Decidedly with Luck (By The Bay Book 6)

by Stina Lindenblatt

  Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing my parents (or anyone else I cared about). I had disappointed my grandmother when I was nine years old.

  She died.

  Lesson learned?

  It was always best to do whatever it took to avoid disappointing those you loved.

  Sure she didn’t die of disappointment, but I’d still let her down.

  The timer on my phone went off.

  Oh, fudgesicles. The moment of denial was over.

  I hit stop…and stared at the tests. They were all flipped over so I couldn’t peek at them before the time was up.

  A long, God-I-can’t-do-this breath slipped out between my pursed lips. I continued staring at the tests.

  Yep, because that would ensure they were negative.

  “Do you want me to look?” There was enough compassion in Chloe’s tone to fuel a jet plane from San Francisco to Uranus.

  I nodded, gaze still locked on the tests.

  Everything was about to change, but I couldn’t take that first step in confirming what we already suspected was true.

  Chloe picked up the first test, inspected it, and handed it to Ava.

  Ava smiled. It was the kind of smile you gave when you were happy with the news, but you weren’t sure how the other person would feel about it. “You’re going to be a mom.”

  She handed me the stick.

  “It could be wrong.” That was why I’d bought the other four tests.

  I flipped them over, one by one, each test confirming the results of the first one.

  I was pregnant.

  And just like that, my world changed once again.

  11

  Logan

  When was the last time I’d entered a classroom?

  I’d have to say when I was a kid.

  Stacy had been the one to attend Livi’s parent-teacher conferences.

  I’d always been too busy.

  Which was why when I stepped into Livi’s classroom the following afternoon, it was like entering a spaceship. Everything felt foreign.

  But that was why I was here.

  To change that. To be more involved with my daughter’s life. To not let my career steal more of my precious time away from her than was unavoidable.

  The woman who I assumed to be her teacher was talking to a student, her back to me.

  Livi was at the same table. She looked up as the door shut behind me, waved at me, and said something to the woman.

  Her teacher straightened and turned around.

  And at the sight of her familiar features, framed by equally familiar blonde hair, it was as if a wave had swept up the shore with vengeance, then pulled away, dragging the sand from under my feet.

  Holy shit.

  Happy laughter from a nearby table echoed inside me, blending with the shock that now sat firmly in my gut.

  The last person I’d expected to see was the woman I’d made love to several times the night of the Jingle Balls ball.

  Livi had always referred to her favorite teacher as Mrs. A, but Stacy had never mentioned that A was short for Ashdown.

  Had Stacy ever met Kiera?

  Yes, a few times when Stacy and I were first married.

  If Stacy had figured out Stephen’s wife and Livi’s teacher were the same person, she’d never mentioned it.

  Kiera stared at me as if seeing Santa’s ghost, and the possibility crossed my mind that she had already pieced together everything from that night.

  But since I hadn’t hinted at the ball that I knew her true identity, she wouldn’t know I had purposefully kept mine a secret. She wouldn’t know I had altered my voice that night so she wouldn’t recognize me.

  Even though the world had unceremoniously dropped from beneath my feet, my body remembered how it felt to kiss her, to hold her, to make love to her.

  That’s in the past, I reminded it. It won’t happen again.

  I walked toward her. A murmur of young voices sprung up as several kids recognized my face.

  I approached the table and smiled at my daughter.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hey, Livi.”

  The eyes of the boy sitting next to her were as round as pucks, and I could have easily fit a puck into his wide-open mouth. “Wow. You’re Logan Mathews. You used to play with the Chicago Blackhawks, and now you play for the Rock.”

  “That’s right. And you’re?”

  “Tyler.”

  “He’s one of my best friends,” Livi proudly told me, and I instantly recognized the name. There was a chance she had mentioned it several hundred times in the past five months.

  “Nice to meet you, Tyler.” I fist-bumped him.

  I turned to Kiera, who was still staring at me. “I had no idea you were Livi’s father.” Her voice was soft and a little off-balanced compared to the last time I’d seen her. “I had no idea you were living in San Francisco.”

  “The Blackhawks traded me to the Rock a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been meaning to contact you to see how you’re doing, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  That sounded better than the truth—that I had been avoiding her.

  Her lack of awareness about the trade surprised me. The Kiera I remembered would’ve known about it. She and Stephen had become Rock fans when they moved to San Francisco. Maybe that had ended with Stephen’s death.

  I could feel Livi’s gaze dart between us. She’d been a toddler the last time she’d seen Kiera, so she wouldn’t have remembered her. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sent Stephen pictures of Livi.

  For a second, Kiera looked as though she had numerous questions swirling in her head, but then the confused frown smoothed away. In its place, a grin, complete with the dimples I loved, brightened her face.

  The same grin and dimples that always stole my breath away ever since college.

  After all these years, I still wasn’t immune to it.

  “Well, it’s great to see you again,” she said.

  “It’s great to see you, too.” I waited for another sign that she had pieced together that I was Grayson, but instead, she asked Tyler if he wanted to be the first to read to me.

  He practically fell off his chair in excitement at the question.

  Kiera directed her breathtaking smile at him. “Tyler, you can take Mr. Mathews into the hallway to read.” To me, she said, “It’s quieter there. Have him read to you for about ten minutes, then send him back in, and I’ll send out another student to read to you.”

  Tyler scrambled off his chair and grabbed a book from the table. I followed him into the hallway, and he showed me the two chairs we were to sit on.

  “What are you reading?” I asked. He handed me the skinny paperback, and I read the blurb. “Are you enjoying it?”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  I wasn’t familiar with the book—not that I considered myself an expert when it came to kids’ books. My only experience with them was when Livi read them to me or gushed about a novel she loved.

  And this one fell under neither category.

  Tyler opened it and began reading to me.

  Reading clearly didn’t come easy for him. He was slow and struggled with some of the words. He also didn’t share the same enthusiasm for reading that Livi did.

  But based on what I’d heard so far from him, I couldn’t say I was too surprised. The story wasn’t all that gripping. It was the kind of book you read when it was 2 a.m., and you were desperate to fall asleep and counting sheep had failed.

  Hell, I was barely staying awake reading along with him.

  “That’s the last of them,” I told Kiera two hours later. It was almost the end of the day, and the kids were tidying up to go home.

  “Thank you so much, Logan, for your help. I’m sorry I didn’t clue in sooner that you’re Livi’s father. It’s been years since Stephen…” Her words paused for a heartbreaking second. “Since he last showed me a photo of your daughter.”

  “To be honest, that’s p
robably because I did a crappy job sending any to him. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize her. She’s talked a lot about you, but Stacy never mentioned you were her teacher.”

  Kiera laughed softly. “I’m not sure even she remembered me. I certainly didn’t recognize her. It’s been a long time since your wedding, and I think that’s the last time I saw you two together.”

  That was mostly my fault. I’d always been too busy with hockey, so we’d rarely done things together. It became habit. And habit led to divorce.

  Not wanting to talk about any of that, I decided to switch topics.

  Topics that also didn’t include the masquerade ball.

  Did I think Kiera recognized me from that night?

  If she did, she didn’t show it.

  But that wasn’t all too surprising. Neither of us resembled the same individuals as that night. My hair had grown longer. Kiera’s long hair had been cut to just below her shoulders. She had looked beautiful that night. Now she looked fucking gorgeous.

  She had the sweet look about her that always got my dick hard.

  Okay, let me rephrase that.

  The sweet look that always left me mentally cursing how my best friend got the girl, and I just got to be her pal.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “Good. Busy.”

  Busy? As in busy dating other men?

  Some men might resort to persuading their daughter to ask the hot teacher if she was single. I wasn’t one of those douchebags.

  So I went with a simple, “Busy?” and hoped that was enough to get her to answer the question I hadn’t asked out loud.

  “With my job…and other things.”

  “What kinds of other things?”

  You’re probably wondering why I didn’t come straight out and ask her if she was seeing anyone.

  Well, here’s the thing. The only time a guy ever asked that question would be if he was asking the woman out on a date, and he didn’t want to risk rejection.

  It was his saving grace.

  If the woman wasn’t interested, she could take the easy way out and say yes, she was seeing someone—even if she wasn’t.

  It was the coward’s way of coping with an otherwise awkward situation…on both ends.

  If I asked Kiera if she was seeing anyone, she might automatically assume I was asking her out when I wasn’t.

  I was just curious—on Stephen’s behalf.

  And please don’t give me that crap about him watching Kiera from heaven, so he knew if she was dating or not.

  You don’t know what he was doing up there. They might have rules against watching your loved ones on Earth. Hell, he might’ve been too busy to keep an eye on her to ensure that she was all right.

  And that was where I came in.

  I could make sure she was okay. Make sure she was doing what she had promised the night of the ball—finally moving on.

  “I’ve been knitting mittens that my aunt in Boston donates to kids entering the foster care system,” she said. “That way, they have warm mittens for the cold weather.” The smile on her face was as warm as the mittens no doubt were.

  “That’s really great. I didn’t know you could knit.”

  She laughed. “YouTube is a wonderful place if you want to pick up a new skill. I was struggling at first when Stephen died. Curling up in a ball sounded like a better idea than facing another day without him. Aunt Trudy told me about the mittens she and a group of her friends were making.

  “I lost the man who I’d loved, but those kids in foster care had lost so much more. For some of them, they lost hope after losing their parents. For others, they never had hope to begin with because of their living situations until family services stepped in.” Kiera picked up a kid’s book from her desk. “Knitting those mittens helped pull me out of my depression.”

  “Have you been doing anything else to help you move on? Have you been seeing someone?”

  Okay, I’ll admit it. That could be taken in so many different ways. And yes, a large part of me hoped she would interpret it as I had intended.

  “I did meet with a grief counselor for a bit. It was my mom’s idea. That helped, too.”

  Not quite the answer I’d been fishing for.

  But it was good to know that she hadn’t been dealing with her husband’s death on her own.

  “What about other men? Have you been dating again?” I aimed for a casual, shooting-the-breeze tone, not one that suggested I wanted to go out with her.

  Her gaze dropped to the book in her hand, then she looked up again and smiled. Something was off about it, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly. “I’ve been too busy to date. Or prospect for dates.” She lowered her voice on the last part in a way that almost caused me to laugh out loud.

  I interpreted that to mean she hadn’t been having sex with other men—other than me. Nor was she ready to admit to having sex with Grayson.

  Before I had a chance to comment, she blurted, “I’ve decided to create a fundraiser. I love making the mittens, but they aren’t in high demand in San Francisco, as you can imagine. I want to do something for the foster kids in the city. For kids like Tyler.” She waved in the general direction where he’d been sitting.

  “What are you thinking of doing?”

  “When I was his age, my dad’s job transferred him to Boston. It was during the summer, and I didn’t know anyone there. I was shy, so making new friends was harder for me. My aunt gave me Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I hadn’t been an avid reader prior to that. But by the end of the first chapter, that all changed.

  “After that, there was no stopping me. I read the series several times. Then started to read books by other kid-lit authors. I loved disappearing into the worlds they created. And they taught me that I could be anything I wanted to be. I just needed to have the determination and courage to achieve it.” She grinned my favorite smile once again, causing something deep inside me to stir. “And the best part? I had something to talk about when I started at the new school in the fall. I quickly made friends with kids who also loved those books.”

  I nodded like I understood what she was talking about—which I partly did. Hockey had been like that for me.

  “Livi told Tyler all about the series that she’s been reading. The one by AJ Versteeg.”

  I knew the books she was referring to. Livi had been reading them to me, and I could see why she loved them. They had everything I would’ve loved as a kid—if I’d read more than I had.

  Let’s just say I could relate to Tyler a lot more than he realized.

  My parents had pretty much bribed me to read more as a kid. In retrospect, I’m glad they had. It meant I’d been able to attend college and impress NHL scouts while I played for the Boston Eagles.

  And it meant I had an education to fall back on after my hockey career came to an end.

  Way.

  Way.

  Way down the line.

  “She loves those books,” I said. “I gave her the new one for Christmas.”

  “That’s because you could. But for kids in foster care, most of them don’t have someone who can buy them books. And that’s where I come in. I want to raise money to provide books for kids in foster care. But not just a single book. I want to give box sets to kids who want to read all the books in a popular series. So they aren’t left waiting until it’s their turn on the massively long library waitlist for the next book in the series.”

  You know how when there’s a sudden break in the thick clouds, and rays of sunlight illuminate the ground, turning drab into breathtaking? That was how Kiera looked as she explained her idea. The only difference was that she was already beautiful. Her enthusiasm for the project increased it a hundredfold.

  “I think that’s a great idea. What can I do to help?” The words hustled their way out before I knew what I was saying.

  But I meant it. Every word of it.

  For a second, Kiera looked stunned, as if she hadn�
�t been expecting me to say that. “That’s sweet of you to offer. I’ll let you know once I have a better idea of what I want to do. Are you still going to be volunteering in the classroom, or will Stacy be back next week?”

  “Stacy will be back. But I would like to volunteer as my schedule permits. I’ll talk to Joyce tonight, and maybe the next time I’m here, we can discuss your plans after school.”

  I wanted to bring up the topic of her dating life again, but really, what would I say?

  Tell her to get out there—that Stephen would have wanted her to?

  It was true; he would have. As long as the man was good enough for Kiera.

  But did I really look like a dating cheerleader?

  Someone who shook their pompoms from the sidelines when it came to someone’s dating life?

  No, I didn’t think so either.

  12

  Kiera

  “Sweetheart,” Mom said, drying her hands on the kitchen towel.

  It was late Sunday morning, and as per tradition, I was at my parents’ for our weekly brunch.

  “Hey, Mom.” I stood in the entranceway, gripping a bunch of tulips so hard, I was surprised the stems hadn’t snapped in half.

  I didn’t usually bring Mom flowers for brunch, but I figured they’d help soften the blow of my big news.

  They certainly couldn’t hurt.

  I hugged her, which wasn’t new. Even though it had only been a week since I’d last seen her, I was positive she could tell I was expecting.

  Seriously, how had I even missed that I was pregnant?

  The signs were all there—like a billboard in Times Square.

  If my oversized T-shirt surprised Mom, she didn’t let it show. I’d worn it over my black yoga pants, which were about the only pants I owned that weren’t now tight in the waist.

  I handed Mom the flowers. “These are for you.”

  “Thank you! They’re gorgeous. But since when do you bring me flowers for Sunday brunch?”

  “I just figured they would add a special touch to your great food.”