by Piper Rayne
“You’re not the only one here. A baby is messy. She can’t live in her own shit,” Mr. Jacobs barks.
“We really need to watch our mouths around the baby.” Mrs. Jacobs moves Annabelle onto an activity mat on the floor. She’s trying to get the baby to interact with some of the items dangling down, but Annabelle keeps sucking on her pacifier and staring at herself in the little mirror. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“She’s a baby, Gabi,” Mr. Jacobs says to his wife.
“Well, I warned you around Ford when he was a baby and look at him now.”
Mr. Jacobs nods, lips pressed together. “Noted.”
“What the fu—heck?” Ford raises both arms and looks at his parents in disbelief. “I know I might not live up to your standards, but a lot of people think I’m pretty awesome. And a damn good hockey player.”
Mrs. Jacobs sits up on her ankles and pats her son’s knee. “You are.”
“You’d be a better CEO if you got your head out of your ass,” Mr. Jacobs grumbles.
The smile that almost hit Ford’s face falters before it ever shines.
Here we go. Round one thousand twenty-seven between Ford and his father on why he’s not working for Jacobs Enterprises.
“I think it’s terribly sexist that I’m not asked to take over the company. This isn’t the nineteenth century, Dad.” Imogen starts her second donut.
Ford rolls his eyes and looks over at her. “You’re getting a graduate degree in art history.”
She opens her mouth for a rebuttal but Mr. Jacobs cuts her off. “You’re already there part time, Imogen, and do nothing but complain about it. You want to take over the company? Fine, quit graduate school and start full time next week and I’ll teach you everything I know.”
Her eyes widen and she stares at him for a beat.
“That’s what I thought.” Mr. Jacobs lifts his ankle to rest on his knee. He zeros in all his attention on Ford. “Having a baby is a lot of responsibility.”
These are the moments I want to leave the room.
“That wouldn’t change whether I work for you or play hockey. The responsibility of Annabelle is the same.” There’s a bite in Ford’s tone now. One he reserves only for his father.
“The difference is you wouldn’t travel for days at a time. You wouldn’t have the temptations you have when you’re a professional athlete. God forbid something like this happens again. You could have five illegitimate kids before you leave the league.”
Ford walks into the open kitchen and pours a cup of coffee. I’ve only been with the Jacobs family for a couple years, and during that time, I’ve witnessed Ford’s persistence to stay in hockey dwindle. A year ago, that comment would have set Ford off, and screaming and yelling would have commenced. Either he’s learned to control his emotions better—doubtful—or he’s losing the will to fight his father.
“I’m not gonna let it happen again,” Ford mumbles, walking past his father with a cup of coffee in his hands. “It was a mistake. You’ve made your fair share of them, I’m sure.”
His father’s jaw tics. “We’re not talking about me. It’s the smart decision to come work for me.”
“Why? So I can be gone all day and night like you were? At least with hockey, I have an entire off-season to dedicate all my time to her. Not to mention my days off.”
Mr. Jacobs rolls his eyes while Mrs. Jacobs scoops up Annabelle. “She doesn’t need to hear her grandfather and father fighting.”
Imogen crosses her legs and pulls out her phone, always more than willing to witness the two of them go at one another.
“I’ll just go with Mrs. Jacobs,” I say, excusing myself and standing.
“Sit down, Lena. We need to discuss the PR narrative on this situation.” Mr. Jacobs then turns his attention back to his son. “I’ve had to explain too many of your mistakes over the years. Now I have to explain that you’re a single dad because the woman you knocked up isn’t ready to be a mother.”
Ford laughs dramatically. “Who the hell cares about what people think?”
Mr. Jacobs stands and points at himself. “I care, Ford. Perception is everything in business, and how people see you matters. I can’t have everyone snickering behind my back because I can’t control my own son, let alone a multi-million dollar company.”
“I haven’t embezzled money. I’m not an addict. I’m a fucking hockey player who likes pussy. That’s all.” Ford throws his arms out at his side. “So what?”
I cringe.
“It’s not just the women. It’s the fights. It’s the…” Mr. Jacobs blows out a long deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand.” He stands and looks outside at where Mrs. Jacobs is holding Annabelle. “One day you will. One day she’s going to break your heart.”
“She won’t because I don’t give a shit what she wants to do as long as she’s happy.”
Mr. Jacobs laughs. “There you go, Lena. Tell the press that Ford Jacobs is a reformed man, a single father who has his shit together. I’ll wait until the story unfolds that you’re out late at night while a nanny raises your kids.”
“Nannies raised me.”
Imogen smiles at her phone. I don’t know what she’s chosen to do now that she’s about to graduate from college, but I do know that the girl loves gossip.
Mr. Jacobs steps forward and my breath lodges in my throat. “You act like you wanted for something growing up. I never sent you away to boarding schools, and yes, we had nannies, but only because to live the life we did, your mother and I had obligations. Obligations you’d like to forget you have.”
Ford shakes his head. “I’m over this conversation. I knew you’d try to get me home again, but I’ve told you a million times and I’ll tell you again, I’m a hockey player, not a businessman.”
“It’s not only about you anymore.” Mr. Jacobs points through the floor-to-ceiling windows to where Mrs. Jacobs is holding Annabelle. “You’re responsible for another human being now too.”
“I’m not an idiot. I know that.” He places his hands on his hips.
Mr. Jacobs is silent for a long time, but his eyes are focused on Ford. He finally raises his finger. “Mark my words, you’re going to fuck this up.”
“Is that what the problem is, Dad, you think you fucked up with me?”
“You have no idea what I think,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking toward the door that will lead to where Mrs. Jacobs is. “Lena, spin this in a positive light. Say Ford is excited to have more time with his daughter and up for the responsibilities of being full-time dad. Then get some pictures to show them bonding and give an exclusive to someone.”
I hate when he dictates the plan of attack to me instead of asking my opinion. He hired me for my expertise, but that’s what happens with powerful men. They trust no one but themselves.
“Now I have to let some schmuck take pictures of my daughter for a damn magazine? This is bullshit.” Ford walks to the other side of the room and up the stairs.
“Man, that was a doozy,” Imogen says once it’s just the two of us in the room. “How are you going to pull this off?”
I blow out a breath and steal her fourth donut, taking a big bite. “I have no fudging clue.”
“The baby’s not here, you can swear.” Imogen laughs, sipping her coffee.
I exhale on a sigh. Nothing about any of this will be easy. I have a feeling I’ll be biting back curse words for months to come.
“See, you can’t take pictures of her in a onesie,” Saige says to Paisley after they change Annabelle’s outfit and put on some kind of bow thing that wraps around her head.
Saige and Paisley act as if my daughter is their personal practice baby before they marry and have kids with my teammates, Aiden and Maksim. Speaking of, those two are sitting on my couch, laughing at some stupid prank show on the television. We’ve got a game tonight and shouldn’t be sitting on our asses. We should be getting our heads in the game.
&nbs
p; “When is Lena coming with the photographer?” Saige asks, playing peekaboo with Annabelle, who doesn’t seem that into the game.
“I have no fucking clue. Soon, I guess.” I strip off my fourth shirt to put on another one I picked up from the cleaners.
“Can you please stop stripping in front of my girl?” Aiden says.
“Why? You afraid she’ll come over to my side?” I waggle my eyebrows.
“You have the baby she wants, so…” Aiden laughs.
Saige shakes her head. “I should clarify, I want a baby with you, not Ford. I love this little one, but she still has half his genes.” She makes a silly face at Annabelle as if that’s going to spur a laugh out of her.
“Hey, that’s offensive.” I button up my shirt.
Paisley eyes me. “You look too professional. Not like a single dad with a baby.”
I groan. “Want me to get the shirt she spit up on earlier?”
Paisley shrugs. “I’m just saying.” She goes over and snuggles up to Maksim.
“Relax, he’s just testy because Lena’s coming,” Maksim says.
Just the name makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Lena Boyd. The woman drives me insane. Constantly at my father’s beck and call. Doing whatever he wants her to do. Have some self-respect.
“Come on, I know you’re hot for her,” Saige says, still googly-eyed over Annabelle.
“You’re kidding, right? The woman wears pants all the time and blouses that cover every inch of her body. Heels? Forget it. She’s constantly in flats. And the woman is stuck up my dad’s ass to top it all off.”
No one says anything. I unbutton my shirt and grab my brown V-neck sweater without putting a shirt on underneath, then I push up the sleeves.
“This good enough?” I direct my question to Paisley.
“Much better. These pictures are going to make women’s ovaries explode,” she says.
“Kotik,” Maksim grinds out his Russian nickname for her.
She blushes. “I didn’t say mine. My ovaries only explode for you.”
They bring their heads together in an Eskimo kiss that makes bile rise up my throat.
I can’t believe my two best buddies have fallen in love. We’re in the prime of our lives, hockey gods making bank, and they decide to put on a set of handcuffs. Not to say I don’t like Saige and Paisley, they’re awesome, but they’ve taken my boys away from me.
“I’m only doing this shoot to appease my dad,” I grumble.
“I thought you hated your dad?” Saige asked.
I don’t hate my dad. We don’t see eye to eye on almost everything, but my dad is still a decent guy. He just doesn’t understand me, and the more he tries to control me, the harder I push in the opposite direction. It’s been our relationship for as long as I can remember.
“I have to do some things so he stays off my ass. As long as I’m playing hockey, it’s just the way it is.” I shrug.
“What’s your long-term goal? Like after you retire from hockey, will you work in the family business?” Paisley asks, her psychologist’s brain never staying in the therapy room.
“All I know is that I want to retire as a hockey player. While I’m still good and am still wanted, but as old as I can be.”
“Amen.” Aiden and Maksim raise their water bottles.
“And then?” Paisley pushes.
“And then I’ll retire with my money from the endorsements, league play, and my trust fund. I’ll have no reason to work.”
She tilts her head. “But won’t you get bored?”
This is the first time I’ve really thought much about what will happen after I retire. I always felt like retirement was the finish line for me, but I’ll be lucky if I make it to forty still playing in the league. That’s young.
I quickly do the math, realizing Annabelle will be twelve if I make it that long. If she’s anything like me, she won’t want to be hanging with her dad all the time. I guess I’ll still be young enough to live my life the way I was before she was born, but to my surprise, a tinge of loneliness hits me right in the heart. I rub the spot, not understanding why it’s there.
“Being a single rich guy who lives on the beach and does whatever I want every day? Sounds terrible.”
“Are you saying you never want to get married?” Saige asks.
“You girls are barking up the wrong tree,” Aiden says before downing the rest of his water. “This man right here is the only one I can see never falling into monogamy.”
“That true?” Saige asks, clearly wanting to hear it from my mouth.
I shrug. “Haven’t ever thought much about it. All I know is right now, my hands are full.”
The doorbell rings. Thank God for the interruption, even if it is Lena.
“I’ll get it.” Paisley jumps off Maksim and heads to the door.
Lena’s familiar voice echoes down the hall from the door and my back straightens. I ready myself to do something I don’t want to.
“I love your pants,” Paisley says.
Sure enough, when the two emerge, Lena Boyd is buttoned up as tight as her ass. She’s wearing long pinstripe pants and a puffy blouse that hides the curves I know she has because I felt them on New Year’s Eve when she was in my arms and her lips were on mine. That night, she wore a pair of leggings that showed off what these pants hide.
“Oh, thank you. They’re more comfortable on the plane. And fall has set in back home.”
One thing I miss about New York City is Central Park in the fall. But I’m sure I’ll be beckoned back to Manhattan by my dad before all the leaves have fallen from the trees.
“I take it we have you two to thank for this adorable outfit.” Lena goes over to Annabelle, smiling at her. “She’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t she?” Saige beams as though Annabelle is her daughter, holding her up in what I’ve been told by the ladies is “blush pink.” The lace dress looks adorable on Annabelle, but she has shoes on that have no purpose since she can’t walk. “He was going to put her in a onesie. A Fury one at that.”
All the women turn to glare at me.
Aiden and Maksim laugh, sharing a look of better me than them.
“That could be cute too,” Lena says.
Cue record scratch. Did Lena Boyd just agree to something I want? Hell must’ve frozen over.
“Maybe we could take some at the game tonight? Do a few poses before you go on the ice.” Lena presses her finger into Annabelle’s stomach as though she expects her to laugh. I want to tell her to stop because I want the first laugh out of my baby girl, but I don’t.
Aiden raises his eyebrows. “Ford’s kind of serious before a game.”
“Of course, we can scrap it.” Lena waves off the idea, never making eye contact with me. I’m unsure why she’s being so agreeable with me at the moment. “Your dad just wants enough to convince everyone you’re happily settling into the role of single father.”
The room quiets and my face heats.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“I am happy.” My fists tighten at my sides.
“Of course you are. I meant more that the surprise of it all hasn’t shaken you.”
She really can do a good spin job.
The doorbell rings again. I hope this is her crew because I want to get this photo session over with.
“I’ll get everyone in and organized.” She walks down the hallway as though she owns the place. Under other circumstances, I might show her around my place, but I’m already annoyed.
I hear her polite conversation with the people my family hired and/or the people she coerced to write up this story. The next thing I know, in walks a photographer, a videographer, a makeup person, and a smiling man whose eyes bulge out when he sees Maksim and Aiden are here too.
“This is Gavin,” Lena says. “He was my teacher’s assistant at school and does freelance work for a bunch of magazines, including Sports Illustrated, so I called in a favor.”
All
I hear is blah blah blah except for when my mind circles around to the fact that he was a TA and these two clearly have some kind of rapport. Maybe Lena isn’t as wholesome as I thought.
I put out my hand. “Pleasure.”
His grip is firm, so I squeeze a little harder to win the battle. What am I winning? I have no fucking clue, but my dad taught me from a young age to be the strongest, most powerful person in the room. Since I opted for a career in hockey, there are times I switch that up to be the most charismatic person in the room and I do just fine.
“You’re probably familiar with Maksim and Aiden. This is Saige and Paisley.” I point toward each person as I name them.
Gavin goes around the room, shaking hands with everyone.
“Let’s get this photo shoot going since Annabelle’s dressed and ready to go. There’s a good chance she could spit up on her outfit at any moment,” I say.
The makeup woman plops down what sounds like a fifty-pound bag and pulls out stuff. She brushes something on my cheeks and puts a small amount of eyeliner on my eyes. I try to be a good sport about it, but I’m anxious to get this over with.
Gavin and Lena have decided that we should shoot in the family room and out on the patio with the ocean behind us.
I pick up Annabelle, who was chillin’ in Saige’s arms. She relaxes into mine like I hoped she would since it’s been just her and me for the past week or so. I’ve lost all track of time. But the fact that Annabelle seems to recognize me makes my chest warm with a strange sensation I’m not familiar with.
Maksim, Aiden, and the girls all rush to leave, wishing us good luck, and I tell them I’ll see them at the game tonight.
I sit on the couch with my daughter in my arms. The photographer snaps a few pictures, having me change positions a few times. Then we’re off to the patio by the pool.
“You know what women love?” Gavin says to Lena. “Those things you wear that carry the baby on your chest.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have one.” I lean Annabelle on my lap, her back on my chest, and her pudgy little fingers grip my index fingers.
“That’s a shame. They’re a chick magnet,” Gavin says.
