Boarding

by Elise Faber

  She nodded, breathing out carefully. “Okay, freak out semi-averted. How old is she?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  Gut punched. Hard enough to stall her lungs.

  Two years younger than her. Two fucking years.

  “Sweetheart,” Blane said, crouching down in front of her. Somehow, she’d ended up bent at the waist and fervently thanking the fact that the tight dress was made of stretchy material and she hadn’t just ripped an ass seam in front of Blane’s mom.

  Ass seam?

  Fuck.

  She began laughing. This was completely unbelievable and yet not at all surprising.

  Of course, her dad had another kid.

  Of course.

  She blinked hard and straightened. “And did he do the same stuff to her—”

  Allison nodded. “I’m afraid so. He was just smart enough to have them both sign NDAs before he passed. No post-mortem scandals.”

  Mandy pressed her fingers to her temples. “Did my mother know?”

  “There is no indication of that one way or the other.”

  “And is this girl—is my sister okay?”

  “Yes,” Allison said. “She seems to be doing exceptionally well. She works for RoboTech.”

  “Here?”

  Allison inclined her head. “At the San Francisco office, yes.”

  “Oh, sweet baby Harry.” Allison’s brows pulled together. “Sorry, it’s a movie reference. I just—” Mandy shrugged helplessly. “I’m just a really big nerd.”

  Allison’s mouth twitched before straightening out. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh God, I don’t know,” she said. “I think so. I mean, I guess it doesn’t surprise me, exactly, because my dad was . . . well, my dad. But I just can’t believe I didn’t know until now.”

  “I’m sorry I was the one to have to tell you”—Allison raised both palms—“Look, I know I shouldn’t have pried. But consider this me making penance for me prying.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. “Her email and cell if you want to contact her.”

  Mandy took the slip.

  Angelica Shallows

  555-555-1234

  ashallows@robotech.com

  She had his last name.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  Allison lifted her arms. “Can I hug you now?”

  “Mom. No,” Blane said.

  Mandy snorted but patted his arm reassuringly. “Come here.” And she embraced Blane’s mother.

  Because drama brought people together?

  No. Because Allison had cared enough to come here and make sure Mandy knew the truth. That was enough for a hug . . . and maybe more. Maybe they could build something that she’d never had with her own mother? Maybe they could have something truthful and real and—

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said and pulled back. “But I’m going to need a promise from you that you won’t do any more prying.”

  Allison made a face but nodded. “I promise.” A pause. “But I reserve the right to check up on any boyfriends or girlfriends my future grandchildren may have.”

  Mandy felt her chin drop.

  Blane muttered a curse and said, “Christ, Mom. You’re not helping my case any. I want her to stay, not run for the hills.”

  Mandy smiled and shook her head. Somehow, the thought of little Blanes running around didn’t scare her as much as it probably should. She touched Allison’s arm. “Future baby background checks are up for discussion at a later point.”

  Allison grinned and clapped her hands together. “Grandbabies!”

  “Now you’ve done it,” Blane grumbled to her, before adding, “She said later, Mom. As in at a much later point.”

  Allison ignored him and grabbed Mandy’s arm. “Let’s get back to the show before we miss anything exciting. And then I think I owe you and Blane dinner for all the trouble I caused.”

  Mandy turned, glancing back over her shoulder at the man she loved.

  “For the record, I didn’t say much later,” she said, half because it was the truth and half because she wanted to see his response to the words.

  His jaw dropped, but then he grinned and hurried to catch up to them. Allison shrugged off Blane’s coat as they entered the exhibit, shoving it at him so she could rush over to Brit, no doubt to share the gossip.

  Blane took the jacket but didn’t put it on. “Not much later?” he asked, brow raised.

  “How about semi later?”

  He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “That sounds perfect.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Blane

  * * *

  “Are you okay?” Blane asked a few hours later.

  Their bellies were full of good food and drink, their minds full of Sara’s amazing art, but he was worried about Mandy.

  His mother.

  Fuck.

  First, he couldn’t believe that she’d run a background check on the woman he loved and second, he couldn’t believe what she’d found out.

  Mandy had a sister. One who was only two years younger than her.

  Her father was even more of an asshole than she’d known.

  And yet Mandy was lying next to him in bed with a smile on her face.

  “I’m fine,” she said, snuggling closer. “I mean, I think I’m okay. Like I said, it’s . . . not surprising, I guess.”

  Considering her dad had been an absentee, cheating father, that was true.

  “I just”—she began tracing circles on his chest—“do you think she might want to know me at all?”

  Blane slid down until they were face to face. “She’d be a fool not to.”

  One half of her mouth turned up. “You’re too sweet.”

  He scoffed. “I’m exactly the right amount of sweet, thank you very much.” A brush of his thumb across her lips. “But I think if you want to contact your sister, then you should. Worst case, she’s not interested in getting to know you. Best case, she is and is someone you want in in your life.”

  Mandy nodded. “You’re right, of course, but I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

  “Your terms, sweetheart,” he said. “You get to decide if and when you’re ready to reach out. And that can also be never. We’ve got a good group of people around us. Hell, my mom wants to take you shopping before she goes home.”

  A snort. “Only because Brit refuses.”

  “Maybe.” He chucked her chin. “But also because she knows you’re a good person.”

  “Ugh.” Mandy sniffed. “Why do you do this to me?”

  He slid his hand to her ass. “Grope you?”

  “Be so fucking perfect. You’re everything I ever hoped for.” She sucked in a breath, dashed a tear away, then shot him a mock-glare. “But all these emotions you make me feel. Also,” she said, shooting him a grin after he’d wiped her tears away with his free hand. “Let it be noted that I like the groping.”

  He squeezed, tugging her closer to his side. “I’m good with groping.”

  “Also, I love you,” she said. “Even despite your mom being kind of cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”

  “I’m still so furious that she did that. I swear, if she ever crosses that line again I—”

  Her lips found his. “No,” she ordered when they broke apart. “She did it because she loves and worries about you. I’m glad you have someone who cares about you that way.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Just wait until you meet my dad.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Her hand snaked down. “But let’s discuss your parents later.”

  Blane’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Yes.” He groaned when she slid down and her mouth teamed up with her hand. “Later.”

  The season flew by, and before they knew it three months had passed.

  And that only meant one thing: playoff time.

  AKA, he was living and breathing hockey.

  Of course, Mandy had been breathing it alongside him, pulling longer days with the team as the brutality of the eighty
-two-game season took its toll and injuries became prevalent. The team was in fairly good shape overall, but even the healthiest player couldn’t go out on the ice night after night for months on end without experiencing at least a minimal amount of bruises and strained muscles.

  Blane was no exception, having taken a puck high up on his chest just the night before.

  But he had his personal physical therapist.

  “You’re all black and blue,” she said and tsked. “Did you even put ice on this?”

  Blane raised a brow.

  “Okay, fine,” she muttered, smoothing some cream on his skin before buttoning up his shirt. “Of course, you put ice on it. But, babe, you’re lucky you didn’t break a collarbone.”

  “That’s what Doc said.” Blane rolled his shoulders and bit back a wince. “But you’ve trained me well, sweetheart. I’m fine. It’s not broken, and I can deal with a bruise.”

  “We can deal with a bruise,” she reminded him.

  “We,” he agreed. “We’d better go before we run late for the bus.”

  They had stayed at Mandy’s apartment the night before since it was closer to the arena—where the bus would pick them up and take them to the airport.

  “Yes. Let’s hit it,” she said, shrugging into a sweatshirt. Blane grinned, making the innocuous statement into a euphemism and she shook her head. “Sicko.”

  A tug of her ponytail. “You like my sick tendencies.” He smirked. “You also like when I hit it.”

  “Oh, my God. You are such a dork.”

  “It’s one of my best characteristics.”

  She laughed and even though it was zero dark thirty—okay, so it was only sixty-thirty in the morning—his heart still felt so fucking full.

  Mandy did that. She just filled him with so much love and joy—

  “I love you,” she murmured.

  “My line,” he said and leaned down to kiss her.

  Her eyes filled with tears before she shook her head and closed the door behind them. “Don’t make me cry, Blane. You know I get emotional during playoff season.”

  He snorted. “And they say I’m the dork.”

  “I say. I say that.” She locked the apartment and started down the hall. “I am a little emotional, I guess, though,” she said as they hit the stairs. “I’ve been feeling all out of sorts.”

  Blane froze mid-step. “Holy shit, are you pregnant?”

  “What?” Her jaw dropped open. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. We haven’t—I’m on birth control.”

  If he was honest, her not being pregnant gave him the slightest pang of disappointment. “Oh, okay.”

  She frowned, glancing at her stomach as they continued their way down the stairs.

  “What is it?” he finally asked.

  “Have I put on weight or something?” She tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt.

  Shit. “No, baby.” He scrambled, trying to unfuck his words. Impossible, considering what he’d said. “It’s just that you said you were feeling off and emotional and—”

  They pushed through the door into the garage. “And what?” she asked.

  “And”—he winced—“we have a lot of sex.”

  Mandy stopped. Then smacked him on the chest.

  Right on the bruise.

  He hissed and she frowned, probably because she hadn’t hit him that hard.

  “Oh shit,” she said, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t mean—”

  It only took him a second to trap her hands and haul her close. “Sweetheart, I’m fine. Big, tough hockey player, remember?”

  She snorted but didn’t fight his hold.

  “And you’re as beautiful as ever. We’ve been together for a bit now, and . . . I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

  “What you’re saying is that it’s semi-later?”

  He brushed back her hair. “Yes. That.”

  “And that your parents want grandbabies?”

  “God, yes.” He groaned, thinking of the sheer amount of times his mother had inferred that marriage should be happening soon and babies coming shortly thereafter. Or babies first.

  She wasn’t picky.

  “We should wait until the end of the season.”

  His heart skipped a beat. Because this was very adult and mature and fuck, he so wanted Mandy to have his babies.

  “You’ll have to marry me first,” he said.

  She stiffened, and Blane cursed mentally. He’d pushed too hard. Ha. What was new?

  “Or not,” he said. “I just want to be with you, baby. Only you.”

  She slipped out of his arms, started walking for the car. “We need to get moving. And for the record,” she added. “I’m not opposed to marrying you, so that better not have been your fucking marriage proposal.”

  His stomach unclenched.

  “It’s not.” He opened her door, helped her in.

  “Good.” She smiled up at him. “Because, with you, I want it all.”

  Blame it on the early hour or the pregnancy misunderstanding, or maybe the almost botched marriage proposal, but they were already driving to catch the bus by the time he remembered to ask her to clarify why she had been feeling out of sorts.

  “I emailed my sister.” She wrinkled her nose. “I know it’s not a big deal and I shouldn’t expect an immediate response when I had several months to get used to the idea of her, but . . .”

  “You kind of expected an immediate response?”

  Mandy shrugged. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have, but yeah, I did.”

  “And,” he said, turning into the arena and parking. “So you’ve discovered you’re normal.”

  “Charmer.” She punched him on the shoulder. “But, yes, you’re right. I get it. But enough serious stuff,” she said and turned to grab her bag from the back seat.

  As usual, he beat her to it, throwing it over his shoulder.

  “Men,” she muttered and got out of the car.

  He met her at the front of the hood. “We take care of each other. Get used to it.”

  Her lips twitched. “I am used to it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to skip a chance at grumbling this early in the morning, especially when I’m cranky.”

  “I like you cranky.” He took her hand as they walked for the bus.

  Once aboard they went their separate ways for the drive to the airport. He sat in the back with the players and Mandy used the short drive to discuss any outstanding issues with Gabe.

  The plane was a different story.

  Mandy was his good luck charm—he was coming off a regular season with the most points ever—so she would sit by him.

  “Blane,” she said as he turned to take a seat in the back.

  He stopped.

  “For the record, I will so marry you.”

  The bus was silent, as was typical this early in the morning, so every single member of the Gold—player and staff alike—heard Mandy’s declaration.

  As she’d known they would.

  Someone whistled, there were catcalls, and no small amount of hoots, but then she kissed him and the world faded away.

  At least until Max poked him in the ribs. Hard.

  Blane broke away, panting.

  “Get a room,” Max growled, shoving past them.

  Mandy raised her brows, but Blane just shrugged. Max had been surly for the last few months. It would pass.

  Mike called, “You buy him a ring yet, Mandy?”

  “I heard he likes princess cut diamonds,” Blue added.

  The chirps continued, and he bopped her on the nose. “So much trouble for that.”

  She grinned. “For the record, I like princess cut, too.”

  One more kiss before he strolled to the back of the bus, knowing that so long as he had this woman in his life, he would be okay.

  Brit raised her brows.

  He waved her away. “Long story. I haven’t proposed, but I’m going to.”

  “Yes!” She fist-pumped then grinned and said, “You better get some p
ointers from Mike, because he set the proposal bar really high.”

  Blane punched Stefan on the shoulder. “That what you did?”

  His captain only smiled, revealing nothing.

  Mike, on the other hand, leaned in and nodded. “That’s a yes. The key is to know what’s most important to your woman and run with that.” He pretended to pat himself on the back. “I know. I am the proposal guru.”

  Blane rolled his eyes. “Well, proposal guru, here’s what I was thinking . . .”

  Twenty-Nine

  Mandy

  * * *

  Mandy smelled a rat.

  Or rather, a proposal.

  But considering it was July and the season had been over for two months—the Gold making it to the Western Conference finals but no further—she’d smelled a proposal at every dinner date and gathering of their friends, so she knew she was being silly.

  Still, Blane had called, asking her to meet him at their favorite restaurant—a burger joint on the Peninsula that was super campy in its décor but had, hands down, the best hamburgers in town.

  She was almost there when her phone rang.

  Frowning when she saw it was Gabe calling, she quickly accepted the call on her Bluetooth. “Gabe?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

  “I need you to come to the arena, there’s an issue.”

  Her heart sank. They were supposed to be completing the construction of the new PT suite that week. A major issue meant delays, and they couldn’t have delays.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His voice sobered. “It’s better if you come see.”

  Shit.

  “Okay. I’ll be there in ten. I’m actually pretty close,” she said and hung up. “This had better not be my proposal being ruined by a leaky pipe or something,” she muttered.

  Sighing, she dialed Blane’s number and quickly explained the situation.

  His ready agreement at her putting off their date told her that no proposal was planned that evening. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t disappointed, but that was a lie.

  They’d already pulled the goalie—meaning she’d stopped her birth control and they’d ditched the condoms—and so she might already be pregnant.