Page 11 of Sweet Thing

Adeline

Lars was a father.

Hard to believe, but the evidence was here before me, literally in my arms. The mother must have been in pretty dire straits to drop this on her baby daddy like that. He had looked so shocked, and who could blame him? The woman hadn’t breathed a word.

Rosie moved in, her dark eyes wide with wonder.

“If someone had told me it happened I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“I know. It’s kind of nuts.”

“Absolutely. And how are you on the hook for holding the kid?”

“I was on the spot. What was I supposed to do—drop her?”

The baby gurgled a little and gave what looked like a smile, though maybe that was gas. Here in the middle of all this craziness, she was the calmest one in the place.

“You need to sit down.” Rosie pointed at Dash Carter, the Rebels left winger, who was seated at one of the corner tables near the darts board. “Carter, make room for the woman with the child!”

Dash jumped up just as his fiancée Summer Landry appeared, her face agog. “Whose baby is this?”

“Nyquist’s.” Dash smirked at Summer. “Don’t be getting any ideas, babe. Let’s get the wedding done first.”

Summer blushed. “Did I say anything? Here, let’s sit you down.”

I didn’t know the pretty blonde all that well, but I’d always liked her. She was assistant to Ryder Calloway, the Rebels’ general manager, and was getting married to Dash when this season ended. She budged up beside me while Rosie stood, shielding us from the rest of the bar. Everyone was eying us with interest and who could blame them? I was holding Lars Nyquist’s baby.

“Hey, Ro, grab that bag, would you?”

The mom had left what looked like a diaper bag at Lars’s feet. Rosie picked it up and placed it on the table.

Summer looked at us both. “Should we open it—okay, then.”

Rosie was already unzipping and rifling through the contents. Diapers, a couple of baby bottles, formula, a few onesies.

“Anything identifying?”

“Like a baby passport?” Rosie smirked. “Or the kid’s driver’s license?”

“We don’t even know her name.”

Summer stroked under the baby’s chin. “She’s so dang cute.”

The little one wore a yellow onesie with a picture of a baby bottle and the slogan, “It’s 5 a.m. somewhere.” Summer tickled the baby and earned another grin. “Baby Larina? Or maybe Baby Nyquista?”

“Here we go. A birth certificate.” Rosie held up a piece of paper. “Mabel—aw! Born on …” She did the calculations in her head. “Just turned seven months. And the mother is Vicki Stevenson with the dad’s name listed as Michael Stevenson. I betthatguy isn’t too happy. He thought he was a dad and now, uh oh.”

Speaking of fathers … “Any sign ofmydad?”

Rosie scanned the bar. “Pretty sure I saw him follow Lars out. He’s probably giving him the fatherhood spiel now. Or the kiss of life after the poor guy passed out from shock.”

I didn’t doubt it. My dad had a lot of experience, and he was both the captain and the oldest guy on the team, so that accorded him elder statesman status. Everyone looked to him for advice, comfort, and leadership.

A tall, dark, and instantly recognizable figure appeared at Rosie’s side. I hadn’t seen my brother in person in over a year and usually I’d be up to give him a hug, but the baby.

“What the fuck, Addy?”

“Language, Dino Boy. Baby ears.”

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