“Wha…” I sort of wheeze out, dropping into the chair opposite his.
I can feel my eye twitch. Know that my mouth is hanging open.
“The nurses told me the skin-to-skin contact is good for him,” he says absently, reaching for his son and carefully unwrapping him until it’s just the two of them, shirtless. Otto tucked into the crook between his daddy’s powerful chest and enormous arm. Axel using the utmost care to lay a thin blanket over him to hold the heat.
And then, he reaches for the bottle and starts to feed him.
“Think you got a little drool there…” he murmurs in the voice that’s as gentle as he can make it.
The words filter through a haze of something so thick I don’t even want to try to name it. I start to push out of my chair to grab him one of the burp cloths I washed earlier when Axel’s eyes slant to me, a knowing smirk hooking across his stupidly handsome face, as he adds, “Nora.”
I suck a breath and swipe at my dry mouth, thank you, glowering as he lets out a short snicker I totally deserve but will never hand him again.
Grumbling, I sit back. “Let me guess, the nurses were lining up to help you with your skin-to-skin baby-daddy time?”
He gives me a noncommittal grunt, but his smile says Yes. Yes, they were.
Of course.
Axel
Leaving Otto for the first time on Friday is tough. Uncomfortable. But Nora’s holding him when I leave, and we set up the baby monitoring system so I can check in and see how he’s doing whenever I need to.
The hardest part is getting in the elevator, but by the time I’m downstairs, Boomer and Bowie are waiting out front. Immediately, they start in with their relentless shit about my “vacation” and whether I’ll remember how to skate or not. It’s obnoxious and exactly what I need to get into the right headspace for practice.
The Slayers are a solid team. I’m not as tight with all of them as I am with Grady, Boomer, and Bowie, but there’s a definite family vibe, and when I walk into the locker room, I’m greeted with a roar of cheers and something that looks like a cake made out of diapers in the center where the laundry cart usually sits.
“Damn, boys, you shouldn’t have.” I laugh as I get a closer look at this thing. It’s held together by Slayers-branded ribbons and on top, there’s a teddy bear wearing a tiny Slayers jersey that says “Otto” and holding a stuffed hockey stick and puck. It’s adorable, and I take a picture to send to Nora.
It feels good to get back on the ice. To know what the fuck I’m doing for a few hours. I’m in my element for the first time in a week, with my team, falling into the rhythm of the play.
Mostly.
I can’t completely shut Otto and Nora out of my thoughts, and every time someone walks into the arena, I brace for them to pull me off the ice because something’s happened.
Vsev skates up and claps me on the back.
“They fine,” he assures me in his still slightly broken English. Vsev is a total family man with a brood of kids of his own, so I want to believe him.
“Guess you’ve been through it a few times.”
He nods, grinning wide. “It hard to leave the babies when they are new. But this practice is good. Not just for the skate, but to keep head on ice.” He grabs my helmet, bringing it in to bump his. “You got this.”
Not yet, but I will. I skate hard, work with the trainers, and have a meeting with the team therapist, which I never think is going to make a difference but always does.
Saturday’s game is brutal. The first period, I get scored on because my timing was a fraction of a second off. All I can think about is Nora agreeing to have the game on so Otto could get used to the sounds, and this is what I give them?
Not. Happening. Again.
Second period, I’m back. No more fuckups.
I’m all over the offense, working with Diesel to shut down any look they get.
Third period, breakaway. I fly down the ice and fire. The lamp lights up, and I rock back on my skates, pumping my fist once as the crowd goes nuts.
It feels good. And it feels even better when, six minutes later, we close out the game with a win.
But once we’re off the ice, there’s another mental shift toward home.
I don’t fuck around in the shower or hang out with the guys, instead clearing out as soon as Coach is through with me.
When I get back, Nora is parked in the deep chair by the window, her laptop open on the coffee table in front of her and Otto sleeping in her arms. Peaceful. Perfect.
“You didn’t have to wait up,” I say, dropping my bag and crossing to her to take Otto’s limp little weight into my arms.
“Well, one of us didn’t. I kept the game on with the sound low, but loud enough that we could hear it.” She hesitates but then smiles as she gets up. “Nice job tonight.”
Ahh. Not sure she wanted to give up the praise.
I’ll call that another win.
“That first period was a little rough.” I give Otto’s cheek a kiss and hold him against my chest.
“But it came together. You looked good.”
I’m surprised she watched. “Thought you weren’t into hockey.”
She raises a single shoulder and heads for the kitchen. “Well, my date for the evening was. And while I hate to admit it, I may have watched a few games here and there since moving in.”
I shouldn’t like hearing it as much as I do.
She fills a couple glasses of water and hands one to me.
I’m beat but also jacked from the win. Not quite ready for bed.
Nora leans against the sink and drinks, her throat moving as she swallows. The whiteboard is directly past her, and I see that she’s added a few more qualifications.
“‘Must love hockey. But not too much.’” I pat Otto’s bum. “How are we going to measure that?”
She looks to the board and wags her head, the motion sending a few soft waves down around her face.
Her hair’s so pretty, and when we’re standing here like this in the quiet of the apartment, just the three of us, I have to remind myself not to reach out and touch it. Hell, I shouldn’t even look at it.
Thankfully oblivious to my mental overstep, she clarifies, “An agency is going to get it. You want Otto to watch the games, so you need someone who will enjoy them. But not some superfan you have to worry about being more into you than him.”
Definitely not an issue for Nora, who, incidentally, thinks of everything. “Sure you don’t want to stay yourself?”
I don’t know why I said it, except— well, except that she’s the only reason I’m going to be able to get on that plane tomorrow. I trust her. I like her, and I like the way she is with my son. And I’m nervous as hell about finding someone half as good a fit as she is.
She doesn’t look at me, instead focusing intently on the water glass in her hand.
Shit.
“Two weeks, Axel. A month, max. I can’t stay longer.”
“I know. I was just—”
“Wishing things could be a little simpler?”
For a hot second, I think about saying no. Telling her the truth, that something simple would be amazing, but convenience wasn’t the only thing behind that ask. “Caught me.”