15. Mallory

Iwake up to find myself alone on the couch in the living room. The house is silent. The sun is low in the sky and when I grab my phone off an end table I realize it’s almost dinner time. How come Dylan hasn’t woken up? Where is Tate? Oh, and also, what the hell did I just do?

I sit bolt upright and push the heels of my palms into my eyes, hoping to rub out the sleep and temporary insanity. I grab my phone again and realize I have a text alert from Tate. I open it and find a slightly blurry selfie of him with Dylan strapped to his chest. Dylan looks… confused and apprehensive. Tate is grinning proudly. The photo tugs at my heartstrings.

The text that follows does too, even though it’s simple.

Took my son out for a walk so you could rest.

The next text he sent a couple minutes later has me blushing.

I’m picking up dinner too so just relax. You’ll need your energy later. For round two.

Round two? We can’t! I can’t. But I know, without a shadow of a doubt that not only can I fool around with Tate again, I will. Because I am completely crushing on him and he somehow handles my body better than he handles a puck, which is nuts.

I get up off the couch and smooth out my wrinkled sundress and then I decide that since Tate is handling dinner, I will handle dessert. It’s also an excuse to do something other than obsess about what we did. I bought some berries and peaches at the local farmer’s market a couple days ago and they need to get eaten. I dig around the pantry and see what supplies I can add to this to make it a tasty dessert but also not mess too much with Tate’s strict diet.

I make fruit parfaits with protein granola and Greek yogurt. I’m humming to myself in the kitchen, trying hard to concentrate on what I’m doing and not let my mind wander to what I’ve done. Tate. I had his cock in my mouth. Oh my God… And he went down on me and made me come harder than I have in my life. Oh, my double God.

I let out a little scream. Tiny but shrill because how is this my life? I am screwed. And yet, I”m happy? Yeah, that”s happiness bouncing around inside me like a balloon in a windstorm. Oh my foolish heart, I hope I”m wrong and I don”t regret this one day.

I hear the metal storm door open as I’m putting the homemade parfaits in the fridge and call out. “How was the walk? Did Dyllie Bear behave? He looked a little?—”

I close the fridge, my head turns to the entry hall, and I lose my ability to speak. The man standing there isn’t Tate, and for a split second I don’t know who it is and fear floods me. “Hey! Sorry! I’m not Tate or… Dyllie Bear? Did Tate get a dog?”

As soon as he speaks and shoots me a smile my brain finally kicks in and I realize it’s one of Tate’s teammates. A Westwood brother, if memory serves me correctly. The tattooed one, I note as I take in the intricate ink sleeves on both of his exposed arms. I met both brothers briefly on the trip with Diana. They came out after the Quake home game we attended for wings and beers at a bar on the beach. I wipe my hands on a nearby dishtowel and nod. “Hi. Umm… Tate isn’t home at the moment. How did you get in?”

He pulls a key from the front pocket of his pants. “I have his key in case of emergency and he has mine.”

“Oh. Okay.” It seems everyone and their brother has a key to Tate’s house. Good to know. I walk out of the kitchen and through the living room to the entry. The Westwood brother just stands there, clearly not in the mood to leave, so I repeat myself. “Tate’s out. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Okay I can wait,” he says like that’s an option. “You’re… shit. I forget your name but we’ve met before, right? You’re from his hometown.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Mallory.”

“Right! Mallory Echolls. Your dad is Chance Echolls,” he says. “My dad played at the same time as yours.”

“Yup,” I reply and I know I sound curt and unfriendly so I add a small smile. “I can tell Tate you stopped by. No need to waste your time. Or is there an actual emergency?”

“Oh… no. Not really an emergency.” He gets it. I don’t want him here. I hate that I seem so unfriendly but I don’t want to see the panic on Tate’s face when he walks in with Dylan and his teammate is standing there. And I do not want to hear what new lie comes out of his mouth to cover everything up yet again. “He’s been avoiding time with the guys and I was coming over here to find out why, but I think I know now.”

Our eyes lock and he smiles again, deeply, knowingly. I look away. “Sorry, are you Nate or Crash?”

He laughs. “I’m Crew. My brother is Nash.”

“Oops. Sorry. I promise I’m not usually this big of an ass.” I laugh now too because this whole thing is just… well, hysterically uncomfortable. “I’ll tell him you came by, Crew.”

And then, through the screen of the storm door behind Crew, I hear a cry I know like it”s my own. Tate appears on the other side with a wailing Dylan still strapped to his chest. Crew spins around and I watch his whole body tense up at the shock of seeing his commitment-phobic teammate with a baby strapped to his chest.

Tate”s eyes get wide with panic. Crew lets out a ”Holy shit.” And I push past him to unclip Dylan and lift him out of the Baby Bjorn.

“I don’t think he had another catastrophic crap,” Tate says to me as I plop Dylan onto my hip. “I forgot to bring water or snacks so maybe he’s hungry or something.”

“Maybe,” I say and rush him toward the kitchen.

“Or maybe he just hates me,” Tate adds as he follows me, and Crew follows him.

”He doesn”t hate you,” I promise even though Dylan stopped crying as soon as I held him. I place him on his chair at the dining room table and grab a package of rice puffs. ”Can you fill a bottle with milk please?”

Tate walks by me and to the fridge, plucking a bottle off the drying rack by the sink. Crew is watching us in confusion. We get Dylan settled with snacks and juice and Tate finally looks at his teammate.

“So ummm… how’s life, Tate?” Crew asks. “I feel like you got news you might want to share.”

“I…” Tate swallows.

“I’m moving to Los Angeles with my son and Tate has been kind enough to let me crash here while I sort out my life,” I blurt out.

Crew looks at me, then his eyes drift to Dylan and slowly up to Tate. I know from the small smirk on his face, that he doesn”t believe me. Not totally. He has working eyeballs. He can see Dylan is Tate”s mini-me. I feel Tate”s hand, his palm smooth and gentle against the small of my back. He looks right at Crew. ”This is my son, Dylan. Mallory is his nanny and she brought him here a couple weeks ago, after his mother, her best friend Diana, died.”

Crew”s face loses all color. His mouth, which seems to be set in a perma-smirk, falls flat. He looks at Dylan again then at me and then at Tate. ”What can I do to help?”

Not at all what I expected from this burly hockey player but I’ve been shocked non-stop today. Tate sighs. “Dude, I will take anything you got. Like a lead on a decent realtor. We have to move. ASAP. This place is too small and not baby-friendly.”

“Okay.” Crew nods and walks right up to the dining room table. “You can move into mine. I’ll move into this one. At least until after playoffs.”

“What?” Tate and I say in unison.

”I have a three-bedroom house with a decent, private garden on the canal remember?” Crew says, looking at Tate. ”I don”t need all that space and I never even wanted the house. It would be perfect for you guys, at least for now. And I can easily live here. Especially if that hot reporter girl is still a few doors down.”

“She is,” I remark.

Crew lifts his eyebrows in an uh-oh moment. Tate chuckles uncomfortably. “Crew, are you sure?”

”Yeah dude, no worries.” He looks at me. ”You”ll love it, Mallory. It”s not a bachelor pad like this place.”

I don’t ask why a hot single hockey player has a non-bachelor pad. I just nod and thank him and when Dylan is done eating I scoop him up. Tate touches his cheek and Dylan grins, which we both know is progress so we high-five. “See, no hate. He was just hangry.”

Tate looks so relieved it’s adorable. “I’m gonna go back out and get food. I didn’t get a chance to pick it up. I just wanted to get him home so he would stop freaking out.”

“You don’t have to, I can whip up something,” I reply.

“Are you sure?” He looks sheepish.

“Yeah. No worries.” I nod. “Why don’t you and Crew go chat on the patio and I’ll get cooking. Dyllie Bear will be fine playing with his blocks.”

“Or I could take him onto the patio,” Tate suggests. “He likes his jumpy thing out there.”

I immediately hand Dylan over to him and thankfully the kid doesn’t complain. Seeing Tate with his boy on his hip makes my ovaries dance a jig. He grins down at his son. “Let’s go have our first boys night, Dylan.”

He walks into the kitchen, Crew behind him, and grabs two beers out of the fridge before exiting through the sliding doors onto the back patio. I close the door behind them to give them privacy.

I can”t believe he told his teammate the truth. Next, he”ll tell his parents and then his team, and eventually this will be out in the open. And then… he won”t need me anymore. But… maybe he”ll still want me.