Page 14 of Dirty Deal (Slayers Hockey 5)

“Good idea. But tomorrow. It’s late. I’m thinking we feed Otto one last time and call it a night while you can still mostly access your bed.” Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “Or maybe you’re planning on taking the futon to the front door again, and the bed’s not an issue?”

His head drops, shoulders going slack. But not before I see the smile split the thick stubble of his face.

“First, you told Anders about it—”

“Oh yeah, mark my words”— I head for the kitchen —“I’m telling everyone.”

Chapter 6

Axel

I’m a confident guy. Not some douchey dickhead with a superiority complex and the need to show everyone in the room that I’m the brain to beat. But smart enough that school came easy. Friends. Girls, obviously. And yeah, sports.

But nothing in my life has ever delivered a blow to my confidence so much as this tiny human staring up at me with his hazed blue eyes and impossibly fucking difficult diaper tabs.

“For fuck’s sake, it’s not rocket science.” I’m already on diaper number three, trying to unstick it from myself, Otto’s bare skinny hip, and the wrong damn spot on the diaper.

And he’scrying. His little face scrunched up like the wrinkliest raisin, his tiny lip jutted in not just annoyance, but absolute soul-crushing heartbreak.

“You want help?” Nora calls from beyond the closed bathroom door. I told her I’d take care of him this morning since she’s getting up with him during the night, and I meant it. He’s my son. I should be able to change him.

“Nope. I got it,” I call over my shoulder before turning back to Otto. “Bear with me, kid. This one’s a dud, but we’ll get the next.”

Diaper number four looks like a winner, but then I somehow get the tab stuck on my sleeve and the whole thing comes out from under his bony little bum. I’m seriously about to lose my shit because at four days in, I should have this down.

The door opens behind me and then she’s there, smelling like green apples and fresh-from-the-shower Nora. Hair wrapped in a pink towel, her body in a thick robe, she frees the diaper and hands it to me, not taking over but just standing there like the calming presence she is.

Sometimesis.

Sometimes all I can think about is how it used to be, and calming definitely isn’t the word.

No room for those thoughts now, though.

She rests a terry-clad hip against the table and coos at my son, all warm smiles and soft, adoring sounds that work to soothe my butt-hurt ego as well. How does she do that?

I catch her quiet snort a second before I notice the warm pee trickling between my fingers. Perfect.

I’d been ready to lose it less than a minute ago, but somehow, her amusement— which is totally theat me, notwith mevariety —puts a grin on my face. Damn, I don’t want to like her.

“Laugh it up.”

“Better cover that fire hose,” she sings, her enjoyment at my expense obvious. She hands me another diaper before returning to the bathroom.

This one I nail.

Otto and I head back to my room where I prop a couple pillows at the headboard and peel my shirt off for some skin-to-skin chill time. O gets nappy-naked, as the nurse at the hospital called it, then I lay him over my chest and drape a light blanket on his back before picking up the board book one of the ladies recommended. I read to him softly and then grab my phone.

The texts have been escalating since my no-show for the flight to Nashville Saturday morning. That shit doesn’t happen. Especially not to me. I’m there for every game. Every practice. Hell, I’m the one making damn sure the rest of the guysget their asses to the tarmac on time. And the fact that I wasn’t replying to them only made shit worse.

Guaranteed, if the team hadn’t been on the road the last few days, Otto and I would have come home from the hospital to a broken-down door and Boomer and Bowie freaking the fuck out on my soiled couch while they drank my beer and decimated my snacks. Who am I kidding, Grady’d be there too. He’s like my backup babysitter for those clowns.

They’ve got a game tonight, but they’re back tomorrow, and I still haven’t talked to them, because apparently, fatherhood has turned me into a total chickenshit.

I heave a breath. Smooth a hand over Otto when he squirms. And bite the bullet, firing off a quick group text to wish them luck in tonight’s game and tell them I’ll see them tomorrow when they’re back. My phone immediately lights up, but I thumb it to silent. I’ll man up tomorrow.

* * *

Nora

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