmas. This year, he’ll probably ask for a hat trick, despite my constantly reminding him that one player scoring three times in one game is pretty rare.
"Dad," Lukas later asks. "Can we show Lexa the fancy tree in Golden Gate Park? Last year it was HUGE and had real hockey pucks on it."
"And the pretty lights," Jace chimes in, abandoning her coloring book to join her brother's campaign. "Lexa has to see the pretty lights. And help us with the cookies. And the stockings. And?—"
"And everything," Lukas concludes, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Forever."
That word hangs in the air, and I wait for Alexa to grab her things and run for the door.
Instead, she pulls up her own calendar, plotting her schedule with the precision of a five-star general.
"The festival's timing is perfect for the holiday piece I'm working on. Plus, capturing the team's family photos will add great context to the story."
"Very timely of you," I remark.
"The most professional timing," she agrees.
Another open browser tab catches my eye—flight deals for New Year's weekend, perfectly aligned with our away game in Boston.
It almost looks like she’s syncing travel coverage with the hockey schedule.
But she wouldn’t do that. Would she?
"You’ve been busy,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
"Essential research," she quickly responds, closing those tabs too, but not before I catch a glimpse of notes on which Boston hotels are nearest the arena. "Winter travel logistics are crucial, especially for families. Plus, dealing with East Coast games requires managing some unique time challenges for kids."
She’s using the word 'family' a lot more these days. It doesn’t seem to phase her much anymore, at least not like it used to. Nor did Lukas asking if she’d be there for his birthday, or Jace wondering aloud if Alexa could help with the Christmas decor.
"We should sync calendars," she suggests later that evening, once the kids are asleep. "You know, for... article planning purposes. Your playoff schedule could impact various demographic studies."
"Sounds incredibly organized of you."
"I am a professional," she quipped. "Your game days are a bit of a puzzle, though. Did you know most school events are scheduled during your afternoon practices?"
"Sounds like a challenge."
"Nothing a good system can't handle." Was she color-coding her calendar? —blue for home games, green for away, pink for the kids' activities.
"Purple for house viewings?" I ventured, watching her closely.
She paused, her face unreadable for a moment. "That was just..."
"Research?" I filled in.
"Market analysis."
"For the article."
"Exactly. It’s important to understand local real estate trends," she said, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard.
My phone buzzes with a new message from Gloria:
That Pacific Heights listing looks perfect. Good schools nearby. Room to grow. Not that I'm pushing...
"Seems like you have a pretty thorough research network," I observed, smirking a little.
Alexa’s face went two shades deeper red. "Gloria might have sent me some neighborhood recommendations. For the article. And some info on school districts. And local youth hockey leagues. All very professional demographic research."
"Of course."
"And maybe some notes on which neighborhoods do the best Halloween trick-or-treating. For seasonal content planning."
"Very professional input?"
"The most professional," she replies, her smile returning as she pulls up another listing. "Though that Victorian did have fantastic natural light for photography. And a breakfast nook perfect for your pre-game routines."
I pull her closer, feeling how perfectly she fits against me. "You know, if you wanted to get more... hands-on with your market analysis, that listing has an open house this weekend."
For a moment, she stiffens in my arms. Then, she takes a deep breath. "Are you suggesting we make my research a bit more interactive?"
"I’m suggesting this could be whatever you want it to be. Even if it’s just 'research.'"
Her smile against my chest is all the answer I need. "You are a handful," she says, her voice muffled.
"The worst," I agree, pressing a kiss to her head. "Lucky for us, you’re pretty good at handling me."
"Always," she replied, her voice firm and confident.
In life, as in hockey, timing isn’t just about perfecting your shot; sometimes, it’s about knowing when to make your move.