Page 74 of Player Misconduct
I shift the car into drive, merging back into the slow stream of city traffic, the late-day sun breaking weakly through the clouds. My phone buzzes in the console, but it’s not her yet.
Not yet.
At the next red light, I open my messages, thumb hovering over Trey’s name. He just bought a house in the suburbs of an expensive gated community once he realized that Adeline couldn’t grow up in the commons.
Then I type:
Me:Hey–any houses for sale in your neighborhood?
Chapter Thirteen
Kendall
The knock at my door comes just as I finally get comfortable on the couch. It’s been a week since Aleksi and I went to the ultrasound appointment together.
I groan as I push myself up and head a few feet to the door. The delivery guy grins when I open it.
“Package for Dr. Hensen,” he says, holding out a clipboard for me to sign.
I squint at the box. Baby-size, but heavy. The label readsNordstrom Kids.
“Oh God,” I mutter, scrawling my signature.
By the time I haul it inside, my phone buzzes.
Aleksi:You home?
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble just as another knock sounds. This knock is heavier against my door.
I open the door to find six feet-three of dripping Finnish hockey player standing in my hallway, hair damp from the rain, grin way too bright for nine in the morning.
“You really don’t need to do this,” I tell him before he even steps inside.
He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Do what?”
“This…” I gesture toward the stack of boxes currently threatening to overtake my entryway. “The delivery guy knows me by name now. I think he’s starting to think I’m running a black-market baby couture boutique out of my apartment.”
Aleksi glances at the boxes and shrugs, stepping past me like he owns the place. “Then it’s working.”
“It’snotworking,” I say, shutting the door. “You’ve already sent bottles, prenatal vitamins, and a stroller I have nowhere to put.”
He grins over his shoulder. “You liked the stroller.”
“Of course I liked the stroller. It’s the nicest one on the market. Isla almost had a heart attack when she saw it in my living room,” I admit, crossing my arms. “But you can’t keep doing this. I can take care of myself.”
He nods, wandering toward the counter where I’ve been living off saltines and orange juice for the past two days. The doctor keeps telling me that the nausea won’t last forever but it feels like it will never end. “I know you can.” he says.
“Then stop acting like I can’t.”
He turns, leaning against the counter, blue eyes soft but steady. “I’m not acting like you can’t. I’m just making sure you don’t have to.”
The knock comes just as I’m brushing the crumbs off my pajama top. Again.
The delivery guy grins when I open the door. “Morning, Dr. Hensen. Another one for you.”
I groan and scrawl my name on the scanner. “Let me guess… baby stuff?”
He taps the box, which is definitely not light. “Feels like it.”
