The Defender: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) Page 6

  “I understand that. Given your history with James, I just want to dig a little further. You seem different with the Ryans than you have with other families. Is it because you can see yourself as part of their family? Is there a romantic element—”

  “No,” I say firmly, even as James’s and my flirtation comes to mind.

  Dr. Carlisle lifts his eyebrows and I swear.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, cringing with embarrassment. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel more for James than I have for other employers. I also feel more for Milly and Mason than I have for other charges. I mother them more, am more tender and empathetic toward their feelings, than with my previous charges who hadn’t suffered such debilitating loss.

  “Do you still want a family one day? A family of your own?” Dr. Carlisle asks, his tone gentle.

  I nod, dashing a traitor tear away with the backs of my knuckles. I swear this good doctor has seen me cry more than anyone else. “You know I do.”

  “Yes. What I’m trying to understand is, how do you see that family? Could you join a family, like the Ryans? Or do you still want to marry, become pregnant, and create a family in a more traditional way? Are you open to adoption, even as a single parent? For over a year, we’ve talked a great deal about family, but what does that family look like to you?”

  I pause, my mouth opening and closing several times before I admit, “I don’t know.”

  Dr. C smiles. “That’s okay. It’s just…food for thought.”

  I snort, drying my eyes.

  “Let’s talk again on Thursday,” he suggests, tilting his head as he studies me. “I know this is a difficult time of the year for you. I know I’m asking a lot of tough questions. You’re doing great. Try to get some sleep, Bella.”

  “Thanks, Dr. C,” I say before disconnecting the call.

  For months now, I’ve been feeling the agonizing ache of being alone. For years, my understanding of family was rooted in a traditional outlook. But Dr. C raises a valid point. How do I envision a family? Given everything that I’ve been through, the traditional understanding may no longer apply. It’s not the only option available for consideration.

  Food for thought. I snicker at Dr. C’s words but he’s right. It’s an idea, a series of questions, I think about over the next two weeks as things shift into place in the Ryan home.

  I embrace my new life with open arms, feeling some of the hurt I’ve carried around for far too long ease. Milly and Mason inject my days with a lightness that’s restorative. My last family, the Clarks, were wonderful. But their children were older and my last charge, Brayden, was already mentally checked into the new adventure boarding school promised.

  Being surrounded by younger kids again, kids who see the world with wonder and awe and want to spend time with me, has made a big difference in my overall outlook.

  Plus, there’s James. When he’s not traveling with the team, he’s home. Hanging in the kitchen while I heat up Justine’s meals, going all in on an epic game of Monopoly, or even joining the kids and me when we visit the New England Aquarium on a Saturday morning. Even though our flirty banter remains consistent, we’re both cautious about rocking the boat.

  I think at the forefront of our minds, we’re both hesitant to do anything that could affect our arrangement, that could affect Milly and Mason. But James was truthful about offering his friendship and as we all adjust to our new normal, my walls start to come down.

  I spend evenings playing Monopoly or Rummikub with the twins. They read me bedtime stories before sleep, helping to quiet my mind. On weekend mornings, I blast my favorite country or pop hits and we jump on my bed, hairbrushes clenched tightly in our hands as microphones.

  Things with James shift too. Dinners are infused with laughter and lively conversation. Morning coffees are sipped between an exchange of newspaper headlines. Holiday plans, Thanksgiving and Christmas break, are discussed and the future begins to look hopeful.

  I find myself smiling more, laughing deeper, talking passionately with the full use of my hands. My eagerness to meet each day increases. My morning runs allow for more reflection, with less of an emphasis on exhausting myself. I look forward to the moments when we’re like a family, the four of us doing something fun and spontaneous together. It’s a little bit reckless, leaning into someone else’s family with so much heart, but it also fills me with hope. In the recesses of my mind, Dr. C’s words float around, reminding me that families look different for everyone.

  Maybe one day, I’ll truly belong to a family like the Ryans. Maybe, I’ll even have children of my own, who look at me with wide eyes and crooked smiles, like Milly and Mason do. Maybe one day, I won’t be alone.

  5

  James

  My heart rate thrums in my temples as I corner the player controlling the puck. For several seconds, it’s just the two of us. The noise of the fans, the chill of the arena, our teammates hollering instructions, fades away.

  I laser in on the puck, my body quick and reflexive as I block his attempt at scoring. After decades of training, years of building muscle memory, I’ve settled in as a leading defenseman. The past year, I lost some of my focus, but right now, it comes barreling back.

  This guy won’t get a shot off all game if I have anything to say about it. I block his attempt, regain control of the puck, and surge up the ice. Spotting Austin in the corner of my eye, I pass him the puck and watch as he navigates down the ice for a goal.

  Yaeger hits me in the back. “Nice job, Ryan.”

  I nod, biting back my smile.

  Shit, that felt good. It felt better than good.

  I used to be a dependable player that always put the game first. The past few years have messed with my head, messed with my game, and shaken my confidence in my ability to ever be that player again. But now, it’s all coming back.

  I settle into position for the face-off which Austin secures. Once Easton has the puck, he scores again, putting us in a comfortable lead over Tampa. We win the game 6-3 and the whole team is in a damn good mood as we skate off the ice and head to the locker room.

  The usual chaos unfolds as players shower and change, give interviews and goof off. But I take a moment to soak it all in. I’m thirty-six years old. My days on the ice are almost done and I want to savor the moments like this, the seconds where I feel whole again, as long as I can. Because I know what it’s like to be on the other side. Drowning in grief, leveled by heartbreak, spending day after day after day just scraping to keep my head above water and suck in enough oxygen for the next hit.

  “Good game, James!” Noah hits me on the back as I reach my locker.

  “Thanks, Scotch. You too. How’s the little one?” I ask.

  He smiles, his face lighting up in the proud glow of new fatherhood. “Emmaline is incredible. I swear, man, she’s a little genius like her mama. She’s already sleeping through the night.”

  I grin back. “That’s incredible, dude. And I’m sure she’s perfect. But you know what they say, right?”

  “What?”

  “If the first one is a good sleeper, the second one is a—”

  “Pure hell raiser,” Evans, one of our second-line offensive players who has four kids declares. “It just keeps going downhill.”

  Evans and I laugh while Noah narrows his eyes skeptically.

  “Trust me,” Evans continues, “I didn’t believe it at first either. But wait, the more you have, the more buried you are under diapers, sippy cups, and a serious lack of sleep.” He glances at me. “And you had two at once.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Layla and I didn’t sleep for a solid year but, once we were past that initial phase, we never went back.” After the twins, a boy and a girl, we never even discussed having more children. I think we were both relieved by the time we made it to potty training that the thought of starting over seemed too exhausting.

  “Smart man.” Evans grips my shoulder.

  “Nah, let’s not ruin this for Scotch. He’s
still new to the club,” I say.

  “Enjoy it while it lasts,” Evans snickers, turning around as Coach calls his name.

  I glance at Noah. “Seriously, man, I’m really happy for you and Indy. Emmaline is beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Noah smiles. “Hey, did you hear, Torsten and Rielle are expecting?”

  “What?” I shake my head. “Man, that’s incredible news.”

  “Right? Big Daddy is gonna be—”

  “A Daddy,” we say in unison.

  “Yeah, Torsten knocked her up on their honeymoon,” Austin adds.

  I shake my head. “Greece must have been incredible.” I pull open my locker, frowning as my cell phone lights up. I pick it up, realizing I’ve missed another call.

  “I’m hopping in the shower. See you on the plane.” Noah smacks my back.

  “Yeah,” I agree, my concern heightening as I unlock the screen to see three, no, four missed calls from Bella. What the hell happened? My panic blazes and I relocate to a corner of the locker room that isn’t as crowded to call her back.

  Dread unfurls in my veins as a sick feeling washes through my stomach. Suddenly, my desire to count my blessings sounds like bullshit to my own ears. Of course it was too good to be true. Something is wrong; I can feel it.

  My heart hammers and my palms grow cold as the phone rings, leaving me feeling like I’m suspended in air.

  Then, “Hello?”

  “Bella, what’s wrong?” I blurt out.

  “Oh James, I’m so glad you called.”

  “Are the kids okay? Are you all right?” I slam one palm against the wall for support as a wave of weakness hits me in the knees.

  “It’s Mason. He’s okay. He’s just, we’re at the hospital.”

  My vision blurs and every imaginable worst-case scenario flickers through my mind, ending with Mason has cancer. Fuck, no he doesn’t, he’s fine. I try to rationalize with myself but I can’t help the fear that memories of Layla trigger whenever I hear the word hospital.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I whisper, clenching the phone.

  “He had a little fever earlier today but I gave him Advil and then he seemed fine.”

  I nod, remembering the text she sent when she gave him Advil.

  “But then it came back and it was really high. A hundred and four.”

  I close my eyes and drop my forehead to my hand.

  “He was shaking and his speech started to slur. I think he was hallucinating. I couldn’t get his fever down so I asked Justine to come and stay with Milly. We came right to the ER and we’ve been here for three hours. That’s why I kept calling.”

  “Have they seen him yet? How’s he doing?” My voice is gruff.

  “His fever hasn’t broke yet. He’s alternating between chills and sweating. I just spoke to the doctor before I tried you again. They think it’s viral and he should be fine in a few days. In the meantime, they want to keep him overnight to monitor him. He’s getting fluids through an IV to stay hydrated. He doesn’t want to eat or drink anything. But he’s okay, James. Really.” Bella delivers all of this in a calm voice. I can tell from her tone that Mason is fine. If he wasn’t, she would be hysterical, right?

  I don’t know. Would she?

  She’s not his mother. She wouldn’t be hysterical. Not like me. I doubt she’s sitting there trying not to vomit, fighting against the overpowering sense of fear.

  But I know she cares about my son and is relaying all the information she has. Still, I hate that she’s there and I’m not. I glance around the locker room again, noting that a few of the guys are shooting nervous glances in my direction.

  “I won’t be home for a few more hours,” I mutter, pissed off that I’m not going to be with my son when he needs me the most. When I need to hold him in my arms and tell him he’s going to be okay.

  Everything is going to be okay, right? It has to be.

  “I know. If you’re okay with Justine staying with Milly, she offered to spend the night. We called Maia but she’s—”

  “In New Orleans,” I say, remembering she had a bachelorette party this weekend.

  “Yeah.”

  “If Justine doesn’t mind, that would be good. I’ll call her on the way to the airport.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bella,” I hesitate.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s really okay, right? You’re sure?” I know it’s unfair to ask her that but Jesus, I need to be with my son. I need the reassurance that he’s fine. Layla always knew what to do when the twins were babies and would spike a fever. She would rock them in a chair by the window, singing sweet lullabies in English or Arabic, while staring at their flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes.

  I’m not good at this. I don’t know what to do with the panic blazing through me. Logically, I know he’s fine but being so far away, when my son needs me, fills me with irrational worry.

  “He’s okay, James. I promise I’m doing everything I can to keep him comfortable. I’ll be with him the whole time, right by his side,” she says and I can hear the sincerity in her tone.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “Just, give him a kiss for me. Tell him I’m on my way.”

  “We’ll be here.” She rattles off the hospital and room number and we end our call.

  I blow out a deep breath.

  “Everything okay?” Easton asks, his eyebrows dipped in concern.

  “Mason’s sick. He’s, he’s in the hospital,” I stutter, emotion clogging my throat.

  “Shit,” East mutters. “Is he okay?”

  I shrug.

  “Maia with him?”

  “Bella, his nanny.”

  “The bartender,” East says, probably recalling that night at Taps.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, he’s in good hands.”

  “Yeah,” I repeat.

  “Come on, we’re heading out soon. Go take a shower and get your stuff together. He’ll be all right, James,” East says.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, heading in the direction of the showers.

  I go through the motions as the team prepares to fly back to Boston, but my head is buzzing the whole time.

  Should I have taken more time off? Should I retire? Find a job in the city with zero travel? Would it have made a difference if I was there and not here? Would Mase be in the hospital if I was taking care of him instead of a virtual stranger?

  By the time the plane lands in Boston, my body is coiled in tension and my nerves are shot. I power on my phone and dial Bella the moment the wheels touch down but she doesn’t answer. What the hell?

  I call two more times but both go unanswered. Panic swells in my chest and I feel hopped up on adrenaline, ready to snap. I jump in a taxi straight from the airport, forgoing the team bus back to the arena where my SUV is parked.

  When I arrive at the hospital, I book it straight up to Mason’s room and collide with Bella.

  “Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone?” I demand, gripping her upper arms and staring into her face. In the next moment, my eyes dart to the bed and my heart sinks that it’s empty. “Where is Mason? Where’s my son?”

  Bella stares back, her eyes wide with shock. She looks exhausted, with half-moon purple stamps beneath her eyes. Her mouth opens and closes several times but no words come out.

  I lose my patience and snap, “Bella! My son. Where is he? What the hell happened? Say something.”

  6

  Bella

  I feel suspended between my past and present as I stare back into James’s dark brown eyes. They’re nearly the color of midnight, shaded with worry and blazing with panic. But for a glimpse, they’re not brown at all. No, they’re the deep blue of Jerry’s eyes.

  It’s his voice that I hear ringing in my ears. What the hell happened? Say something!

  We were in this exact hospital, two floors up, still in the delivery room, when I received the news about my baby. Jerry was demanding answers, desperate for facts, the same way James is now.r />
  “Bella, I need to see Mason. I need my son,” James repeats, his eyebrows furrowing as I continue to gape.

  I need my son. Hadn’t I said the exact same thing to Jerry that night? I need my son. Except Miles was gone and I never had the chance to meet him. Not really. I gave birth to a stillborn baby boy that had my nose and Jerry’s chin and we never even heard him cry.

  Around me, everything spins. Sounds are muffled, colors blur into each other. I know I need to tell James about Mason. About how he had a seizure and was rushed into another room. About the tests the doctors are running. But I can barely breathe as my past pulls me backward and my concern for Mason rips me wide open.

  I suck in an inhale and it’s like breaking the surface of the ocean after waiting too long to come up for air. James’s voice rattles my brain and the scurrying of nurses in the hallway resumes. My hands visibly shake as I wrap them around James’s forearms. His hands still grip my upper arms, squeezing.

  “He had a seizure,” I manage to say.

  “Fuck!” James erupts, releasing me and turning away. “Fuck. Where is he?” He turns back sharply, his eyes wild and unfocused. “Bella! I’m dying here. I know he’s not your kid, but please, tell me what you know,” he demands.

  I know he’s not your kid.

  He’s right, of course. Mason isn’t my son. But from the second he sank into my embrace, his body burning with fever, his words incoherent, all I could think about was Miles.

  I shrink into myself at the anger in James’s voice. It magnifies moments and memories I’ve tried so hard to forget. Jerry’s anger, the way he snapped at me. His disappointment. The way he looked at me like I failed him. Like I failed Miles.

  A sob bubbles up from my throat and I smack a hand over my mouth.

  James looks truly stricken.

  I close my eyes and force myself to say the words. “He had a seizure. They took him to another room to run some tests. The doctor should be here any—”

  “Mr. Ryan?” Dr. Leeds enters the room.