I drop my phone on the charger turn off my light and try to push down the uneasy feeling in my gut. Does Mallory want to tell me how hurt she was by what we did? Does she regret it? Or worse does she not and she's coming here to confess feelings or something insane? I mean, she's great. I miss her in my life, but I don't want to date anyone right now. I have one responsibility. Hockey. And that's exactly the way I want it.
Chapter2
Mallory
Inever thought that the first time I flew first class it would be with a nine-month-old, bruised ribs, and a court-ordered temporary custody agreement. But yet, here we are. And spoiler alert, if you think the angry stares you get when your child wails in economy are embarrassing, you should see the ones you get in first class.
“Dyllie Bear, these people didn’t pay thousands to listen to your lungs,” I whisper against his ear as I pat his back and pray to any and all powers that be for him to stop wailing.
The man in the pod-like seat across the aisle gives me a sympathetic smile. “He was excellent most of the flight.”
“Thank you,” I whisper back, which he probably doesn’t even hear because Dylan decides to raise the decibel to migraine levels with his next scream.
Someone sighs, annoyed. I think it’s the woman behind me who either has never had a kid or doesn’t remember what it’s like. Or maybe rich babies don’t scream on flights. What do I know?
Luckily we are seconds from landing, which is probably why he’s screaming. His ears are likely popping up a storm. Dylan has had a lot of ear trouble. He’s only nine months but he’s had three severe ear infections. Diana and Felix were discussing possibly putting tubes in his ears.
Now that will be his father’s decision. If he wants Dylan.
My eyes fill with tears and I blink them back because the last thing I need is to look as lost and hopeless as I feel. We have to get through customs and the situation is already precarious. The baby isn't mine. Dylan's mother is dead and I was given temporary custody by a foreign court. Also, Dylan doesn't have a US passport yet. The man Diana wanted to raise Dylan, the man who promised to, swore everything would be fine as he shoved a stack of paperwork, and a first-class, one-way ticket at me.
I look at Dylan's blotchy, wet face and cradle the back of his head. He's got silky blond hair. Thicker and lusher than I would have expected him to have. He hasn't lost any either like some babies do. I know the color is from Diana, but the thickness and texture are from his dad. I had my fingers laced through that hair only once in my life but I remember how thick and soft it felt.
I shake my head to rid it of the memory that has so many mixed emotions still attached to it. It was a mistake. The biggest of my life. It changed the course of everything, for Tate and Diana and me. And I’ve spent a good chunk of each day since that ill-fated night to think about how wrong it was. I don’t think Tate or Diana thought about it much at all.
To be fair, Diana had been busy trying to string together an entirely new life for her and Dylan. And Tate was busy being the prince of the hockey rink. I googled him, for the first time in months, while I sat in the hospital bed after the crash. Tate was having an epic year on the ice. The L.A. Quake were guaranteed a playoff spot, maybe even top of their division. He’s also about to beat some record his dad has held, which knowing Tate the way I do… I did… it’s gotta have him buzzing with excitement and pride.
I know Tate's personal success hinges on beating his dad. It's a rivalry he takes seriously and lives entirely in his own head. Mr. Garrison would love nothing more than to see Tate crush his own career, so it's not an actual rivalry. I've always thought Tate's attitude created a slight level of toxicity. One that he should be grateful isn't there naturally, like it is in my family.
My dad also played hockey professionally. Not as long or as well as Jordan Garrison, and so I know of what I speak. My father, Chance Echolls, constantly feels threatened by my brother Emmett who plays and at the very same time makes both me and my brother Beckett feel inadequate for not being involved with, or obsessed with, hockey.
Dylan sniffles loudly. I kiss his forehead, warm with the exertion of crying, and the landing gear slams into contact with the ground. Dylan wails again. “It’s okay buddy. That means we’re on the ground again. Your ears will be fine soon. I promise.”
They better be because we don’t have healthcare here, I think to myself. We technically don’t have anything.
My blood chills with the weight of what I have to do. Present Tate, my unrequited former crush, with a baby that is his, but isn't mine. A child he knew absolutely nothing about. A child I helped keep from him. And then I have to beg him to accept Dylan. Because the poor kid has no one else in this God-forsaken world.
Okay. Yeah. I'm tearing up. I sniff and blink as people begin unbuckling their seatbelts and yanking down their overhead baggage. The kind middle-aged man across the aisle leans in. "You're doing great, Mom. Do you want me to hold him while you get your bag?"
I nod, not bothering to correct him about the mom part. This story is too horrendous to burden a stranger with. I wish I was Dylan’s mom because I love him, unconditionally, just like Diana did. And if I was his mom, he would have someone. Right now, he has no one.
I quickly unbuckle as the kind man plucks Dylan from me and puts him on his hip like a pro, then stand and grab my bag from the overhead compartment. I have three extra-large suitcases to pick up and a car seat, but I will deal with that later. I can strap Dylan to my chest for that part. The carrier is in my bag. I quickly take him back and he blabbers something in his baby language. "He says thank you for the help. You're too kind."
“I’m just kind.” The guy shrugs. “You look like someone who would do the same.”
If only you knew.
I smile, grateful, and he motions for me to go ahead of him as the flight attendant opens the door and people begin to disembark. I have a new task to deal with and luckily Dylan has stopped wailing. He’s tired now so he rests his chubby cheek on my shoulder as soon as I get him strapped into his carrier. I didn’t bring a lot of his stuff because there just wasn’t room. If Tate agrees to accept him, he’ll have more than enough money to buy Dylan new toys and baby items.
By the time we get to the front of the customs line, I'm almost quaking with anxiety. I mean, I'm not doing anything illegal, but I've never crossed into another country with a baby before, let alone one that isn't mine. The guy glances at us and his face lights up at Dylan's still-red face with wet cheeks and droopy eyes.
“Rough flight?” he asks and shoots me a sympathetic smile.
I nod. He takes my passport and Dylan’s, which has his back stiffening because Dylan’s is a United Kingdom passport and mine is American. “I’m the nanny.”
I hand him the file folder the lawyer gave me at Felix’s law firm. He opens it and glances at the paperwork inside. “I have to call my boss.”
I nod. There's nothing else I can do. If they deny Dylan entry I will just take him back to Diana's sister in the UK. She said she couldn't take him. Told Diana flat-out not to make her a guardian or Godparent, so Diana didn't. And when she found out about the accident, and that Felix was not going to adopt Dylan like he'd promised when he asked Diana to marry him, Stephanie cried with me on the phone. "I'm pregnant with my own kid. I can't… Jonathan says it would be unfair to our baby. I'm sorry Mal. But if you want him, I will support you in the process. Adopt him yourself and we will help you. I promise."
