Preston put one of his hands over Lennon’s ear. “Language. I can see we’re going to need to add a swear jar to the discussion list,” he joked.
She laughed. “Oops.”
“Don’t be scared, Chelsea. We’ll find a way to make this work for both of us.”
“I’ve played out every scenario imaginable about how you would react if I ever found you and told you about Lennon. This has been way better than all of them.”
“You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m still reeling a bit, but this is truly the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I was with the Rays the year we won the Stanley Cup.”
She shifted toward him, placing her hand on top of the blanket, peering down at Lennon.
“Thank you for our son,” Preston whispered, leaning forward. Chelsea met him halfway, their foreheads touching, their child between them.
They remained there for a few minutes, simply watching Lennon sleep.
When they parted, Preston glanced at his phone and groaned when he saw the time.
“You need to leave?”
“I have workouts in an hour and a half, and I need to run home to change.” Preston, who never called in sick, never took a day off, was tempted to call out. After all, other guys had taken paternity leave when their babies were born. Lennon might be three months old, but today was his birthday as far as Preston was concerned.
“That’s okay. Ethan and I have a little more work to do here, though I suspect he’ll be worthless when he gets back. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was a huge fan.”
Preston shrugged. “I don’t mind fans at all. Love them, in fact.”
“It’s going to take me some time to wrap my head around the fact you play for the Stingrays.”
Preston laughed. “Good. I’d hate to think I’m the only one floored by this reunion of ours.”
Chelsea giggled. “Guess we both left that hotel with some big-ass secrets.”
“I guess we did.”
As if they’d summoned him, Ethan returned, the door to the bakery swinging open, the bell tinkling.
Ethan stumbled in with two giant duffel bags stuffed to the gills.
“Ethan!” Chelsea chastised. “You can’t ask Preston to sign all that.”
He tossed the bags on the floor by the table, and Preston got the sense the man didn’t care if he signed any of it. He’d merely been seeking an excuse to return. Given the pensive look Ethan shot in Chelsea’s direction, it was clear he truly was a good friend, more concerned about her right now than getting his shit autographed.
“Everything good?” He glanced between Chelsea and Preston, his eyebrows rising when he realized Preston was holding his son.
“I’m a father,” he said proudly. “I’m going to have to stop on the way back to my place to buy some cigars.”
“He’s happy,” Chelsea added. “He wants to be a part of Lennon’s life.”
“Of course, you do. That baby is the GOAT.” Ethan grinned, slapping Preston on the shoulder. “Congratulations, man. I’m still dying over the fact that the whole time Chelsea was looking for her Preston, I was cheering you on from the cheap seats.”
Preston laughed. “I’ll have to set you up with better seats for the next game. Can’t have Lennon’s godfather sitting in the cheap seats.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “Seriously? I mean, only if it’s no problem. Although, something tells me I’m going to need an extra ticket, because chances are good I’m finally going to get this one to come with me.” He jerked his thumb in Chelsea’s direction.
“I hope she does.” Preston glanced down at the bags. “Listen, Ethan, I’m afraid I need to leave.”
“No problem,” he said, good-naturedly. “Now that I know you’re going to be around, we have all the time in the world for you to sign my stuff. We’ll take it in batches,” he joked, “so your hand doesn’t wear out.”
Preston smiled widely. For too much of the past year, he’d been down in the dumps, overcome with loneliness and longing for Chelsea. All of those heavy feelings were history, replaced with pure joy.
