FAKING IT WITH #41 (Hockey Hotties #3)

Chapter 1

As the starting right wing for the Florida Fury, I’m used to hearing a woman scream in my bedroom in the middle of the night, but the wailing from the nursery down the hall that startles me out of a dead sleep… not so much.

My life has done a one-eighty in the last four months since my daughter was born.

I run a hand through my hair, walking into her nursery wearing a pair of sweatpants. There’s only a crib in the middle of the room, so it’s easy to find her even without the blaring siren of her scream. What can I say? My daughter has a good set of lungs.

I scoop her up, seeing her bright blue eyes matching mine, staring back at me. Please tell me she doesn’t have that mischievous rebel living inside her like I do. My mom says the blue eyes made it difficult for people to be hard on me. That I’ve gotten away with too much in my life. And she’s right.

I’d say she was smiling if I hadn’t read that it’s most likely gas. I’ve binge-read book after book on raising a baby over the past six months, though it’s not done me much good. I still feel out of my depth.

I change her diaper and nuzzle her into my chest before I take her downstairs to warm a bottle. Once it’s ready, I sit in the big lounge chair in the corner of my family room, seeing the letter her mother left me earlier today laying on the end table.

I’m really sorry, Ford. I can’t do this. I’m not meant to be a mother. You’re so good to her. Love her extra for me.

The anger swells inside me all over again. How does a mother leave her baby? Especially in my incapable hands. I’m fairly sure Britney thinks I’ll be a good father because I have money. Not only from playing in the league, but because I’m a trust fund baby. I wanted to raise Annabelle without the help of a nanny since my arrangement with Britney was that I’d have Annabelle on my off days during the season. Now I’m a full-time dad, so I’m not sure I have much of a choice but to enlist someone else’s help.

I had nannies growing up and it wasn’t all bad. They could rarely keep me in line and we went through a full dozen of them before Mrs. Gardner arrived. She was a classic British nanny and wasn’t scared of my rebellious antics at all. She retired once my youngest sister got into high school, but I’m wondering if she’d be available somehow. Then I remember how harsh her punishments were and the fact that I don’t want to look to the nanny for answers of how my daughter’s day was.

“I guess it’s just you and me.”

A small sound comes out of her.

“I hope you like Yellowstone. You’ll see some horses, and don’t worry, I’ll cover your eyes at the bad parts.”

I click on my DVR, pressing Play on the last episode I was bingeing. Maybe this is a bad decision, but as the music starts, her eyes slowly close.

“You just wanted to be with Daddy, huh? Well, that’s one thing I’m used to when it comes to the female population. But you’re a better date than any of them.” I chuckle to myself and watch the show.

Feeling her weight in my arms reminds me how big of a responsibility this is and how I’ve never been a very responsible guy. After placing her in the bassinet next to me, I gently sway it back and forth until my own eyelids grow heavy. Since she has a crib in her room, I keep the bassinet on the main floor for when I need to set her down.

I come awake to the sound of my phone vibrating on the kitchen counter across the room—or more accurately, the sound wakes Annabelle. Daylight streams into the room and I can’t believe the clock says it’s ten in the morning.

I stand up with Annabelle and grab my phone off the counter. My sister Imogen’s name flashes on the screen.

“What’s up, little sis?” I answer, putting the call on speakerphone.

“I should ask you that.”

Annabelle makes some kind of gurgling sound in my arms, so I adjust her.

“Is that my niece?” Imogen asks.

“No, it’s my date from last night. She’s looking for a tit to suck on.”

“Language, jeez, Ford.” Imogen blows out a judgmental breath.

“She’s four months old.”

“Do you want her first word to be tit?”

I chuckle. “It would make for a funny story.”

Another breath sounds through the phone as though she thinks I’m going to be the worst dad ever. Nothing I don’t already know.

“Well, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. We’re leaving the airport.”

I glance around at the dirty bottles stacked by the sink, the dirty diapers overfilling the garbage, and the basketful of washed clothes I’ve yet to fold that I set on the island two days ago and haven’t moved since.

“Who is we?” But I already know who she means. And he’s only coming here because word must’ve already reached New York that I’m a single dad now.

“Rumor is you’ve been left with a baby on the porch.” Imogen confirms my worst suspicion. “Dad says he doesn’t want you doing anything stupid. So I’m tagging along to play peacekeeper.”

“You gotta stop him. I don’t want him here. I can handle this myself.”

She sighs, familiar with the wall between my father and myself. One we’ve built brick by brick over the years. It’s the same old story—he wants me to run the family business and I want no part of it. He’ll try to use Annabelle as leverage to get me to leave my professional hockey career and take my rightful place as he sees it. He’s going to put a hard sell on me, I just know it. And with how exhausted I am, I might not have the usual fight in me.

“I don’t think I can stop him. In fact, I gotta go. See you in a bit.” She hangs up the phone.

My doorbell rings. I groan, hoping it’s my housekeeper who is somehow telepathic and knows I need her magic cleaning powers.

I open the door. Sadly, my wish wasn’t granted.

My mom barges in first, swiping Annabelle out of my arms like a professional thief.

“Nice to see you, Mom.”

But she ignores me because she’s already cooing at her first grandchild.

My dad’s busy on the phone, so I’m rewarded with a stern glare as he follows my mom in.

Next is my youngest sister, Morgan, who graduates from high school this year. She at least pauses and kisses me on the cheek. “What’s up, Daddy-o?” She laughs and continues into my beach house. “You don’t mind if I swim and lie out?”

“Have at it,” I say, looking at Imogen. “What kind of heads-up was that?”

She laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t realize we were so close already.” Her laughter continues as she walks past me into the house.

I move to shut the door, but another voice alerts me to someone else before the woman in question emerges from around the corner. Our eyes meet and I swear it’s like we’re two cowboys in a standoff in a western movie. It’s no secret the two of us dislike one another. Always have—except for that brief kiss on New Year’s Eve, but that was ten months ago.

“Lena Boyd,” I say, distaste clear in my tone.

“How much s**t can you step in?” She shakes her head and tries to slide past me, but I step to the side, blocking her from entering my house.

“You’re not welcome here.”

She loses her footing for a minute and falters back. I don’t bother to grab her arm. It must be her casual day today. Jeans, a T-shirt, sandals, and an open sweater. Not very professional. Although with the way her t**s are snuggly fit into that shirt, I’m not complaining.

“Don’t be a bigger ass than you already are.” She steps forward.

I block her again. “Why are you here?”

“Because I have to spin this story somehow so you come out looking like the doting father and not some rich prick who chased off his baby mama.” She crosses her arms, clearly not in the mood for my shitty, sleep-deprived attitude.

“Let Lena in, Ford,” my mom says from behind me. “And you cannot raise my grandbaby in this filth.”

Lena shoots me a look because she knows I never disobey my mother. I step aside and she walks past me as though she’s the f*****g president or some s**t.

I slam the door and rest my forehead on it. Then I grab every ounce of patience and courage for what is surely going to be a shitty day.