Scoring Off The Ice: Ice Kings, #2

by Stacey Lynn

  A man with a great body and an accent? I’m done for.

  He pushes off the couch. “Maddox. He’s supposed to be here soon, anyway. He has a kid. He will know what to do. My other teammates… not so much.”

  “Teammates?”

  Mikah stops moving like I’ve paralyzed him with my question and then he blinks like he’s forgotten I’m standing here, holding his son… the same son he hasn’t looked at, or reached for, or touched yet.

  “Teammates,” he confirms and steps away grabbing for his phone on the kitchen bar. His apartment is not surprisingly an exact replica of my uncle’s, only flipped in reverse so it’s strangely odd standing in his living room filled with black leather furniture, feeling so at home and yet in a strange land compared to my uncle’s creams and browns and more lavish, formal furniture.

  He says nothing else but grabs his phone. As if his son and I are a last-minute thought, he turns to me. “Can you stay here? Hold him until I make a call?”

  He seems so uncertain. With his pulled in thick, blond brows and those sparkling blue eyes, I’m a sucker for him already. “Sure, Mikah.”

  He grins then and nods, takes a step toward me. His hand raises and for a moment, he moves to touch Angelo and pauses. “I know nothing of babies. Nothing.”

  “You won’t hurt him by touching him.” Since I’ve already burped him, I resettle him in my arms and move the blanket from his face. He’s probably warm in there, so I gently unwrap the blanket and give Mikah a better view. “He’s really cute.”

  And he is. Chubby cheeks. Cutely pursed lips. He’s making that sucking motion with his mouth even though he has nothing to suck on. His eyes are closed and he’s sleeping, probably a milk coma from the bottle. He becomes even cuter when he lifts his fist, turns toward it and sucks on the edge of his thumb.

  “Angelo,” Mikah mutters. “Good name. Strong.”

  He comes forward and soon he’s so close to me, peering down at his baby for the first time with such rapture on his face it makes my eyes turn wet.

  He brushes a thumb over his cheek and the guy looks so young and so scared. Angelo shifts toward him and Mikah jerks his hand back, grinning at what appears to be an embarrassed little smile at the surprised motion.

  “He’s my son.” He swallows thickly and I drag my gaze to his eyes. He sounds so surprised. So scared. My heart squeezes in my chest. “Angelo.”

  He clears his throat and returns to focusing on his phone. “I need to make a call. You will stay?”

  It comes across more like a command than a question. “Sure, Mikah. I can stay.”

  “Good.” He presses a button on his phone, hurries toward the hallway and at the last moment turns back. “Thank you, Paisley.”

  I grin and then Angelo squawks in my arms, dragging my focus back to him.

  “Hey little guy,” I say to him. Mikah vanishes down the hall and Angelo’s noise-making becomes louder. I go to the diaper bag and take it to the kitchen bar, jostling and bouncing him to keep him quiet. While he fusses, eyes still closed, I dig through the monstrous bag, setting out everything I can find.

  It appears whoever dropped him off came prepared because on many of the items, there are typed notes taped to them. I lay out stacks of burp cloths with a warning He doesn’t spit much but when he does, have several nearby. It would make me smile if it didn’t make me think of a woman who could abandon her baby while cracking jokes.

  Fury rolls through me. How can someone do this? How can someone be so callous to not even have the guts to hand a baby off personally and explain herself? She births a baby and leaves a note? What would have happened had I not been home? Or if Mikah had been gone?

  Anger makes my limbs tremble. I don’t even know any of the players in this, so I shake it off and continue setting out everything she has. Perhaps if Mikah can see he has a decent start; he will feel better.

  There are two cans of formula, six bottles. On top of the burp cloths there are the long sleeve sleepers that snap all the way up. Way too warm for August in the south so I dig until I find short sleeve onesie shirts. Some pants. The tiniest socks I’ve seen in my life. There are pacifiers inside a plastic bag with the note loves when he fusses. Consider the he in question is still squeaking and sucking on his fist, I tear open the bag and hand him a pacifier, guiding it to his mouth. He latches on immediately and sucks to his heart’s content. While he’s happy, I grab his car seat and lower him down into it and keep it on the floor at my feet. It gives me two hands to use so I can easily empty the rest of the bag. I find wipes and diapers, but he’ll need more. So many more diapers than the dozen she provides with a note of brand and size and weight limits.

  Which makes me wonder how big the little guy is. I haven’t even seen his body. He’s been so snuggled in the blanket and since he’s happy, now is probably a good time to check him out. I pick him back up and grab a small travel pack of wipes and a diaper and take him to the couch. I unwrap the blanket from his body and grin at his chubby legs that kick and flail as soon as I lay him down on the blanket.

  “Hey there,” I croon, holding onto his chest with one hand so I can prepare everything else. “You’re a kicker, huh? Will you be a runner when you get older? Maybe a soccer player? Hmm?”

  I smile down at the little baby with blue eyes so dark I’m sure they’ll change to a different hue. I imagine him growing up, a spitting image of Mikah possibly, but that’s ridiculous.

  He could end up looking like his mother for all I know. It’s not like I’ll be around to see him grow up.

  Goodness.

  “I’m going kind of nutty, Angelo.” I’m rewarded with a gummy smile that peeks out from the edges of the pacifier. I tickle his tummy and then his chest. He squirms, wiggling beneath my hand and pulling his legs up.

  “There you go,” I say, tickling him more. He’s so itty-bitty which makes sense if he was born in July. It’s late August, so at most he can only be seven, maybe eight weeks old.

  I make quick work of the diaper change, saving the fun of that job for Mikah for later. He’s wearing lightweight pants and socks, so I tug both off and unsnap his plain white onesie, pushing it up to his tummy.

  “You’re so cute,” I whisper. I have the sudden urge to kiss his tummy, inhale his sweet baby scent and I barely restrain myself and finish up the diaper change.

  Once he’s re-dressed, I lift him back into my arms and relax into the couch, lifting him so his face is again on my shoulder and I run my hand up and down his back. He’s so small, my hand is almost the same size as his back but mostly I love the tiny size of his bottom.

  There’s something about babies I’ve always loved and adored. They’re so sweet, just needing love and food and sleep and even though some are difficult, this little guy in my arms seems to be a very relaxed and happy baby.

  He burps again as I hold him and lifts his head.

  I smile down at him and I’m struck by the beauty in his eyes and wrinkled face with cheeks barely starting to fill out, but man… is he cute.

  “Hey there.” I run my finger along his hairline and his baby fuzz eyebrows. He wiggles and I support his neck with my hand. “Are you happy? I hope you’re easy and sleep really well. Sounds like your daddy might not know what to do but I promise, I’ll help in any way I can.”

  Not sure how that’s possible considering I have school and work and research, but this little guy is tugging at my heart in a foreign way.

  Maybe because I found him. It’s the caretaker in me. I need to know people around me are happy and healthy and my friends constantly tease me that if anyone gets sick, I turn into mom mode and run them chicken noodle soup or have it delivered. I wash their laundry and keep their places clean. I’m the one Maggie calls to watch her cat when she goes to Ohio to visit her parents at Christmas. Occasionally, I do the grocery shopping for Mr. Tolken downstairs when his wife visits her sister in Florida.

  Angelo starts kicking his legs and squirming against me, so I stand and ro
ck him again. He seems to like it when I sway back and forth, but now when I do it, he fusses more so I bounce him, walking laps around the condo. I sing him “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as I bounce and roam, my eyes taking in everything in Mikah’s apartment. The walls are bare and there’s essentially nothing outside the black leather sectional and an oversized black leather chair. There are black metal coffee tables and side tables with glass tops. I cringe at the sharp corners. Then there’s the television stand with the same metal and glass and exposed cords, bundles of them, hooked to what looks like multiple gaming systems with a massive big screen planted on top. It’s a baby hazard palace once this guy will become more mobile.

  “You’ll need to tell Daddy those are unsafe,” I say, smiling and kissing Angelo’s head. It can’t be helped. Baby smells are yummy and tempting. “He’ll need to put bumpers on the table and corners so you don’t bang yourself around and get hurt. Yes, he will. We don’t want you getting owies now, do we?”

  A snickering sound comes from behind and I freeze. How long has he been there?

  I turn slowly. Mikah is several feet away, arms crossed over his chest and head ticked to the side.

  “Owies?” he asks and I swear I see him fighting a grin. Or a laugh.

  “Well, yes. He can bonk his head on all the sharp corners and get hurt.”

  “I do not know much of babies, but I do not think he can move.”

  His smile pops through and it’s as beautiful as the rest of him. Mind-scrambling.

  “They also grow quick.” I mean to tease him back but his smile falls.

  He dips his chin toward Angelo. “I have a friend coming to help. He and his wife, they have kids. Will you… will you teach me how you do that?”

  “Hold him?”

  “I should learn before he’s able to run away, yes?”

  I laugh at his joke, spoken in that heavily accented English and move to him. “Sure, Mikah. I can help teach you.”

  Chapter Five

  Mikah

  * * *

  When she offers to help me, I want to pull her into my arms. I have no idea what I would be doing if I would have been the one to hear the baby screaming, and it scares me to think of how long he was crying before Paisley heard him and knocked on my door.

  From the memory of when I opened it, now seared into my mind forever, his face was red, almost purple and he had giant tears on his cheeks.

  I made that happen by not hearing him. My shower is loud, yes, but apparently, I am a father. I should know when my child hurts. It only makes sense, yes?

  I have been a father for less than an hour and I am already failing at it. Which is logical since my own father was not a good dad unless I was excelling on the ice rink. Even then, I was never good enough.

  Enough. My lungs burn as I blow out a heavy breath and lift my arms. I do not want Paisley to go. I like seeing her with Angelo, rocking him, talking to him in a sweet voice like he can understand every word and I have no idea how to do anything.

  “How do I?” I gesture to how she’s holding him, laying in her arms and she smiles at me.

  “It’s easy, Mikah. Just bend your arm so you can support his head with your arm and elbow and then hold him with the other arm.”

  I do what looks like she’s doing and then she settles the bundle in my arms. He’s so light.

  The heaviest thing I’ve ever held even though he doesn’t weigh much. How can something be so small and big at the same time?

  His large eyes are open and he blinks, kicks his legs while I adjust him until he looks more comfortable.

  I am anything but that.

  How is it possible that I am now a father to a baby when I have never had a girlfriend? I am twenty-three years old and I know I’m not normal in that, definitely not in the United States. But even in Denmark, it is not common.

  Although I would venture it would be if more children were raised in my house with my father’s strict standards, lack of caring words, and a mother who kept quiet.

  “Angelo,” I murmur and I can’t help it. My smile begins before the muscles follow as I look down at him. He smells nice. Looks funny with a big forehead and smooshed nose but he smells nice. I repeat his name, smiling, and glance up.

  Paisley is there. Still close. She has his blanket in her hand and she drapes it over his body. “So he stays warm,” she whispers, still smiling. Eyes shining.

  “Thank you.”

  I barely remember the time since she showed up at my door. I don’t think I have been very nice to her. “Thank you for your help.”

  “I can stay until your friends get here,” she offers.

  I should man up like my teammates tell each other and grow some balls. I am now a parent, I am certain he is mine. And yet, I’m clueless.

  “What is all that?” I ask and nod at the mess now piling up all over my kitchen counter.

  “Oh, I emptied the diaper bag while you were on the phone. I thought it’d help to know what you have, what you need.”

  “Thank you.” It leaves me in a heavy whoosh. What I need? I have no idea. There’s a chair-like contraption on the floor and an empty bag with a mess on the counter. I know nothing of baby stuff except whenever my teammates have had babies, they constantly complain about how little they sleep. “Will you help explain them?”

  “The baby stuff?” She smiles, and I can tell she wants to laugh.

  Being clueless is embarrassing and yet I don’t care. I don’t think she’s laughing at me.

  “And stay,” I tell her. “Please stay. You can meet my friends? Byron is bringing dinner with him.”

  “I’ve already eaten, but I can stay and help, Mikah. I don’t have plans tonight.”

  No date. This girl home alone on a Friday? For a brief moment, I wonder how many Fridays we’ve both spent alone and ignore it as quickly.

  I’m a dad now. And the season is starting soon. I don’t have time for women even if they’re beautiful and kind and helpful.

  “Thank you.”

  She heads toward the counter and I follow her, the baby still in my arms and so quiet I look down at him. He’s sleeping again, a lump the weight of a sack of potatoes in my arms.

  And yet it feels like the weight of the world.

  “This is his formula,” she starts, pointing to two cylinder containers next to bottles. “The instructions for filling them are on the sides and Angelo’s mom left several notes.”

  “How kind of her.” She gives him her name and then ditches him. Another round of anger punches my gut. I can find her easily and I will, if only it is to yell at her for this.

  “That’s what I thought,” Paisley says. If I am not mistaken, she has anger in her eyes, too.

  She then continues explaining everything and I’m trying to listen. I really am. Mostly I’m lulled into an overwhelmed catatonic state by the sound of her voice. She smiles at me often, raises her brows as if she’s asking if I’m following her, and her voice is so sweet and playful, easy to listen to. She has a great voice, not a terribly good singing one from what I overheard, but when she speaks, it still sounds like a beautiful song.

  What she doesn’t realize is I quit understanding half of what she’s saying almost as soon as she started. I learned English from the time I was young, but some words are still strange especially when I don’t understand the context. Anything related to anything to do with babies is definitely not something I have the context of, but I nod and pray Byron brings his wife Hannah with him.

  Not only do they have kids so they can help, but they also live close. They cannot get here soon enough. When I called Byron, he first gave me a hard time about being in a hurry to go out.

  When I said, “There’s a woman here. With a baby. Saying he’s mine,” he said nothing else other than “I’m on my way.”

  He hung up before I could ask for him to bring Hannah.

  “Are you lost?” Paisley asks, and I squeeze my eyes closed before opening them.

  �
��I’m right here.”

  She huffs a quiet, playful sound and shakes her head. “I meant, do you understand, or have I confused you?” She’s holding up an outfit with snaps that go from the top all the way down one leg to the foot area and I have no idea what she was saying.

  How am I supposed to focus on anything?

  “I am lost.” I might as well have been dumped on a baseball field for as much as any of this means to me.

  My phone rings with the ringtone that says it’s the desk downstairs and I jump at the noise. It has to be Byron but I’m holding Angelo and I glance at my phone then the bundle in my arms.

  Paisley appears in front of me, arms outstretched, smiling so kindly. “I can take him while you get the phone. You’ll figure out how to do both soon.”

  “Thank you.” This shouldn’t be so difficult, right? People parent babies all the time. Except they have notice, I suppose. Time to prepare. I have nothing except from what Paisley said, enough diapers to get through the night. I hand him off and grab my phone.

  “Now the desk calls and tells me I have visitors,” I mumble.

  Behind me, Paisley laughs.

  I answer the phone, allow Pierre to send Byron up to me and when I set the phone down, Paisley is doing the rocking and swaying thing. I have to learn how to do that.

  “Have you spent time with babies?” I ask. It seems such a natural thing for her.

  “I worked at a daycare center in high school and usually worked in the infant room, so yeah, a little.”

  “You know what to do.” I cringe. I must seem so dumb to her, and I don’t like looking dumb in front of her.

  Her green eyes soften and that sweet smile appears. She has a dimple on her right side. It makes her prettier.