by Kate Meader
Oh, wait. That was her name.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Ever the gentleman, Theo stood on hearing her voice. The guy in the sharp navy blue suit remained seated, but one equally sharp look from Theo brought him to his feet.
“Hey there!” Theo said, and her heart melted at his obvious pleasure in seeing her. Maybe it was an act for the suit but she didn’t think so. “This is Tommy Gordon, my agent. Tommy, this is Elle Butler.”
“Nice to meet you, Elle.” It pleased her to no end to hear him practically choking on her name. He shook her hand, the grip warm and firm. Testing. She squeezed and let go.
“So what are you guys talking about?” She raised an eyebrow at Theo.
He turned to the suit. “Could you give us a minute?”
“Might be better if I stayed.”
“Thomas, out,” Theo said, all steel, and God, was that sexy.
The agent appeared to nonverbally plead with Theo for a split second, though Elle questioned whether he’d ever begged anyone for anything. Maybe the gods to not allow bird crap to fall on his Porsche or a barista to accidentally—or given this guy’s attitude, purposely—decaf his triple-shot Americano. His message was clear: don’t let her take you in.
In that moment, Elle actually respected the suit. Perverse, perhaps, but he was doing his duty, looking out for soft-hearted Theo, and she appreciated that he was in the guy’s corner. Theo needed to be protected.
Don’t worry, Tommy boy, I’ll do my part.
Once his agent had left, Theo took her by the hand and led her to a seat.
She spoke first. “I’m not marrying you.”
“Hear me out, Elle-oh-Elle.”
She folded her arms to indicate she meant business.
“I told you a little about my mom. How I thought she was my sister when I was growing up.”
She nodded.
“When I found out, I felt betrayed. Unwanted. I had Aurora but it wasn’t the same. My real mom had been living in the house with me all this time, pretending not to be connected with me, pretending not to be my mom.”
Her heart panged for that hurt little boy, but the situations weren’t comparable. “Our kid will know who both his parents are, Theo.” At least on the face of it. She could never be truly knowable by these people. “Getting married wouldn’t change that or make it better. It wouldn’t make us love our kid any more.”
She touched her stomach. She already adored this child and a piece of paper or an expensive ring wouldn’t change how she felt.
“It’s not just about the hatchling,” Theo went on. “I want you both to feel supported. I want the world to see I’m there for both of you. Not just with money. Anyone can throw money at a situation, Elle. Sure, it sets my kid up for life but it’s not the same. I want him or her to feel we gave it our best shot.”
Shock washed over her. He was serious. She’d never seen him so earnest.
The fear she’d heard in her sister’s voice was still with her. Marrying Theo would give her a chance to help Amy, but where would it end? And if Theo heard about the kind of people her family were mixed up with …
She couldn’t give in, though the thought of being Theo’s wife gave her glorious tingles. For a moment, she let herself imagine, not the paper or the ring, but a true partnership, a meeting of minds, a happily-ever-after.
But nothing good came from a house built on such a rocky foundation. An unplanned pregnancy, a tissue of lies, and parties not even in the same league on either hotness or economic levels.
“Parents don’t have to be married to give their kid the best start in life, Theo.” Hers were hitched but it certainly didn’t make her upbringing in their den of thieves any more stable. “I know you didn’t have that, but a ring doesn’t fix anything.”
She wasn’t sure money did, either. How much was he planning to settle on their child? She hoped it was the bare minimum. She hoped it didn’t make her feel any guiltier or beholden than she already did.
He cocked his head, waited a beat. “So you’re saying no to my incredibly romantic marriage proposal in this lawyer’s office conference room?”
She laughed, glad he could see the ludicrousness of it. “Theo, it’s lovely of you to consider it and I understand your reasons. But it’s not necessary. We’re both going to be here for the sprog and we don’t need to be married to each other to do it. This is the twenty-first century, dummy. Now, where do I sign?”
His brows slammed together. “You should get a lawyer to read it so you feel protected.”
Huh, like she was paying another leech to review what she could see with her own eyes. She picked up the papers and started flipping through them, looking for numbers. “You’re setting aside some green for the kid. That’s all I need to—holy fucking hell!” Her eyes bugged out. “That’s a lot of money for gold-plated rattles.” Anxiously she scanned the rest, finally landing on a financial statement attached to the end.
Wuthering Christ. Her lungs went on hiatus and she had to cough to get all her internal organs started again.
“You earn this much money? For playing hockey?” So much for being the redheaded stepchild of pro sports.
“My contract is common knowledge. The rest are endorsements. Underwear, aftershave, skincare, Instagram influencer stuff. It adds up.”
She swallowed, but the lump in her throat refused to budge. “Theo, you’re a millionaire. Multiple times over.” And his skin really glowed. That shit must work.
“Have you been living under a rock?”
“No, just the army, and I don’t keep up with the sports pages.” She put the contract down, feeling as though it had burned her fingertips. Her blackhearted soul.
That he was richer than the average guy she understood, but she’d had no idea that he had this much wealth, and now it looked like she’d landed this huge fish through … carelessness!
Fucking army-issue condoms. Never mind funding for better armor for combat units, senator. Think about the unplanned pregnancies!
She should tell him everything. About her parents. About Amy. About how Tommy the asshole agent was actually his best friend in the world right now.
“I don’t want your money, Theo. I appreciate the amount you’re willing to settle and I’ll happily take maybe, a quarter of that amount for Baby T because I’ll be contributing as well.”
“You want less?”
“This is too much.”
He blew out a breath, shaking his head in wonder. “My lawyer put in the legally-obligated minimum and I tripled it. Can we just compromise on that? I’ll be stashing money in an account for the kid anyway. Whether you touch it or not, you don’t really get a choice.”
Just tell him. He should know the nest of vipers he’s falling into.
“Theo, we need to talk.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” He chewed his lip. “Okay, there’s something else in the contract. Something to give you … an out.”
Her body chilled. “An out?”
“You said before that this kid was going to change your life. Tie you down. Upend your plans. So, if it gets to be too much, you can bail. I told you about my mother. Well, I found out when I was eleven and I was pretty hard on her.”
Bail? Her heart bled for him. “You were eleven. You were hurt.”
He looked like that excuse wouldn’t cut it. “She didn’t want to be a mom, and I get that not everyone has it in them. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I do now. Hindsight and all that jazz. If you want to surrender parental rights, you can do that. I won’t judge you, Elle. I just want to you to be happy.”
He meant it. “And who the hell would look after the baby when you’re on the road?”
“Aurora? She’d love to have the little ankle-biter around the house. And the Tarts would be all over it.” He patted her arm, kind of condescendingly, she thought. “I just want you to know you have options.”
A different sort of panic washed over her, her own words
coming back to haunt her. He wanted to take her baby away from her. That agent douche probably put him up to it.
Was Aurora in on it? Was that why she wanted to do her weekly—no, twice-weekly—check-ins? Maybe they were a test to see if she was mother material.
Oh, God. If Theo found out about her family, about whatever shit her sister was tits-deep in, it would be evidence against her in some custody suit. If he knew the swamp she came from, she’d be thrown right back into it.
Her hand fell to her stomach, a protective grab of her rights and the rights of her baby. Too many people wanted her to fail—even Theo, though he didn’t realize it. He thought he was doing the right thing in giving her the option to bow out gracefully. He was thinking of the baby.
This was a complete disaster-piece.
But it didn’t have to be.
She might not have Theo, but she had this baby. Theo couldn’t learn about her family origins, which meant she needed to become more serious about this. Too much was on the line.
“I want this baby.” While not the first time she’d thought it, it was definitely the first time she’d said it aloud in such definitive terms. Before, it had been a “hey, let’s do this, fellow baby maker.” Now, she needed to be clear(er) about her intentions.
Theo must have recognized something in her tone. He didn’t mock or make a joke. He merely murmured, softly yet firmly, “I do, too.”
It felt like they were making a vow. Like this was the marriage ceremony he’d asked for earlier and they’d just committed to this life-changing thing. Not only a commitment to the baby but to each other.
I’ll be the best mom I can be, those words said.
And in his eyes, she read his intent: I’ll do everything in my power to be a dad that steps up.
Theo Kershaw had never been sexier to her, though his “offer” to give her an out should have made her furious. Theo saying “I do,” even if it was in relation to his kid rather than her was sweet, powerful, and hot. Oh, how she wished her own father had cared even one iota this much instead of seeing her and Amy as pawns in his schemes.
Recalling her father set her mind back on track. She touched the legal documents.
“You’d better have something about a paternity test in here.”
“You won’t take one?”
“You need to be insisting I take one, or no dice.” She knocked on his forehead. “Don’t be a handsome baby, Theo. Listen to your lawyers. Listen to that shark in Armani, who is doubtless pacing the hallways out there, wringing his baby-soft hands, praying that you’ll come to your senses and not get taken for a ride.”
He scoffed. “You’re not taking me for a ride.”
“And you know this how? Because my pie-hole is mouthing the words? You have all this money and I see you buying rounds for strangers at the bar and handing over checks for charities that probably don’t exist.”
“It’s just money.”
Said the guy who had so much he could settle the GDP of a small country on a baby.
She waved the contract between them. “Can you bring in one of your lackeys so we can make a few changes to this?” The first thing would be the removal of this “bail-out” clause.
Poor Theo looked whiplashed. Good. He needed some sense knocked into him.
Looked like she’d have to be the one to do it.
20
@ChiRebels vs. @BostonCougars in Beantown in the 4th game of the series. Battle of the two best defenses in the league. @HockeyGrrl and @ChiSportsNet have got you covered.
One of the things about impending motherhood is that it’s supposed to make you more, well, maternal. Or, that’s what Elle had assumed before she walked into Bren and Violet’s house to watch an away game on TV. Now she was questioning this supposed wisdom because: So. Many. Children.
Rather than spending the night with drunken fan boys at the bar, she was hanging with the WAGs and their genetically-blessed offspring.
“Ola! You made it.” Violet ushered her inside, pulling off her jacket as she did so.
“I brought cookies.” She’d stopped at a gourmet bakery and spent a fortune because she suspected Oreos wouldn’t cut it with this crew.
“Fantastic. You didn’t have to, but that’s really nice.”
A dark-haired boy of about four or five—maybe ten? Elle had no idea—crashed through the entryway followed by two lurching blond girl toddlers. Baby zombies.
“Aunt Vi, they won’t leave me alone,” the first kid said, sounding very put out.
“Can you blame them, Max? You’re very handsome.”
Max sighed in acceptance of this undeniable fact while one of the vixens grabbed his hand. “I want to show you something,” she intoned like Dracula’s Bride.
“Satanic etchings?” Elle murmured, drawing a laugh from Violet.
A tall, curvy woman appeared from another room, all smiles. Like so many of these people, she looked gorgeous and familiar. Elle needed flash cards. “Hi, there, I’m Addison.”
“Mom!” Max attacked the woman and clung to her thigh. He gestured to her to hunker down to listen to his whispered concerns.
“You can hang with Franky,” Addison assured him. “She said she has a new slug to show you.”
Max beamed. Apparently slugs beat out the forced attentions of a couple of aggressive romantic interests every time.
A couple of minutes later, Elle had been given the brief tour of the beautifully-appointed house in Lake Forest where Violet lived with Bren and his two teenage daughters. In the kitchen, Olympic medal-winning hockey player Isobel Chase was taking out what looked like pizza bagels. For the kids, probably. Elle eyed them enviously.
Isobel removed her oven glove and thrust out her hand. “Hi, Elle, I’ve seen you around, but great to meet you officially. You’re brave to show your face at one of these shindigs.”
“She was in Special Forces with Hunt,” Violet said, while she handed Elle a ginger ale from the fridge. “Think she can handle what we’re bringing.”
Elle’s modesty kicked in. “I wasn’t in Special Forces, but I did communications and support stateside.”
“Hey, don’t downplay it,” Addison said. “That’s the kind of stuff that saves lives. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your bra size?”
A sip of ginger ale went the wrong way down Elle’s throat.
“Jesus, Addy? Already?” Isobel shook her head. “Give her a chance to settle in.” To a coughing Elle, she said, “Addison has her own lingerie line, so that’s her way of making friends.”
“Selling me bras?” She recognized her now. Addison Williams, famous lingerie model and designer, was married to right-winger Ford Callaghan.
“Oh, I was going to give you something pretty, as a gift. We have a new line in sexy nursing bras, too, for when the time comes. Congrats, by the way.”
“Thanks. I’m usually 36C but lately …” She gestured to her chest to indicate that all bets were off.
“Oh, I hear you. Mine exploded when I was pregnant with Max and the things nursing did to my nipples…”
Isobel made a sound of disgust. “Do you mind? We’re eating here. Have a pizza bagel, Elle.”
Elle didn’t need to be invited twice. Observations about pregnancy-ravaged nipples wouldn’t ruin her appetite.
“Okay, time out on the crusty nipple and loose vag talk,” Violet said with a grin of solidarity at Elle. “Puck’s about to drop, so I’m going to check on the kids to make sure no one is bleeding, on fire, or married against their wishes.”
“Poor Max,” Addison said. “Popular like his dad.”
Bren’s daughters, Cat and Franky were babysitting so the adults could watch the game and swear with abandon. Ten minutes into the first period, and the Rebels were already down two goals.
“Nice to see Gunnar’s getting some ice time,” Isobel said. “I hope he can get back to a hundred per cent.”
Gunnar Bond, scarred and bearded brute, press box savior. “What’s his sto
ry? Injured?”
“He lost his family a couple of years ago,” Addison said. “Wife and twins in a car crash. He took some time off to recover, but how do you get over that?”
Everyone allowed themselves a moment of silence to echo those sentiments. Something Gunnar had said to Elle that first time she met him replayed in her brain. I recognize the signs. He’d known from one look that she was pregnant.
That poor man.
“Kershaw’s off his game tonight,” Isobel mused.
“Yeah, I wonder what’s up,” Addison said.
Three sets of eyes turned to Elle.
“He was fine the last time we talked.” She bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. “And if something was bothering him, he probably wouldn’t tell me.”
“Theo?” Violet smirked. “Considering he never shuts up, I’d think he couldn’t help spilling all his problems. He’s so honest on his Instagram. I find out more about the team’s psychology there than talking to anyone else.”
Was he so honest? Elle wondered if that was true. Theo had said it was an act for his fans—some of it was his natural good humor but he wasn’t as open a book as everyone seemed to think.
“He asked me to marry him and I said no.” Elle couldn’t believe the words had dropped fully-formed from her mouth.
“What?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No way!”
“He only asked because he thought it was the right thing to do. He’s kind of sweet and old-fashioned. We’re not even a couple—like that.”
“You think that’s what bothering him—your rejection?” Isobel’s gaze was suspicious.
“I doubt it. He laughed it off. Even he knew it was silly.” Didn’t he?
This morning he’d sent a video of a monkey washing a cat with the caption: Who needs parenting classes when we have YouTube? He’d checked in by text when he arrived in Boston, though she’d never asked him to do that, and insisted on a recounting of what she’d had for lunch.
“Nice to be asked, though,” Violet commented, her sharp green eyes missing nothing.