Page 18 of Cross-Checked

A flush creeps up my neck. “You all are acting like I can’t possibly take care of a baby for the next few hours.”

“Nooo,” McCabe says slowly. “We’re acting like it’s not yourjobto take care of a baby, especially during a game.”

“My job,” I say, a hard edge to my voice as I lock my gaze back on him, “is to make sure my players are on the ice and ready to play. And if taking care of your baby in an emergency situation is what I need to do for you to go out there and win, it’s what I’m going to do.”

“On the ice, boys,” Charlie snaps, as McCabe and I remain squared off like we’re ready to fight. And as everyone around us filters out of the room, we stay six feet apart, locked in a battle of the wills.

“I don’t want to be that guy,” McCabe says quietly before pressing his lips to his daughter’s head while bouncing her in his arms.

“What guy is that?”

“The one who asks his GM, the only female in the room, to watch his kid.”

Well, that’s unexpectedly thoughtful.

“You’re not asking, I’m insisting. And while I appreciate your attention to gender roles, in this situation, it doesn’t matter. I need you out there on the ice tonight. I need you to play. And if being responsible for her so you can do your job is what’s needed, that’s what I’m going to do. It’s what any GM should do in this situation—male or female.”

“You know that no one else in your position would do this, right?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Maybe not,” I admit. But I’m not about to let my pride—the fact that I’m in charge of an entire hockey organization, and not a damn babysitter—get in the way of my team winning tonight. “But we need this win, which means I need you out there.”

“Can’t win without me, huh?” He’s teasing, but I hear what he’s saying—I need to sign him to a new contract. But for that to happen, he needs to compromise. Which is a conversation for another time.

“I’d rather not find out tonight. So get out on the ice.”

“She can be really fussy with new people,” he warns and, as if she understands him, her face scrunches up and she lets out a cry. She looks pissed off, and I can’t blame her. If I’d been passed around a circle of hockey players singing off-key, I’d be pissed too.

“We’ll be fine,” I assure him.

“She’s teething.”

“Most babies do.”

“It’s almost her bedtime.”

“She can sleep on me.”

“Are you really sure you want to do this?” he asks with a subtle shake of his head. “The optics...”

“I don’t give a shit about the optics, Ronan!” I say, and his look of surprise as I use his first name—something I haven’t done in the entire time I’ve been in Boston—stops me for a moment. “What matters tonight, is winning. After that, we can focus on finding you a new nanny.”

His eyebrows dip and he looks at me suspiciously. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” I ask on an exasperated breath. He’s acting like I’m offering him my kidney, instead of offering to help him out with this baby for a few hours. I can’t go out there and play for him, so I’ll do everything else that’s within my power to ensure a win.

“Helping me?”

“What part ofwe need to win tonightisn’t resonating?” This man is infuriating. It’s like he needs to question everything I say and turn every conversation into a fight, and I’m already tired of saying the same thing over and over.

He sighs so deeply it seems to physically deflate him, and then he places his baby into my outstretched arms. “Don’t make me stop hating you now.” His words are practically whispered as he watches me take his baby and turn her so she’s facing me.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply flippantly as I hold his little cuddle bug against my chest. She settles immediately, no trace of the fussy baby who was being passed around the circle minutes ago. I run my fingertips up and down her back, and her head grows heavy on my breasts. “Does she have a name?”

I already know her name, of course. I take my job as GM seriously, and make sure I know my players’ families. Too bad I never thought to memorize their home addresses. It could have saved me from buying a place across the hall from McCabe.

“Abby.”

“Hey, Abby,” I coo down at her, and her eyes flutter closed, long eyelashes resting against her chubby cheeks. I glance back up to find him watching us closely. “Do you have one of those baby carriers so I can strap her onto me?”

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