He Has a Baby – a single dad hockey romance

Rafe

Managing to ring the bell with the rattle in my hand, I juggle Lizette against my chest with her diaper bag on my shoulder while balancing her portable crib against my leg. I have no idea how the hell single mothers do this all the time with half the muscle power that I have.

Lizette smiles and makes an incoherent sound which I know will someday morph into words, and I don’t know if I’m excited about that future or if I dread it.

“I’m glad you’re happy about this, cutie pie,” I tell her. “I bet you’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” Grinning, I kiss her, taking in her heady baby scent.

The door pops open in front of me.

“I don’t know about her, but I think you’re pretty funny.” A sultry female voice assaults the hairs on the back of my neck, and I look up from where I stand on the front steps.

Two women stand in the doorway. Both of them look like they stepped from a magazine, tall and shapely, not the skeletal type like my ex. Tall drink number two only has eyes for my baby, but she finally meets my eyes with hers. They’re killer eyes. My breath stops for a second, but Lizette keeps me real with a tug on my too-long hair where it curls over my collar.

“I’m not sure which one of you is giving me sass because, from the looks of it, you’re both full of sass.”

“She said it,” tall woman number one on the left says. “I’m not taking the blame for your sass.” She points at her friend. Before I can respond, Ryan O’Rourke, the Boston Brawlers hockey team captain, comes to my rescue, sliding an arm around innocent woman number one with a knowing smirk on his face.

“Welcome to the party—and to the team, Lemaire. Looks like you met my wife Chelsea and her friend Zoey. Come on in.”

“Glad to be here,” I say, and I mean it because I need a fresh start.

“Who’s the cutie pie?” Zoey says.

“My daughter Lizette.” She’s looking at my baby with an infatuated smile as O’Rourke takes the portable crib from where I propped it. He and Chelsea lead me through a hallway into a fragrant kitchen where a few guys I recognize from the team turn to greet me.

 “Say hello to our newest teammate, guys.” O’Rourke raises his voice over the din. “This is Finn, Aiden, and Sam.”

“Hey, Rafe.” Aiden Cavanaugh, a defenseman, slaps me on the back. “I hear you have a good shot. Didn’t know you had a baby girl. Welcome to the team.”

Sam Grayson, the team’s first-line center, says, “We might have a spot on the second line for you.” I hear the edge in his voice, the test, the doubt about whether I measure up to my rep. That gets my blood up.

 “I understand the team needs a lift,” I say, “after last season.”

“Ouch,” O’Rourke says. “Not even a subtle dig.”

“Well, aren’t you full of yourself,” Zoey says.

 “Excuse my frank-mouthed friend,” Chelsea says, elbowing her friend. Zoey laughs.

“Fuck you,” Finn says to me. The Brawlers’ number-one goalie sports a pained half-grin. He’s an open book and I like him instantly, laughing.

“I think I’m going to like you guys.” I slap my new goalie on the back.

But my eyes slide to Zoey, to give her a good look. I swear her eyes are like a pair of exquisite aquamarine gemstones set in the most luminescent skin I’ve ever seen. She looks more like a picture someone painted than a real person. And I could swear she looks familiar.

 Maybe I’m staring too long, too impressed with the full-on glitter of her, because she glances past me and refocuses her attention on Lizette. Not that I blame her.

“How can this little beauty be yours?”

She reaches her arms out as she smiles and my little girl smiles back, the traitor.

“I’m her one and only,” I say. Zoey turns to me then.

“No mama?”

I shake my head. Everyone’s eyes are on me now.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” Ryan says in a somber voice.

“No, no. I didn’t mean—her mother isn’t dead.” Shit. This is awkward to the point of uncomfortable. What do I tell them? “She’s . . . gone,” I say. Still a weak explanation. I clear my throat and give Lizette a squeeze. “I have sole custody.” Fuck. Real smooth. I’m not prepared to explain the story about my essentially motherless child. Didn’t think about what I’d tell people. I’ve been too busy concentrating on hockey, leaving Montreal, and wrapping my head around the fact that I’m now playing for my old team’s chief rival, the Boston Brawlers.