“Mmkay.” She pushed up slowly, her eyes staying closed.
He helped her stand and pointed her towards the bedroom. She moved, wobbling, so he kept his hands on her upper arms and guided her all the way to his bed.
She went to crawl right into it, and he stopped her. “Want to get changed?”
“Mmkay.” She pulled her top up, baring a pale slice of belly.
“Whoa there, princess.” He stopped her. Then he grabbed the t-shirt and shorts she slept in the night before and dropped them on the bed. “There you go.”
“Gotta…wash my face.” She lazily snatched up the shorts and tee and swanned out the door for the bathroom.
He took her absence as a quick opportunity to put on more comfortable sleep clothes himself, peeling off his warm sweater for the tee beneath it, and swapping out his jeans for a pair of sweatpants.
Then he almost collided with her in the doorway.
Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, holding on for dear life.
“All right, into bed.” He turned them around and pointed her at the pillow where her head would be safe.
“You too.” As she slid onto his bed, her hand caught his and she held on, pulling him part way down with her.
He caught himself, his arm straight, braced next to her body. “Mon—”
“You called me princess again,” she muttered, shifting over. “You owe me one.”
He could lay next to her until she fell asleep, he supposed. For the slip up on the nickname she hated. That sounded fair.
“Tell me about the hockey player.” She stretched out, staring up at the ceiling.
He rolled onto his back, stretching out beside her, and folded his outside arm up behind his head. “When I moved back, I found out Becca was pregnant. Owen was not happy. That was a whole thing, because my brother wasn't ready to be a grandpa. Probably most people wouldn’t be, in his shoes. And he didn't approve of the kid—that’s what he called Hayden. The kid. And…a few other more colourful names.”
Monica laughed. “I can imagine.”
“Obviously, I'm no expert on how to do relationships. But we didn’t have high hopes. It seemed messy at the time. My role as an uncle is to be worried and threaten to kick ass when necessary.”
“Tell me you didn’t beat up a teenager.”
He chuckled. “No, it didn’t come to that. He started showing up for her and their son in the way they needed him to. And now…the kid has turned into a bonafide NHL star. She's proud of him. He's really devoted to her and their child. So the whole town is, you know— Now we like the guy.”
“And he plays for a team you like?”
“I’d like whatever team he was on. This is his second team. The first team, the one that gave him a try out contract—they were in a rebuilding phase, and he was a trading token to them. But it worked out, because they traded him to a team that’s just a few hours from here. And the first team they weren't contenders. But now his team plays like every game matters and it looks like they might actually make the playoffs if they just keep winning.”
“So you want to watch his game and cheer him on.”
He shrugged. “It’s as good as any way to fill my evenings, especially now that winter soccer is over and the fields are too wet to play on.”
“And covered in snow.”
He laughed. “That’s only for a few days. But it takes forever for all that melted snow to drain away. I won’t play again until May.”
“Soccer, huh?”
“Yeah. I play on a couple of different teams. depends on the time of year. Right now, we just finished an indoor season. Getting ready for the spring training.”
“Acoupleof teams?” She glanced sideways, and he felt her gaze rake over his chest, his arms. An investigative, assessing perusal he felt like a touch. He resisted the urge to flex. It wasn't like that. “That’s hardcore.”
He liked to keep busy.
