Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Jason
Me
So we might want to put Super Kid’s name down for pre-school sooner than later. Tilly went to Riverbrook Montessori.
Doc
You mean the child that doesn’t exist yet?
Me
The waiting lists are a mile long. We don’t want our BZ falling behind.
Doc
BZ?
Me
Budding zygote.
Bet you didn’t think you’d ever see that word in a text from me.
Doc
You’re full of surprises.
Me
There’s also a French pre-K in the city. Not sure I’d like the kid to be able to talk about me in another language though.
Doc
Or be immediately more stylish or cooler than you.
Me
I am the definition of cool! Why hasn’t anyone come up with a hockey-focused pre-K?
Doc
How about we let the kids reach appropriate ages before we break their bones, teeth, and spirits? At least seven.
I opened the door, expecting to see Paige with the boys. Instead, I was greeted by my father. My half-brothers, Ezra and Liam, waved at me.
“Hey, guys! Great to see you.”
And it was. We did a couple of fist-bumps that morphed into something cool and complicated—Ezra was twelve and had more coordination, but ten-year-old Liam did his best—and they trooped past me into the house.
I had wanted to wait until all the boxes were unpacked and the place was boy-friendly before inviting them over.
Paige, my dad’s current wife, had said she’d drop them off for an afternoon of video games and pizza.
Living in Boston for the last ten years, I didn’t get to see them as often as I’d have liked. That would change now, and I hoped to establish closer relationships with them. But it also meant seeing more of Nick, which wasn’t ideal.
“Did you want to come in?” I asked him.
“Sure. Paige told me to get the skinny on the new place.”
“Is she okay? I thought she’d be bringing them over.”
He held up both hands. “Oh, she’s fine. Well, she has a migraine, but that’s par for the course for her.”
My father, ladies and gentlemen. Empathy personified.
The boys had already found the unhealthy snacks I’d laid out for them on the coffee table. I was prepared to buy their affection with treats, if necessary.
“Can we eat these?” Liam asked, looking to his brother for guidance.
“Course we can,” Ezra responded. “That’s why they’re there.”
“Yeah, Liam-o, they’re for you.”
Liam grinned, probably because I’d given him a cool nickname. He was definitely the more bookish of the boys, a little shyer than his big brother.
“So, I’ve got the new Sonic game and the hockey one, too.”
“Are you in the hockey one?” Ezra asked.
“No, but Theo is. It’s the legends edition.”
“Cool,” Liam said, then went for the Doritos.
I looked to my dad, but he had already moved into the kitchen, heading for the backyard. I caught up with him.
About ten years ago, he had started dyeing his hair, looking to stave off the onslaught of age.
Approaching his mid-sixties, he was clearly anxious to maintain touching distance with his wife, almost thirty years his junior.
He should have been sliding into retirement, but kids and a hot wife cost money.
After various stints as a local alderman—yeah, people voted for him—he had returned to practicing law.
Out on the patio, he turned back to me.
“Would have thought you’d want to buy a place on the water.”
“Something about this house appealed to me.”
He nodded. “Good place for family gatherings. You ever think about that?”
“Family gatherings?”
“Having a family.” He met my gaze levelly. “I’ve always been surprised you haven’t settled down by now, Jason. I see that girl you dated—what’s her name, Everly? She’s moved on.”
“And I’m happy for her. Things usually happen for a reason.”
“That’s what I’ve always said. You are where you’re meant to be.”
Not quite what I was going for. Individual choices were key. Leaving your kids behind as collateral damage was not the acceptable result of some laissez-faire psychobabble that boiled down to “shit happens.”
Before I could respond, my father placed a hand on my shoulder. “Now you’re back in Chicago, I’m hoping we can see more of you. The boys need their big brother. All their big brothers.”
What about their father? Did they need him?
Rage rippled through my veins, but now wasn’t the time to lose it. Those were the hurt feelings of a kid, and I was an adult man who should just accept that his father was a dick.
“I’ll be here for them. I’m going nowhere.”
Two hours later, my brothers had whipped my ass in Hockey All Stars, and we were waiting on the pizza delivery. I was in a bit of a salty-sugar coma myself, but I figured one day wouldn’t hurt.
The doorbell rang and Ezra yelled, “pizza!”
“Yep. Go get some plates—ah, hell, forget it. We’ll eat straight from the box. But grab a roll of paper towels from the kitchen.”
The boys cheered, so I guessed Paige was probably fussier about table manners, which was her prerogative as a mom who had to clean up after her little monsters.
I opened the door and got the second surprise of the day on my doorstep.
Francesca St. James.
She looked exactly the same as always—hair loosely tied back and up, glasses pertly positioned on her nose, that jean jacket with the snail pin—but today it all had a different effect on me. While her stubborn chin and assessing gaze annoyed me before, now I just saw a smart woman on a mission.
And I liked it.
I especially liked that she was here, because—well, it could be good or bad. Maybe she preferred to turn me down in person because she was brought up well and wasn’t afraid of speaking bluntly.
“Hey there! I thought you were the pizza.”
Behind me, one of the boys cheered at something in the Avengers movie we started watching after the video games. Probably Captain America kicking Hydra ass.
“Oh, you have company,” she said. “I can come back or—”
“You could come in. My brothers are here, the younger ones.”
“I don’t want to disturb your family time. Do you have a second to talk?” She took a step back, and my heart sank. This didn’t sound promising at all. Much easier for her to escape in the sensible Honda Civic parked a few feet away.
I closed the door behind me, leaving it ajar.
“Everything okay?” It had been a week since I saw her at the practice rink.
I had reached for my phone a million times to text her, but other than a few reminders that I existed, I’d left her to think on it.
She needed calm, placid energy—not really my wheelhouse—rather than me sending her pictures of every hockey-themed onesie I had come across during my casual Internet searches.
She hadn’t answered yet. If it was no, surely she’d just put me out of my misery.
“Francesca, have you something to tell me?”
She bit her lip. “Perhaps … you should look at the contract first.”
Holy fuckaroo. “Are you saying … yes?”
“I … might be?”
Her eyes rounded behind her glasses, a little fearful, or maybe just asking herself, “what have I done?”
You’ve made my dream come true, that’s what.
Joy slammed through me. I lifted her off the ground and released a yell that let the world know nothing would ever be the same again.
“Jason!”
I placed her on the border wall edging the steps up to my front door.
“You haven’t even seen the contract yet!”
“I don’t care. That’s just the details. We’re actually doing this!”
My hands were on her hips, holding her in place on the wall, and because I was close, her thighs naturally parted, like they had no choice when faced with my enthusiasm. I had been in this position before with women, and it had never not led to more interesting positions. Sexual ones.
I really should release her, but I didn’t want to.
I wanted to stay in this perfect moment when the anticipation of our enterprise had yet to run into cold, hard reality.
There was a baby to be made, a life to create, a wave of joy to surf.
From here on out, we would be linked together inextricably.
She had moved her hands to my chest, not pushing me away, just pressing slightly, as if to test my muscles. Test away, baby.
“What tipped you over? Saw me out on the ice and figured, ‘that’s the one’?”
“Sure, that was it.” She chuckled before morphing into her usual stoic self. Serious business, baby-making. “You really should read the contract before you get too excited.”
“Too late. You’ve found your guy.”
No way in hell was Franky St. James skipping out on this deal. I was already all in.
“You’re going to wear out the floorboards.”
I stopped pacing my living room and turned to Lauren.
I’d known this woman since we first met at Rebels Youth Hockey Camp almost twenty-five years ago.
That was a crazy summer—I had just connected with Theo and Lauren had just met her half-sister, Sadie, for the first time, after their dad was imprisoned for embezzlement.
Lo had been a terror to Sadie during a tricky time, but they worked it out.
By the end of the summer, we were the best of friends, Sadie had fallen in love with former Rebel Gunnar Bond, and I had fully gelled with my new brother.
Lauren and I both went on to successful careers in pro hockey.
She retired from the Chicago Athenas at the ancient age of twenty-eight and had since become an agent, about to start her own boutique outfit.
People said you shouldn’t mix business and friendship, but I had never doubted that Lauren had my back when it came to managing my career and advising me both personally and professionally.
Though she wasn’t a family law expert, she had one on tap, who had gone over Franky’s contract and suggested some changes.
I had assumed we could do this between-friends, sign-on-a-cocktail-napkin style, but I had no idea how complicated it could get.
Medical care, schooling, the kid’s living arrangements, even holidays—all of it had to be negotiated before my sperm met her egg.
As for the mingling of body fluids, and how that would take place, that was a whole other test tube of sperm.