11. Play Ball

I send up a little wish for Remy to be mine. And Whitney, too. Before now, the idea of settling down with a woman and having kids wasn't in my immediate plan. If he's my child, plans will have to change. There's no way she's raising my son without me.

My father was an entitled prick as I grew up. His family fortune and need for keeping up appearances drug us through the society papers of New York City as a picture perfect family for a time, but all that changed after the divorce. I'm lucky I received a trust fund from him at eighteen.

I've certainly earned his scrutiny when I went into sports instead of following the Ivy League footsteps of my brothers. That's part of what propels me to succeed on the ice, to get back at him for not really accepting me and not being there for me. If given the opportunity, I'll prove I can be a better father than he ever was.

After dinner, we follow the directions for the paternity test and swab cheeks. It was easy, and Remy cooperated nicely. I get the package ready to mail off while Whitney plays with Remy on the floor.

"So, this is your life, huh?" I ask, joining them there. I perch on the couch, on the edge of my seat.

"Yes. I have school and Remy to take care of. That's about it." She gazes at the baby, and while I'm sure she loves him, I detect a hint of sadness. "My life is absolutely not glamorous or sexy, and almost all of my shirts are stained from spit up or leaking, but it's my life and I wouldn't trade it."

"Whitney, that night in Montana—" I begin, and lean my elbows on my knees. I clear my throat. "The condom we used must have had a leak or something. When I threw it out, it didn't have the usual amount of my, you know, stuff in it. Maybe I should have mentioned it, but you said you were on the pill, so I thought nothing of it."

"I was, but clearly it didn't make a difference." She rubs her son's back as he stands up, wobbling a little, and toddles next to me on the couch. He leans on it with a red ball in his hands.

"I'd say I'm sorry, but looking at this little fellow, how can I be? He's a freaking adorable kid." He looks up at me, all smiles, and my heart squeezes. I think I just fell for the kid. "I just wish I knew. Because if I did and he was mine, I promise that you wouldn't have been alone raising him. Sure you had Brad. But I'd have been there, too."

I glance her way, catching her gaze. When I first saw her in that Montana bar, her eyes held a tender vulnerability that I recognize in them now.

"And you're wrong about one thing. There's nothing sexier in my book than a protective mama bear," I comment with a sultry, longing stare, gaining her wide-eyed wonder at me.

Alone with her, this would be the part where I'd sweep her off her feet, reuniting our lips. But Remy had his own ideas, bursting out with babble, and holding the ball up to me.

I chuckled. "Can I play?"

"Sure," she says. "He likes you."

"Well, good. I like him, too." I hold out my hand and Remy puts the ball into it. Next thing I know, I'm on the floor and a half hour has gone by, tossing and rolling the ball around with him, his giggles going right to my heart. I sense Whitney relaxing a little, too, grinning ear to ear, watching us, and taking photos of Remy.

"Does Brad know how much Remy likes to play ball?" I laugh when he accidentally bonks her in the head with it.

"Brad tries to replace all the balls with other toys. But I feel like that just makes Remy want to play ball even more, so I don't keep them hidden away."

"Oh, I get it. Keep the balls around and hope he loses interest."

The kid giggles at my goofy faces I make.

"Considering this has been going on for some time, I doubt it's working," she sighs. "It'd be funny if he turned out to be an ace at a sport, wouldn't it?"

We got to where he'd fetch the ball and pass it back to me and repeat, even adding Whitney into it, the three of us playing and connecting. But then, with an enormous yawn, he walks right up to me and throws his arms around me, laying his head on my shoulder.

My throat constricts, and Whitney's breath catches. I pat his back, and he smells like baby fresh soap, similar to Whitney only without the lemony extra. Our eyes meet and tears are at the corners of hers.

"Guess I wore him out." I speak softly.

"I should put him down, and then I have a couple of hours of homework to do, so…" She shuts down, and that's my cue to leave, I suppose. She stands and reaches for him. He pouts a little in the transfer, but snuggles quickly into her hold, eyes heavy.

"When do you graduate?" I follow her back down the hall to the door.

"Mid-May."

I linger, forcing my hands into pockets, because what I really want is to embrace her and Remy into my arms. That's how protective I suddenly feel about these two.

This time next week, we could be a little family of three. And I'm fine with moving things along that fast if she'll go along with it, too. Why not? We already have an attraction between us, and Remy to bind us.

"I suppose you'll have student loans to pay off?" I calculate how much I think Pepperdine U must cost, but my trust fund is ample enough to pay for anything. Just thinking several steps ahead to where I'd take care of us.

"Brad put me through school. I worked for him last semester as part of my practicum. He wants me to join his business, to handle the contracts and things," she explains.

I'm sensing a pattern here with her brother's influence all over her life. "Is that what you want?"

She sways with Remy in her arms. "I don't know. I'm just trying to survive my finals, and then I'll take a couple of months to study for the bar exam that's in July. After that, I can figure out what I want."

"If I'm the father, Whitney, is that going to be a problem with Brad? I mean, I guess he has no choice. He'll have to deal with it." I put my loafers on and step closer to her.

"Right."

"Because I'm not going anywhere. I'll be as involved as I can be in this little guy"s life—And yours." I reach a hand out and smooth a stray curl of pretty brown hair back behind her ears.

"What do you mean, Tucker?" Her voice breathy, her eyes peer at me under half-lidded domes. I think she'd like more between us, but doesn't want to admit it yet.

"That I'd like to be in your life, even if I'm not the father. And I think you should give me a chance, no matter what Brad's rule is." I lean in and kiss her forehead, lingering there, inhaling their scent. At the door, I take one last longing look at her.

I can't decipher her face—scared, worried, hopeful? In any case, I've given her enough to think about. This evening, with the paternity test started, was all about seeing if there was something still here between us, and I'm convinced there is.

"I'll call as soon as the results are in. Night." I leave, knowing I'll be back, wishing Remy's mine, planning on our future together.

No more puck bunnies for me. No more single guy and player status.

Father… Husband… those are the new labels I desire.