Taking a Shot

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  “You should get that.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

  She cut off his protest with a kiss, even as she reached inside his pocket and pulled out his cell. “Cooper,” she announced, turning the screen to show him.

  Brett frowned. Damn. It was late for him to be calling. A trickle of unease wormed through the peace that had filled his chest a moment before.

  Chelsea got to her feet and handed him the phone. “I’m going to give you some privacy. Call if you need me.”

  Brett was still nodding as he accepted the FaceTime chat.

  “Hey, man. It’s past midnight. Are you okay? Is Lainey?”

  His brother-in-law looked shell-shocked. “There’s someone here who wants to say hi.”

  Brett got a glimpse of a hospital room before his sister’s tired face filled the screen. But her winsome smile put his mind at ease.

  “Hey, Uncle Brett.”

  Everything in him froze as she angled the camera down.

  “Meet Olivia.”

  Brett’s heart turned to gelatinous goo and almost oozed through his rib cage at the sight of that squishy little face with a shock of black hair sticking out in every direction. His niece yawned, her tiny fists balled up by her chubby little cheeks, and he was a goner, all the way in love.

  “She’s perfect. Jesus, Lainey. She’s perfect.”

  His mind was already racing. He could probably fly back to Portland in the morning. She’d need a hockey jersey. Did they make jerseys that small? What the hell was he talking about? They made anything, if you paid them enough.

  “Hi, Olivia.”

  She snuggled against Lainey, her little mouth puckering like a guppy’s.

  “She’s like a little anime baby. Look at all that hair! Do you think there are flights to Portland right now?” He glanced at his watch. Almost half-past midnight. “It’s going to take me at least an hour to pack and get to the airport, but if there’s something leaving around two, that would get me there by what? Around four-thirty? And then I—”

  Lainey’s laugh cut him off. “Brett, no. I know you’re excited, but even if you could hop a flight this second, Olivia and I aren’t allowed to leave the hospital until the afternoon.”

  The announcement jerked his head up. “What? Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Just routine observation. Nothing to worry about, I promise. We’ll be home before dinner.”

  Brett’s breath came out in a rush of relief. “Okay then. I’ll see you for dinner.”

  “Honestly, you don’t have to—”

  “I’ll see you for dinner,” he repeated, and Lainey’s smile was pleased in the second before she tamped it down.

  “Fine. If you insist. But if you think I’m cooking for you, you can forget it.”

  “What? Do you even understand what I’ve been through since finding out I’m an uncle? I have to buy a plane ticket, throw some clothes in a suitcase. Someone’s going to have to chauffeur me to the airport. And you’re, what, lying around with my adorable niece while people bring you Jello? Selfish, Elaine. Totally selfish.”

  Lainey put Cooper back on, and after a few more minutes of congratulations and baby fawning, Brett hung up.

  Chelsea was standing tentatively in the doorway to the living room. “You sound happy,” she ventured.

  “I’m an uncle!” He could tell his grin was goofy, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d fucked up the illusion of cool the second he’d walked through her door tonight, so why start now?

  She smiled. “That’s so great, Brett. Congratulations.”

  “She’s amazing. Definitely the cutest baby on the planet. That’s a totally unbiased opinion, by the way. Her name is Olivia. She’s really tiny. I’m not sure if ‘Sillinger’ is going to fit across the back of her Wolfpack jersey. She’s probably too little for a hockey stick, right?”

  Chelsea laughed, joining him on the couch and giving his arm a squeeze. “Seeing as she’s not even a day old, probably. But maybe tomorrow we can go find something a little more age appropriate?”

  The fact that she wanted to run errands with him, to do such a small, mundane thing, felt really freakin’ big to him right then. “Are you serious? You’ll go shopping with me?”

  “Sure. My Saturday is wide open.”

  “Okay, yeah. That would be great. We’ll go tomorrow morning. I mean, later today. You know what I mean. It’s late, and I’m tired.”

  Chelsea nodded and stood up. “Me too.”

  That was his cue to leave.

  Brett got to his feet, but before he could take a step toward the door, Chelsea wrapped his hand in hers. “Let’s go to bed.”

  Stunned, Brett let her tug him down the hall and into her bedroom. He accepted the new toothbrush she pulled out of the medicine cabinet, reveled in the simple routine of preparing for bed with her beside him—washing her face, brushing her hair, changing into a tank top and shorts, applying some of that strawberry-scented Chapstick of hers.

  By the time they crawled into her bed, with her curled up next to him, the backs of her thighs pressed against the fronts of his, and his arm slung over her waist, he felt like he knew her on a whole different level. That was why he found himself with a belly full of nerves when he finally got around to asking her the question he’d been considering since she’d put her hand in his and invited him to spend the night.

  “Hey, Chels? Did you want to…I mean, you don’t have to or anything, but…would you come with me? To Portland?”

  She went still in his arms.

  “It’s just a quick overnighter,” he assured her, wondering if he’d overstepped. He was notorious for rushing things. “I’ll have you back here Sunday afternoon.”

  It seemed like forever before she answered—the longest ten seconds of his entire life. But then she said, “I’d love to,” and his muscles relaxed. And with a deep breath, he pulled her closer and closed his eyes, the faint scent of strawberries teasing his nostrils.

  Tomorrow, he and Chelsea were going to meet his niece.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The flight to Portland was about two and a half hours. Brett was a good sport, signing autographs for the crew, taking selfies with any fans who asked. Chelsea admired his ease. He treated fans with a lot of respect, even though he kept his ball cap pulled low and tried to stay under the radar as best he could.

  It wasn’t quite what she’d expected of him, or at least, not what she’d expected from his reputation as tabloid fodder.

  And if she thought he’d been recognized a lot at the Billings airport, Portland was twice as bad. Luckily, his job had made him an expert at maneuvering airports and crowds of hockey fans. They were tucked in the back of a town car within a relatively short period of time, all things considered.

  About forty minutes later, their driver pulled up in front of a beautiful, sprawling stone house, and Chelsea was blown away by how gorgeous it was.

  Brett tipped the driver, handing their small overnight bags to Chelsea, before wrestling the rest of the bags stuffed with gifts for Olivia from the trunk.

  Chelsea couldn’t help her fond smile. She’d give Brett one thing—when properly motivated, the man knew how to shop.

  “This house is absolutely stunning.”

  He glanced at her as they walked up to the door. “You like it?”

  “Are you kidding? What’s not to like?”

  He grinned as he juggled the bags into one hand so he could shove a key in the door, then stepped inside and punched the correct code into the security system.

  It disarmed with a beep, but Chelsea’s attention was on him rather than the impressive interior. “Wait a minute. Is this your house?”

  Brett nodded. “This is it.”

  “I assumed we’d be going straight to your sister’s place.” She set their overnight bags on the floor. The truth was, she hadn’t really thought about him having a life here. A home here.

  “I considered it, but my c
ar really misses me when I’m away too long.”

  She laughed as she followed him into the attached garage.

  “A Lamborghini?”

  He nodded as he popped the back and managed to jam two bags of toys and presents into the miniscule trunk before he walked around to the passenger side, pulled open the scissor door and balanced the final bag on the console between the seats.

  He looked a little bit embarrassed by the cherry-red luxury vehicle as she crawled inside. “Yeah. I…it was…I have no excuse, really.”

  She waited for him to slide into the driver’s seat. “Do you need an excuse to rock a Lambo?”

  He laughed as he reached over and pressed the start button. The car purred to life, even as the garage door lifted out of the way.

  “Well, young Brett agrees with you wholeheartedly. Which is why eighteen-year-old me bought this.” He revved the engine a few times before pulling smoothly onto the driveway. “I probably should have gotten rid of it a while ago, but I don’t get to drive much during the season anyway, and at this point, it’s kind of a reminder that the stuff you think is gonna be great, isn’t always.”

  “Oh?” How was it that every time she wrote him off as a superficial bad boy, he ended up surprising her?

  Once the garage door had shut behind them, they were off, zipping along roads that Brett obviously knew like the back of his hand.

  “Yeah, I’d wanted a Lamborghini since I was twelve. So I thought I was hot shit when I bought one, but the payments were substantial. I got it when I was still on my entrance salary, before I could really afford it, because I thought it would make me look cool. It ended up getting repossessed once because I couldn’t afford it, and I spent the next two years doing everything in my power to get it back and keep it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s cool as hell. But it’s also a good reminder that even cool shit can be a pain in the ass. It’s not worth taking out unless the conditions are perfect, which is rare, the upkeep is costly, and even if it gets you the girl, it’s not gonna make her stay.”

  Chelsea didn’t even have a chance to fully absorb this fascinating, philosophical side of Brett before he’d pulled into a parking lot and cut the engine.

  “Okay, let’s grab some takeout and go meet my niece.”

  …

  It turned out good taste in houses ran in Brett’s family.

  Chelsea was still taking in the beautiful ranch-style house when a big, handsome, raven-haired man who had a couple of inches on Brett’s six feet answered the door. His grin was a slash of blinding white against his black stubble as he pulled Brett in for a hug, despite the bags in his arms.

  “Hey, man. Glad you could make it back.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this. Coop, this is Chelsea. Chelsea, this is my brother-in-law, hockey legend Cooper Mead.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Cooper extended a big hand, and she shook it.

  “You too. I hope I’m not intruding. I understand congratulations are in order.”

  “You’re not intruding at all,” Brett assured her. “Now where’s my niece? I brought presents. And Chinese food.”

  Brett shoved the bags he was hauling into Cooper’s arms.

  “She’s in the living room,” he said, but Brett was already halfway down the hall, disappearing to the right.

  She liked the loving exasperation all over Cooper’s expression as he shook his head. “Still has the attention span of a gnat, I see. Good to know Montana hasn’t changed him too much. Come on in.”

  “Here. Let me take some of those,” she offered. He relinquished the takeout bags, and by the time she and Cooper made it down the hall, Brett was already going full uncle in the living room.

  “Watch her head.”

  “I know that. Everybody knows that,” he told the woman in the rocking chair as he stole her firstborn away. With her head carefully cradled in Brett’s hand, the baby fit on his forearm. It was absolutely heart-melting, if you were into watching a gorgeous, hard-bodied man make a fool of himself over a tiny, adorable baby.

  “Hey Olivia. I’m your Uncle Brett,” he cooed. “Yes, I am. And when you’re old enough, I’m going to teach you how to play hockey, because I’m the best hockey player in the whole family, no matter what your mommy and daddy tell you.”

  “I think he’s smitten,” Chelsea said, drawing the woman’s attention from her brother and her baby.

  Brett’s sister stared at her for long enough that the back of Chelsea’s neck started to itch. “I think so, too.” The words hung uncomfortably between them as the woman pushed herself up out of the rocking chair. “I’m Lainey Mead.”

  “Chelsea London.”

  The woman’s eyebrow shot up at that, but she didn’t comment further. “That wouldn’t happen to be a bag of takeout from Frank’s Noodle House, would it?”

  Chelsea held it up in confirmation. “Brett said it’s your favorite.”

  “Huh. Guess the kid’s not as useless as I thought,” she said, but with enough gruffness that Chelsea knew she was touched. “Do you mind setting it on the table?” she asked.

  Chelsea was happy to comply, following Lainey toward the dining area that had been set up between the gorgeous kitchen and the spacious living room. The open concept of the place made it perfect for gatherings, and Chelsea liked the flow of it.

  “I’ll get us some plates.” Lainey’s progress toward the kitchen was halted, however, when she caught sight of her husband, his arms laden with packages. “You’re kidding me, Slick. Did you just get reverse mugged in the foyer or something?”

  Coop shook his head. “I’m just the toy mule. Ask Santa Claus over there.”

  “Seriously, Brett? What the hell is all this?”

  “Uh, only the most awesome presents in the world for my best girl here,” Brett told his sister.

  Cooper took a seat in the armchair in the corner of the room and started going through the bags. “Jeez. How many toy stores did you have to knock over for all this?”

  He pulled out a plush Zamboni about three times bigger than his daughter, the entire Playmobil NHL toy line, and a gaming system with several hockey-themed video games.

  Lainey frowned as she grabbed a stack of plates and cutlery from the kitchen. “She’s not even a day old.” She rounded the counter to set the dishes on the table. “The joys of opposable thumbs are a bit beyond her grasp right now.”

  Cooper held up one of the games. “And this one is rated 14+.”

  Brett made a dismissive face. “Cool uncles don’t care about rules.”

  Cooper tossed the game on the growing pile of stuff accumulating on the ottoman and started unpacking the rest of the bag’s contents—a month’s worth of outfits emblazoned with the Wolfpack logo.

  “Hey, none of this stuff says Mead.” He held up a little onesie that Chelsea and Brett had gotten screen-printed with Sillinger and 19 on the back.

  “That’s because there aren’t any Meads in the NHL, right Olivia? And you don’t want a jersey with some washed-up ex-player’s name on it, do you? No, you don’t. Because you have good taste.”

  Cooper shot him a dark frown. “Give me back my baby, asshole.”

  “No chance. You get her until she’s eighteen. Chels, you wanna hold her?”

  Chelsea joined Brett on the couch. “I’m not… I haven’t held one of these—oh!”

  “It’s easy.” Brett placed the little girl in her arms, and the baby snuggled right in with a big yawn.

  “Aren’t you just precious?” she asked.

  “Hell yeah, she is.” Brett braced an arm across the back of the couch behind her and leaned in, nudging Olivia’s little hand with his finger until she tightened her tiny fist around it. Chelsea experienced a moment of longing so deep, it scared her.

  Turned out Shanna was right about her. She did want this.

  She’d always wanted this. A baby. A family.

  Not yet. She wasn’t in a hurry. But one day.

  But sitting there, she
realized that it had always been an abstract assumption, something she’d think about when the time came. And when she’d realized that time was never coming with Dustin, she’d tucked it away. A lot deeper than she’d thought. She’d never really solidified the vision of the man who might unearth it again.

  When Brett lifted his gaze from his niece and grinned at Chelsea, her stomach dropped.

  “Good looks run in the family. But we were worried Coop’s ugly mug might mess up the gene pool.”

  The giant stuffed Zamboni came flying across the room, but Brett fended it off with a forearm block, and Chelsea was grateful for the distraction.

  “Okay, these noodles aren’t going to eat themselves. Let’s eat before this Zamboni war deteriorates into some kind of bro-showdown,” Lainey suggested before stage-whispering to Chelsea, “There were push-ups last time. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “And I won!” Brett announced as he stood, arms aloft in victory as he headed for the table.

  Cooper rolled his eyes as he joined Chelsea by the couch. “I let him win,” Coop told her as she relinquished the sleeping Olivia to him. “I was just buttering him up so he’d help me paint the nursery.”

  “Lies. Don’t listen to him. He’s jealous of my youth and stamina.”

  Brett pulled a chair out for her, and she took a seat at the table beside him.

  Chelsea couldn’t remember a better family meal. Dinner memories from her childhood were so sterile. None of the teasing banter and genuine affection that she could feel around this table.

  She liked the way Lainey would absently reach for her husband while she talked, rubbing an affectionate hand against his arm now and then. Or the secret looks they exchanged, as though the supper banter had reminded them of a shared memory or an inside joke. Cooper held his daughter cradled in his right arm, checking on her between every bite of his meal in case she needed something, even though she was sleeping contentedly, snuggled against his big chest. Olivia was a lucky little girl to be growing up around all this love.

  And snark.

  “…but the real point of this story is that I just want to make it clear that you’re eating dinner with a man who named his betta fish Brett Junior,” Lainey cautioned her.