Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Jason
The preseason was finally winding down with our fifth of six games scheduled for Detroit.
The league made as much effort as possible to plan these games to minimize travel, so while we’d already played in Boston and Minneapolis, a trip to Detroit was like a walk in the park.
Except I was tired from the travel, and maybe a little from the stress of arranging my next DoorDash sperm delivery.
Because I was set to be on the road in the days prior to Franky’s next ovulation window, we had decided that she would come visit me in Detroit.
This meant we had to sneak around, which to be honest, was kind of hot.
Not that I needed this situation to be hot.
I could jerk off on demand, but I also liked the idea that we were planning a special meet-up in service to conceiving our kid.
A story we could tell the little one later.
Though the doc might not want to share that at all.
Finding her so upset that it hadn’t worked the first time had ripped my heart out.
I hated to see a woman teary-eyed, and while I’d long tried to ignore the fact Francesca St. James was a woman, this whole situation made it very clear that she was.
The emotions, the biology, the fact I was breeding her—that was classic caveman shit right there.
And then to hear that she might not want my donation after all?
Thank God I managed to talk her down. No way was I letting her weasel out of our deal.
Franky was scheduled to drive up early and check into the team hotel before we got there. That way, we could meet up for the hand-off—heh—after I got there, try again before curfew, and maybe give it one more shot before the game tomorrow.
My biggest concern was the fact I was rooming with my nephew Hatch, so I’d have to slip away and avoid his questions. Luckily, he’d made up with his girl Summer before the preseason, so he was likely to be distracted.
We had just dumped our overnight bags in the hotel room and were slipping out of our suits when Hatch’s phone rang. His grin was wide enough to power the Detroit grid and made my own heart sing because cover was rolling my way.
“Hey, Sunshine. So good to hear from you.”
I pulled my sweats on and hung my suit. “I’m gonna go for a walk. Maybe an hour?”
Hatch gave me an absent wave. Perfect.
I shot off a text to the doc as I walked out into the corridor.
Me
All checked in. How about you?
Doc
I’ve run into a problem.
Me
What problem?
Doc
Can you talk?
I nodded at Noah Boden, our goalie, who had just come out of the room next to mine.
“You heading down for a bite to eat?” he asked.
“It’s only four o’clock.”
NoBo frowned. “So?”
“You go ahead. I’ve got to make a call.” But where to make it? This entire floor was filled with players.
I hovered around the elevator bank until the doors closed on Boden, then I took the other car to … where, where? The spa. All I needed was a quiet spot to talk. I found it in the sauna, which was unattended and really fucking hot.
I called Franky.
“Hello?”
“What’s going on?”
“Beaker threw a fit and made me late leaving. Then the car broke down, and I had to call AAA for a battery boost, so I was a couple of hours late. I’ve yet to check in.”
Shit. “Where are you now?”
“In the underground parking lot of the hotel.”
The players were going to be swarming the lobby any minute, looking for food and company.
“Stay put. I’ll meet you down there.”
Five minutes later, I found her and her sensible Honda Civic in the parking lot. She unlocked the door, and I slid into the passenger seat, then took a moment to slide it back so it was less cramped.
“Hey.”
She released a breath, and was it my imagination, or was that relief in her expression? I liked that. I wanted to be the guy who saved the day.
“I’m sorry. I know that under the radar is better and I really have no reason to be here that would pass muster—are you sweating?”
“I had to call you from the sauna. Listen, we can figure this out.”
“I suppose it’s possible most of the players don’t know me at all. But if I ran into Hatch …”
“You won’t. You’re gonna go in there and check in.”
“But—”
“In a disguise.”
She blinked. “A disguise?”
“I bought some things from the hotel gift shop.” I passed over a small shopping bag.
She pulled out my purchases one by one. Sunglasses, a head scarf with dragonflies on it, a “Home of Motown” ball cap, and a key ring.
She held up that last item. “‘I heart Detroit.’ Not sure I do.”
“If you conceive this weekend, you’re going to be head over heels for Detroit. I figured that might be our good luck charm.”
I hadn’t meant to say “our”—or any of it, really. But when I saw the key ring, I thought it might be a good omen, like a rabbit’s foot. Minimum, it couldn’t hurt.
“I’m a scientist. Good luck charms aren’t really in my wheelhouse.”
“Well, I’m an athlete and good luck charms are definitely in mine. We’re a superstitious lot. I always tie my laces in a certain way, with a triple loop, and I say a little prayer between each tie-off.” At her skeptical look, I added, “It works seventy percent of the time.”
She turned the key ring over in her hands. “Maybe I need to get superstitious.” Her gaze strayed to the sunglasses. “This might draw more attention to me.”
“Better to have attention than recognition. Wrap up your hair because that shade is kind of striking.”
Now why on earth did I say that? Immediately the energy shifted in the car, the air charged and thick.
She touched her hair tentatively. “It’s just dark brown. Nothing special.”
I passed over her comment because I sure as hell wasn’t going to convince her that there was no such thing as “dark brown, nothing special” about Francesca St. James’s hair.
It had coppery highlights that reminded me of Fall and pumpkins, though I could have been distracted by the start of hockey season. What did I know?
Using the rearview mirror, she tied the scarf so it covered her hair. Kind of grandma Babushka, but then she added the sunglasses, and it was all French New Wave glamour. We tried it with and without the Motown hat and decided to go without.
Outside the car, she popped the trunk, and I pulled out her roller board.
“How do you feel?”
She chewed on her lip. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but I got an impression of enjoyment.
“It’s like we’re planning a heist.”
“The Great Baby Making Caper. Starring the Muppets. As in us.”
That made her giggle. I hadn’t heard her laughing much, but it had a husky quality that hit me right in the balls.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, Doc. I’ll head up to the lobby, and then you follow and check in. Text me your room number when you have it.”
I turned to go. Every cell in my body screamed at me to look over my shoulder, but I wasn’t sure I’d like what I saw there. Better to stride forth and not get tangled up in whatever was making my pulse thump wildly.
Because this was one of those hotels where you had to switch elevators at the lobby, I planned to loiter in the gift shop while I waited for Franky’s text. But I hadn’t reckoned on how disasters happen in multiples.
As soon as the doors opened, I ran into my nephew Conor.
“J-man!” We fist bumped and hugged.
Now, I loved all my niblings, but I had a soft spot for Connie, probably because he reminded me most of my big brother.
The kid had inherited Theo’s talent as well as his exuberance and no-filter way of looking at things.
He was starting his maiden season with Detroit, and he was as excited as a puppy in a pile of leaves.
With a guiding hand on his back, I walked several feet away from the elevator because this was a little close for comfort. “Hey, kid, you jazzed for the game?”
“Jazzed about taking you and H apart, you mean? Oh yeah!”
I had no doubt he would do well, but I wasn’t ready to to be mowed down just yet.
“So, not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but why are you here?” He lived in Detroit, so he wasn’t staying at the hotel.
“Hatch and I were supposed to be meeting for a bite, but he’s not answering his phone. I sent you a bunch of texts as well.”
“Yeah, well—” Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her exiting the parking elevator and heading to the front desk. She was right—she did stand out but no one would recognize her, I was sure of that.
Conor followed my gaze, so I distracted him with a hand on his elbow. “Let’s head into the restaurant and call Hatch to come down. I left him in the room, talking to Summer.”
“They’re having phone sex, aren’t they?”
“Thought I’d give them some privacy.”
Conor grinned. “That’s considerate.”
“I’d do the same for you if you managed to stick to one girl.”
“What? I wouldn’t get phone sex privacy because I like to play the field?”
“You’re an exhibitionist. You don’t care.” We made it to the restaurant entrance, just off the lobby. I could already see NoBo waving at me from a large table, and a couple of the guys were with him.
“You want it to be just us, or are you ready for a little trash talk?”
The Kershaw smile broke out in full. “I wouldn’t mind getting into the heads of a few Rebels.” He gestured to the hostess that we were joining their table, then turned to me, his expression curious. “J, are you sweating?”
Bricks. I looked over my shoulder. No sign of the sixties film star or her big-face sunglasses. Looked like we were in the clear.