16. Tate

Crew is staring at me like I’m an alien with seven heads who just explained my people copulate by bumping armpits. His hazel eyes are wide. His mouth open. His skin, hell even his tattoos, have paled.

“I know. This is a lot,” I tell him as I glance at Dylan who is jumping in his swing thing and grinning a slobbery grin. “I am still reeling too most days.”

“I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me right away,” Crew replies and furrows his brow. “I could have helped you.”

“How? You know less about babies than I do.”

Crew blinks and then laughs. “Yeah. Okay. But I could have been supportive. I mean, this is… it’s crazy. And you need someone to talk to, I’m sure.”

“I have Mal,” I say and a very inappropriate image of her with her dress up to her tits and her pussy inches from my mouth flashes through my brain. “She’s been amazing.”

Crew stares at me. I don’t even bother to act innocent because he knows me too well to believe that bullshit. He grins slowly, but it’s reluctant and cautious. “She looks like she would be amazing. But didn’t you say she’s your ex’s best friend? And she’s your baby’s nanny? I’m no expert but that seems like adding problems to an already complicated situation.”

I don”t like the points Crew is making but that doesn”t make them inaccurate. Well, mostly. I sip my beer. It”s light beer because of our impending playoff run. ”First of all Diana could never be classified as an ex. She was a bed buddy. Friends with benefits. We were both on the exact same page with that. And the fact that she never told me about Dylan means she wasn”t interested in even co-parenting with me let alone dating me. And Mallory”s not a complication, she”s a lifesaver. She”s not just his nanny but his legal guardian until I can get all the paperwork to get my name on his birth certificate.”

“Can’t you get one of your family to be his guardian?” Crew asks, concern still furrowing his brow. “I mean, if she’s also your bed buddy then that makes this more complicated, Tate. I’m not trying to rain on your parade. Just speaking the truth.”

”No one in my family knows about him,” I admit and Crew looks downright flummoxed again. ”Well, Tenley just found out. And I think we can both agree she”s not an ideal guardian candidate.”

“Why haven’t you told your parents? Or one of your cousins? Someone?” Crew asks. “I have a really small family, and you know my dad…”

“The patron saint of hockey,” I interject because he always calls his dad that, and he’s not wrong. Avery Westwood was the poster child for the sport his entire career.

”Yeah, the patron saint of hockey would lose his mind if I knocked a girl up out of wedlock. He shit a brick when I divorced, because star players don”t do that,” Crew smiles bitterly then shakes it off. ”But in the end, he”d be there for me. He”d support me and I know your parents would be the same. Come on, with that enormous family of yours, someone would be able to fly down here and help.”

“I don’t want their help,” I admit what I haven’t said out loud to anyone yet. “I’m the Golden Child, according to Tenley. I’m perfect.”

“And humble.” Crew rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, I’m telling you what they say, not what I believe,” I grumble and pause to sip my beer. “They all also love to say that the way I stay golden is I avoid all responsibility and commitment like it’s the plague. And they aren’t wrong.”

Crew thinks about my words and gives me a small nod. “You don’t date seriously, you lease your car, you could challenge me and Nash the Quake captaincy, but you didn’t even try. Yeah, I can see why that’s what they think. Do you even own this place?”

I stare up at the townhouse. ”Yeah but only because there are no rentals in this building. But I… I bought it in Tenley’s name. I wanted her to have it in case I got traded or whatever. Just easier.”

“Easier if you aren’t attached or committed to anything.” Crew smiles. “Jesus you are a textbook commitment-phobe. And now you’re a daddy. Biggest commitment in the world.”

It feels so surreal to hear someone else say it. But also, there’s this flicker of pride in my chest that beats anything I’ve ever felt before. I nod. “Yeah. I’m a dad and it’s not a commitment I want to shrug off. And it feels like, if I ask them all for help, it would be like shrugging it off. Or give them and everyone else an excuse to say Tate Garrison couldn’t handle it on his own.”

”Fatherhood is not a house plant or a puppy, Garrison,” Crew warns. ”Not many people can handle it on their own and I”m not sure they should if they can help it. So if I were you, I would reach out sooner rather than later. Also, eventually, you”re going to have to tell Coach and the media team, because this will get out and you do not want to blindside them.”

“I know,” I say almost too sharply. I hate being reminded of what I’ve been ignoring. I look up at the cloudless blue sky. Dylan makes another happy gurgling sound at my feet and I glance down and see him bouncing and clapping his pudgy hands. “I just wanted to get through the regular season and then I was going to tell them in the week before we start playoffs. Because I want Dylan and Mallory to be able to come to playoffs, especially if we win.”

“Yeah.” Crew smiles and tips his beer bottle toward me. “You mean when we win.”

I grin. “Yeah. When.”

We clink bottles and both down what’s left in them. He plops his on the outdoor table and leans down toward Dylan. “So little dude, you gonna be a hockey player like your pops? Pretty sure it’s in your DNA.”

Dylan claps and grins and then lets out a happy squeal. I am smiling so broadly my cheeks ache. Shit. I love this kid. Even if he’s still not sure how he feels about me. I fucking love him. “He’ll get a pair of skates soon. But if he doesn’t like it, so be it. Personally, hockey was all I ever wanted but my parents always made it clear it wasn’t expected and I intend to do the same.”

“Yeah, my parents were the same but I remember watching my dad in his last few seasons and thinking I have to do that,” Crew replies with a soft smile. “It looks like the best thing in the world.”

“Yeah,” I agree and then my eyes fall to Dylan. I honestly don’t care if he plays or not. I just hope that by the time he’s old enough to pick a profession he likes me at least half as much as I like him.

Crew stands up and I stand too. We give each other a quick bro-hug. “So I was serious. I want you to take my place. I’ll even line up the movers for both of us. We have two home games coming up so how about we move Friday? And we can have Saturday to settle into our new places before our next game on Sunday.”

“If you’re serious, that would be amazing.”

”I have wanted out of the place since Anne-Marie left me,” Crew says flatly as he shoves his hands into his pockets. I”m shocked he uttered her name. He hasn”t mentioned his ex by her actual name since the day he was served divorce papers at the arena last year. ”She picked the place, not me.”

”Okay well, it would work great for us until I can sort something else out in the off-season,” I admit, and feel like one of the many heavyweights has been lifted from my shoulders. ”Thanks, Crew.”

“No worries.” He gives me a crooked smile. “And before you bother to say it, I swear I won’t tell anyone. Not even Nash.”

“Thanks,” I sigh. “I’ll clear this up and be honest about it as soon as I can.”

“I still say you should tell your folks or a cousin or something.”

“Eventually,” I promise.

I grab Dylan out of his jumper and he miraculously doesn’t cry. Although he is still staring at me uncertainly. We go back into the house and we”re greeted with a delicious smell coming from the stove where Mallory is standing. Crew declines her invitation to join us, says goodbye, and heads out.

Dylan starts squirming and lets out a frustrated grunt as he reaches for Mallory. “Just put him in the living room with his toys. Maybe play with him a bit while I finish dinner.”

“Okay.” I’m skeptical that he will want to play with me and not just keep fussing and whining for Mallory but I’m willing to try.

I sit on the floor with him and grab some of his toys. There’s a precarious moment where he ignores me and his head stays turned to the kitchen. But then, he turns to me and I hold up his favorite giraffe stuffie and he happily wraps his chubby hands around it, pulls it to him, and bites the head. I pick up the hippo stuffie and make it dance on the carpet in front of him and he giggles. Wildly. I made my son giggle and not cry and I might as well have scored a game-winning Stanley Cup goal because I feel that elated.

I don’t know how much time passes, but suddenly I hear Mallory say, “Dinner is served.”

I look up and see her watching Dylan and me and the look on her face hits me like a hammer to the chest. It’s so soft and sweet and her smile could power the freaking hockey rink it’s so bright. God, she’s gorgeous. “You look beautiful right now.”

There. I said it. And the weird part is I said it without expecting anything. Usually, I compliment women in the throes of it. Like we”re half naked already or well on our way to naked. I have an objective in mind and it”s selfish. But tonight I said it only because I wanted Mallory to know how I felt.

She blushes and it makes her even more beautiful. “Get up here and eat,” she mutters, still smiling. “And bring your son.”

“Come on, son,” I say and lift Dylan. This time he squirms and lets out a squeak of protest. “I’m going to tell myself it’s just because you were really into the hippo dance moves and not take it personally.”

Mallory lets out a laugh. I put Dylan in his chair, which still freaks me out a little because it”s just bars on the table holding him up. I need to get him a real highchair, even though Mallory swears these things are safe. I sit down across from Dylan and Mallory sits beside him and places some cut-up veggies and meat on a plate in front of him with a bottle of water.

We eat together, sitting down properly, for the first time since they got here and it feels really nice. Great, even. Mallory asks me what I like about living in Los Angeles and I go on and on about the weather the people the beaches and the way the town makes me feel, which is something I haven”t told anyone. ”There”s this vibe in Los Angeles,” I explain between mouthfuls of the best couscous I”ve ever eaten. ”The whole town is buzzing with hopes and dreams, you know? And everyone who comes here wakes up every morning thinking their world could change at any second.”

”Because they might be discovered and become the next superstar or because an earthquake could shake us right into the ocean?” Mallory asks me and she”s dead serious.

“Both. But mostly the first thing.” I grin and then stop to drink some water. “The first earthquake is terrifying, not going to lie, but somehow you get used to them.”

“I don’t think I will.”

I smile. “I said the same thing and now, three years of occasional tremors and I don’t even blink.”

She doesn’t look convinced so I reach across the table and lay my hand over hers. “If there’s a quake, I’ll protect you. And Dyllie Bear, obviously.”

Her eyes light up. “You’ve started calling him Dyllie Bear too.”

“I’m not a huge fan of nicknames,” I admit with a sheepish grin. “Tater Tot still haunts me, but he does look like a little bear. And he certainly shits like a bear.”

She laughs and Dylan slaps the table like he thinks it”s funny too. I grin, and for the first time in a long time, it”s not forced or tinged with trepidation. In this little moment, I feel like maybe I”ve got this.

The rest of the night we clean up together bathe Dylan together and get him ready for bed. Then I ask Mallory if she wants to watch some Netflix with me and she, thankfully, says yes. While I pull it up on the TV she is in the kitchen and comes out with the most amazing-looking parfaits. ”The dessert I promised. And I made them as health-conscious as possible.”

She slips onto the couch beside me, and since it’s the one we fooled around on earlier I slide right over when I take the parfait from her so we’re touching. She doesn’t seem to mind. We both changed after Dylan went down. She’s in a lacy cotton tank top and some matching capri pajama bottoms. She looks sweet yet sultry all at the same time. I’m in my pajama bottoms and an old wrinkled concert T-shirt Tenley got me for Christmas as a joke. She always gets me bands or artists I would never go see because it makes her laugh. This one is a vintage Spice Girls European Tour shirt from nineteen ninety-nine.

I take one bite of the dessert and groan. “This is amazing. How can this be healthy?”

“Well, healthy might be a stretch, but it’s got lots of protein and is as fat-free as possible,” Mallory tells me. I watch her lift the spoon to her lips and into her mouth and I think about how my dick was her last treat. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment too, like they did when she was giving me head.

“What do you want to watch on Netflix?” I ask, and my voice is deeper than normal. I clear my throat and shovel more parfait into my mouth to distract myself from the hormones pinging around my insides like a ball in a pinball machine.

”Umm… I like rom-coms,” she confesses and I roll my eyes. ”And that”s the exact reaction I expected. You pick it, tough guy. Something with no emotions and a lot of explosions I”m guessing.”

“Sounds right,” I admit and scroll down to the action list. “How about this one with The Rock.”

”I actually don”t mind The Rock,” Mallory says as she puts her empty parfait dish on the coffee table. Then her eyes read the title and she slaps my chest with the flat of her hand. ”No way! Tate Garrison, you are a jerk!”

“What?” I blink at her feigning innocence. “We can call it research.”

“I am not watching an earthquake action movie set in Los Angeles,” she barks and hits me again, only this time I grab her hand. “It’s tempting fate!”

“Well, then if you don’t want to watch the movie, we’ll have to do something else,” I say. Her hand still in mine, I move it to rest on my thigh. Her hazel eyes flicker with heat and then they leave my face and land on my shirt.

“If you were a Spice Girl you’d be Scary,” she whispers. “Because you scare me to death sometimes, Tate.”

I lean in, ghosting my lips against the side of her neck before pulling back and smiling at her. “You’d be Dream Spice. Because every time I watch you come it’s like a dream I don’t want to wake up from.”

“There is no Dream Spice,” she tells me and takes a shaky breath. Her hand is moving up my thigh on its own, her want and her effort not mine. So I move my own hand to the strap of her tank and after I skim the lace with my fingertips, I pull it down slowly.

“Do you want to continue talking about nineties girl bands or do you finally want to let me bury my cock inside of you?” I ask, tired of waiting. Tired of games. Tired of pretending.

My bluntness has her shivering, but then she stands up, grabs my chin in her hand, and pulls me up by it. I tower over her, a few tiny inches apart, my breathing heavy and almost labored with the desire I’m holding back. She tips her head up, looks me straight in the eye, and speaks without an ounce of hesitation. “I’ll take your cock. Every time.”

My mouth crashes down on hers and I wrap my arm around her waist and lift her off her feet, carrying her to the stairs and my bedroom.