Guaranteed, if the team hadn’t been on the road the last few days, Otto and I would have come home from the hospital to a broken-down door and Boomer and Bowie freaking the fuck out on my soiled couch while they drank my beer and decimated my snacks. Who am I kidding, Grady’d be there too. He’s like my backup babysitter for those clowns.
They’ve got a game tonight, but they’re back tomorrow, and I still haven’t talked to them, because apparently, fatherhood has turned me into a total chickenshit.
I heave a breath. Smooth a hand over Otto when he squirms. And bite the bullet, firing off a quick group text to wish them luck in tonight’s game and tell them I’ll see them tomorrow when they’re back. My phone immediately lights up, but I thumb it to silent. I’ll man up tomorrow.
Nora
“You sure you want me to come in? I’m fine staying in the car.” I glance around the players section of the Slayers parking lot as Axel cuts toward the security door, Otto’s car seat in hand.
I shouldn’t be nervous about seeing his teammates.
I’m not the one who was making so much noise in the middle of the night that the neighbor had to come over. These guys were. I was justified.
But still.
“Better if you come.” Axel’s voice is tight, his stride purposeful. Almost like he’s forcing himself to keep moving. “You’ll meet the team, so if there’s ever an issue, they’ll know your face and name. And then I’ve got a meeting upstairs with Talia in HR. It won’t take long, and there’s a comfortable place for you to wait.” Then almost under his breath, he adds, “It’s going to be fine.”
I nearly trip because I’m about ninety percent sure that last muttered bit wasn’t meant to reassure me.
It starts the second we hit security. One guard lets out a low whistle as we approach.
“Number six, this the reason you left our boys hanging this week?”
Axel nods at the older man, who’s waving the next guard over.
They want to know about Otto. They want to know about me. They want to know when Axel is going to be back on the ice and about a dozen other things, including what my number is once they learn I’m not the mom.
They’re older guys. Sweet and surly, and I can tell Axel has a genuine affection for them both, but I can practically feel his tension on the rise as he answers some questions and dodges others.
We don’t make it ten feet past the desk before the next small swarm of bodies closes in. And then the next.
A few things are clear. Axel Erikson is well-loved. His kid already has celebrity status around here. And every time someone jokes about wishing Otto luck with a father like him, the twitch in Axel’s right eye gets just that much more apparent.
These people love him, but they have no idea how worried he is about being good enough for his son.
“Hey, boss.” I turn to Axel and place my hand on his sleeve, pulling my most apologetic face. “Sorry to be the fun-wrecker, but if you’re going to make that appointment…”
His eyes meet mine, and for a beat, it’s like he’s never seen me before. He blinks and then nods.
“Sorry guys,” he says, stepping through the crowd. “We’ve got to keep moving. Promise to bring the little guy in for another visit soon.”
The elevator is waiting, and we step in. Axel pushes the button for the lower level where the locker rooms are, and the doors close.
If he were anyone else, I’d ask if he was okay.
I swallow.
Wait.
Crap. “Are you okay?”
The muscle in his jaw tenses. “Fine.”
Great. Leave it at that.
Except… “They’re only joking. They wouldn’t say it if they believed it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I know. It’s just—” He cuts off as the noise filtering through the elevator walls increases. “Shit. Somebody already texted them.”
The doors slide open to a hallway filled with raucous, half-dressed hockey players hamming it up and shoving at each other. At our arrival, they freeze, staring into the car, first at Axel and then at the infant seat currently angled away from the doors. And then, in unison, they bust out in hysterics.
What in the world?
Axel lets out a slow breath, tipping his head toward me. “They think it’s a prank.”
Within his carrier, Otto flails, his face scrunching up in dismay. I’m about to suggest I take him while Axel deals with the team, when something changes in the man beside me. I don’t see him move, couldn’t begin to tell you what shifted, but somehow, he looks bigger, broader. More imposing. Threatening in a way I’ve never seen from him before and really shouldn’t find so appealing.
When Axel speaks, it’s quietly, the lethal edge unmistakable. “Scare my baby again… and I’ll beat your asses into early retirement.”
Suddenly, it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. A towel actually does drop, and I hear it. And yikes, that was an eyeful I wasn’t expecting.
A big guy with russet hair standing in the back mumbles about possibly misreading the situation, and a couple of the guys I’ve seen at the apartment whisper my name in hushed tones.
Fun Wrecker.
The elevator tries to close, but Axel has a foot blocking the door and the attention of every one of these players.
“This is my son, Otto.” He holds the carrier up so they can see in. “He’s the reason I’m taking the week off. And this is his nanny, Nora. She’s the reason I’ll be back on the ice in time for our game against Dallas. She belongs to Otto, so don’t even fucking think about it.”
I blink, turning to the caveman glaring at his best friends.
A couple of the guys are nodding, trying to get a closer look at the baby. Axel holds up a hand. “You can come over after practice next week. Bring him a present. A good one. And if Nora says it’s okay, you can hold him then too.”
He pulls his foot back and the doors glide closed. He pushes the button taking us up to three.
I stare. “I belong to Otto?”
He flinches and turns a wary eye my way. “Better there’s no misunderstanding. I’ve seen how they look at you. Now that they’re going to have access, I don’t want them making you uncomfortable with a bunch of bullshit player moves.”
How they look at me? Pretty sure they’ve only ever looked at me as the neighbor they irritate for sport. Same as Axel. Well, before this.
He lets out a low growl. “You’re not some puck bunny, not even the hot neighbor anymore. You’re Otto’s nanny, and there are rules about that sort of thing.”
Hot? I don’t quite know what to do with that. But then the elevator doors open at the third floor, and while there aren’t any half-naked hockey players, there’s a small crowd of professionally dressed men and women ready to pounce in the small reception area.
“We’re not through discussing this,” I grumble, following him out.
“I know.”
Axel
I’m no stranger to crowds calling my name during a game, or even the press of eager fans looking to shake my hand or score an autograph outside of one. It doesn’t get to me the way it gets to some guys.