Page 52 of The Rebound
Or maybe he’s just not pleased knowing it was Saint who was by my side through it all.
After my brother arrived at the hospital, Saint stayed just until he knew the baby and I were fine, and then he left, saying he wanted to give us some time as a family. I didn’t want him to go, but I couldn’t exactly make him stay either.
That was two days ago. Saint has texted me several times, and I’ve sent him an obnoxious number of pictures of Caleb sleeping.
“Walker, you’ve done enough. Really. Fielding friends and family and making sure I’m eating were my two big concerns. You’ve been a big help. Thank you.”
“I can order you dinner tonight if that would—”
“That’s not necessary. Saint’s ordering us a pizza later.”
Walker’s fist clenches and unclenches against the steering wheel, and I brace myself for whatever he’s going to say next.
It’s no surprise that he doesn’t approve of my evening plans with his least favorite teammate. But what ground does he have to stand on? Saint was the one who stepped in without a moment’s hesitation when Walker dropped the ball. Or the puck?
Whatever. I’m a tired mama running on power naps and sheer willpower. I’m allowed to mix sports metaphors.
When Walker remains silent, I try again. “You can stay, you know. For some pizza.”
“I’ve got a meeting with my agent later. Thanks, though.”
Okay, so maybe he hasn’t completely come around to the idea of Saint being a fixture in my life, but at least he’s not vehemently opposed to it anymore. Pressing him any further on the subject would push my luck on them reconciling their differences. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.
By the grace of some higher power, Caleb snoozes all the way back to my condo. That “home sweet home” sensation has never really occurred to me here in Boston until this very moment.
Good-bye, weird hospital smells, and hello, familiar comfort. It’s so nice to be home. Once I’ve removed Caleb from his infant carrier and placed him into his new portable bassinet in the living room, I sink into the couch.
There’s a quick knock on the door.
Walker opens it, but not before visibly bracing himself. “Saint,” he says, his voice stiff.
“Hey, Reeves. Good to see you. Congrats on becoming an uncle.”
There’s something so unnatural in how they talk to each other, even after all this time, but I have to appreciate the effort. I know it’s for my sake. I can barely see Saint through the doorway with Walker blocking the way, but some shuffling suggests that they’re shaking hands.
Progress.
“Thank you. And thanks for your ... help. With Kinley.”
I peer around Walker’s back and shoot Saint a wide-eyed look as if to say,I guess he’s trying?
Saint gives us both that trademark lopsided grin. “Happy to help.”
I know my brother well enough to know he’s wondering about Saint’s time with me in the hospital ... and if he saw anything he shouldn’t have.
Gross.
When an attractive man who is definitely not your significant other assists you in childbirth, you make sure he doesn’t see your lady parts. Trust me. I had a very strictnothing below the kneespolicy when it came to what Saint was allowed to see. Still, I can tell how squeamish my brother is. It would be almost laughable if things weren’t so tense right now.
“All right, Walker, let the man inside,” I grumble at my brother.
Walker mutters under his breath, something about how he wasgetting to that, but he ultimately beckons Saint inside before leaning against the door frame himself.
“You staying for pizza, Reeves? I’m about to put an order in.” Saint taps his phone screen and holds it up to his ear, presumably having saved a local pizzeria’s number on speed dial. I don’t know why that’s so hot ... it just is.
“I’ve got a meeting, but you two enjoy. Call me if you need anything.”
While Saint’s on the phone, I pull Walker in for a hug and squeeze him tight. “See? He’s not so bad.”
