Scoring Off The Ice: Ice Kings, #2 Read online

  As I make my way down the small hallway to my bathroom, my ears perk up at a soft, odd noise. I give a quick scan around the living area and entryway and I double check that the television is off. It’s not sirens from outside, at least not that I can tell, but it seems to be coming from inside my apartment.

  Like someone screaming, or crying, but far away. It’s muffled and soft, but it has to be loud for me to hear it. Other than his door slamming when he comes and goes, my unknown and hot neighbor is usually quiet. The strange sound grows louder, and I can’t brush away my curiosity. I set down my glass of wine and peer out the door.

  What in the heck? My jaw almost hits the wood floor surface at my feet. I pull back and rub my eyes. There has to be a mistake to what I’ve seen.

  Without further thinking, I throw open my door and hurry to his. A blanket draped over the car seat sitting outside his door moves. The ear-piercing squealing sound is no longer unknown.

  It’s a baby. In a car seat. Left outside my neighbor’s door and there’s absolutely no one else in sight.

  What in the hell is going on?

  This baby can’t keep screaming like this. Its cheeks are already bright red, turning purple and huge tears fall down its cheeks, so I fling off the blue and white checked blanket, figure out how to unstrap the straps from his chest and gently lift him out. I’m guessing it’s a boy based on all the blue. Hard to tell when babies are so small, and he is small. It’s been awhile since I babysat infants, but I worked afternoons at a daycare when I was in high school and always loved being in the infant room.

  “Shhh. Hey, little guy,” I croon in his ear and gather him up. My body has gone lava hot and I look back down the hall toward the elevator. There’s not a single soul in sight, but he was left here for a reason. “It’s okay.”

  I bounce the baby in my arms and readjust the blanket wrapped around his legs. When I do, an envelope flutters to the floor and I grab it without thinking.

  Mikah.

  It’s the name scrolled on the outside of it which makes my brows pinch. Have I finally figured out the name of my hottie neighbor? Or the baby in my arms?

  Only one way to figure it out.

  I turn toward the door and lift my hand to knock. I definitely should have stopped by before to ask for that sugar or egg.

  This is not the way I want to meet the guy who makes me wet on sight.

  Chapter Three

  Mikah

  * * *

  Water runs down my arms and drips from my hair. I’m wrapped in a towel at the waist, clinging to it at the hip as I race down the hallway. The incessant pounding on my door began when I was in the shower and hasn’t stopped since I finally got sick of trying to relax and ignore it.

  There’s no reason for it either since the building has security. No one should be allowed inside without me being notified. But it doesn’t always work perfectly even though the security is one of the main reasons why I bought the place.

  My thighs burn from the quick movements. I probably shouldn’t have put in the extra time once I arrived back home, but I’m determined to be the best. Always. Despite the sacrifice. Still, I need ice, a heating pad, and a gallon of water to rehydrate.

  I reach the front door, tighten my fist at my hip where my towel sits and fling the door open.

  “What is wrong?”

  The pretty girl I have seen ducking inside her apartment across the hall whips around. Her blonde hair comes first, tied back at her neck and her green eyes are huge.

  She is so pretty. No. That word does not say enough. She is verkelig smuk. Very beautiful. Vidunderlig.

  Immediately catching my gaze is a squished up, red face, with huge dark eyes and an odd-shaped nose. That is all I can see peeking out from beneath a blue and white striped hat.

  I have never seen her with him before. She seems so young. Around my age, I thought. My mouth drops open and I point. “You have a baby?”

  She is snuggling the baby close to her and at my words, she moves the baby away. Her expression changes into something I don’t like. Not even a little bit.

  It feels like doom.

  Like the look on my father’s face the day I didn’t make the junior league hockey team despite being the only kid my age invited to tryout—two years younger than anyone else.

  That look should not be so familiar on a stranger.

  Whatever it is. It is not good.

  “No,” she says. It’s the first word she’s ever spoken to me other than hello, but it’s as pretty as the rest of her. “I think… well, I think he’s yours?”

  “What?” I’m already stepping back. I had only opened the door far enough to poke my head through but as I move back my door opens. “I do not have a baby.”

  “I’m guessing the note I found when I heard this little guy crying out here is going to say you’re wrong about that.”

  What note crazy neighbor lady? Before I can ask, a white envelope in one of her hands is held directly in front of my face. I reach for it, and at the same time, get a drastic waft of cool air across my waist.

  “Oh shit,” the woman says, holding a baby… gaze dropping to my—

  “Shit!” I crouch down and grab the towel, holding it in front of me. I am now naked in front of a woman claiming I have a baby. I’m pretty sure I passed out in the shower. I had to have slammed my head into the marble tile and this is all a dream.

  Everything since I opened the door is entirely impossible. Plus, I’m now naked. If I could write a list of top ten worst first impressions to make on a pretty woman, I’m pretty sure this will take the number one slot.

  Not to mention my naked state.

  “Oh!” She spins, putting her back to me. The baby in her arms starts crying and I am speechless.

  One weekend. I was careful. She claimed she was too.

  What in the world am I supposed to do? There is no playbook for situations like this. And that’s all I know. Studying hockey. Studying games. Being better. Faster. Stronger. People… they are not where I succeed.

  “Sorry. I am so sorry about that. But that—” I point at the squished up face. “But this cannot be my baby.”

  Her blonde hair sways as she bounces the baby who is now crying louder. “Well, there was a note in the baby’s blanket. He was crying outside your door and there is a diaper bag next to it. And like I said, he was outside your door, not mine, so…”

  “I haven’t…” I close my mouth.

  I am not admitting to this girl who I’ve always thought is so pretty that I have only had sex with one woman.

  One weekend. My twenty-third birthday. The weekend my teammates finally convinced me to let go. It was no secret before then I was a virgin. I’ve played for the Carolina Ice Kings since I was twenty. Hockey is my life. Always has been. It’s been my sole focus. But our season was off to a rocky start. I wasn’t playing well. And for the first time, I allowed myself to be pulled into the mayhem of after game partying. I allowed Newman and Maddox, my teammates, to drag me to a bar… and then I brought a woman home with me.

  Angela. She taught me what she liked, and I was a quick learner. Then I realized I liked it a lot of different ways. She was more than willing to let me experiment, let me figure out everything I liked and how to please her.

  Two mornings later, she woke up, and after I told her thank you, she smiled and laughed a gentle laugh. There were no promises.

  But I also did not think there would be consequences. Not of this magnitude.

  “I…” I have no idea what to say but quickly scramble. First, I need to get dressed. In lightweight clothes because I’m sweating like I’ve finished a workout. As I tighten the towel around my waist, I realize I’m shaking. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Her pink lips spread into a smile and I’m momentarily distracted from the fact I’m naked and there’s a strange baby screaming in my hallway.

  Her smile is that distracting.

  “Well, you could go get some clothes on. Take
the note and the baby and let me get back to my Friday night.”

  Right. The note. The baby. Possibly my baby. This cannot be.

  She does have a point.

  “Come in? For a moment? Please?”

  I do need to get dressed so I step back and hurry down the hallway hoping like hell she does come in, then I send up more prayers that this is a joke. A horrible prank by a teammate. Newman would do this to me because he would think it’s funny.

  But where would Newman get a baby? And why?

  I am in trouble. Big trouble. Too many thoughts jumble in my mind as I reach my bedroom. I drop the towel and grab the first pair of sweats and shirt I can find, tugging them on, fearing for an attack of my heart. It is too fast. Racing.

  I might need a doctor.

  I need to get control before I see the pretty woman who I am certain might also be crazy.

  Who brings a baby to my door and tells me it’s mine?

  Crazy people. That’s who.

  This is not happening. It cannot be. My season starts soon. Training camp. Pre-season. Six months of games, three nights a week, traveling.

  I cannot be a father.

  My hip bumps my dresser as that thought hits and I settle my ass to it, barely holding myself up. My knees might give out. I might faint.

  Father.

  I cannot be a father.

  “Shit.” I scrub my face, heel of my palms press into my closed eyes. I cannot be a father. A dad. En far.

  But there is also only one way to find out. From outside the door, the cries of the baby, who is definitely not mine, have quieted. I make my way toward the woman who might need to see a doctor for making up such a story to scare me. Perhaps she wants money. I will give her all of mine to take the baby away.

  As I think it, another pain hits my chest.

  If it is mine… do I want it to go away?

  I reach the living room and pull to a stop. The girl is swaying slowly, hips swishing back and forth. Her back is to me, but as she moves, I see the blue and white blanket swish with the rhythm of her body.

  It is quiet now, which is good.

  “Who are you?” I don’t like calling her the woman. I’ve wondered her name for months since she started appearing in that doorway so close to mine.

  She turns to me and in her arms is the baby. She’s holding a bottle and the baby is drinking. Quiet little sounds come from it and she grins down at the baby in her arms before tilting her head at me.

  “What?”

  “You. What is your name?”

  “Paisley. Are you Mikah?”

  She must want money if she knows my name. Perhaps she’s a fan. A puck bunny—that’s what my teammates call the girls who follow players and only want one thing from them.

  “How did you know?” I wish she wasn’t so pretty. Sometimes it hurts to talk when all I want to do is look at her.

  She points to an envelope on the table. The note.

  “It’s on the outside. I didn’t know if it was your name or the baby’s, so I took a guess. Are you… are you okay?”

  “A stranger shows up at my door with a baby in her arms, saying it’s mine. How okay am I supposed to be?” I wander to the table while I ask. I’m surprised by her gentle laugh.

  “I suppose this isn’t your typical Friday night.”

  She is funny. If I didn’t think I might throw up, I might laugh. No. This is not my typical Friday night. Mine are for resting. Not life-changing drama.

  I say nothing and grab the envelope. I stare at it for a moment. Perhaps if I do not open it, I can pretend this didn’t happen. My fingers shake as I tear it open.

  The envelope is larger than normal and thick and I’m careful as I pull out several folded papers.

  The top one is the most important though as I instantly see my name, written in scrolling black ink.

  * * *

  Mikah,

  His name is Angelo.

  * * *

  Emotion punches me in the chest. Angelo. I turn, see the woman. No, I see Paisley still rocking back and forth. Her gaze is on me, hand on the bottle still in the baby’s mouth. No, Angelo’s mouth.

  A boy. I might have a son. My jaw tightens and I turn back to the letter that is now burning my fingertips.

  * * *

  He is yours. I promise, even though I’m sure you won’t believe me. I’ve done the best I can. I’m sorry. I can’t keep him. I thought I could, and I tried. I can’t do this. So Angelo is yours. All yours.

  I found out I was pregnant in December and I debated contacting you and then I wondered how much you’d hate me, or if you’d want to do the “right” thing and make us a family. And I didn’t want either. We had a weekend, and I enjoyed it, but the family life… I’m sorry, but that isn’t what I want. So I tried to take care of him on my own but I don’t think I’m cut out to be a mom.

  I’m easy to find, but as painful as this is to say, and how horrible of a woman, a mother this makes me, I don’t want him back.

  I have included his birth certificate and social security card. If you need to contact me, my name is on his certificate.

  Angela

  * * *

  Angela. A hockey puck lodges in my throat and the paper in my hand crumples. She knew. She never said. She didn’t come to me. Not even for money.

  I ball the paper in my fist and as I do, I see the paper beneath it.

  Birth Certificate. It looks legal even though my name is not on it and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Does it give me hope that she’s lying? Or does it piss me off that she didn’t even allow him to claim me in name?

  Angelo Martin.

  If he’s mine, it should be Lutzgo.

  Another swell of emotion tightens my chest, prevents my breathing. My breaths come in short spurts and I press my hand there as I turn, remembering Paisley is still here.

  Holding my son.

  “What the hell am I going to do?”

  Her eyes widen and my knees buckle. Thank God for the couch that is right here because I grip the armrest before I go down and move to the couch.

  “His name is Angelo,” I tell her, although I don’t feel like it’s my voice saying these words. It certainly doesn’t sound like my voice. “And he was born in July.”

  And then I stare at the both of them.

  I believe the woman who wrote the letter and what it says. The woman in front of me looks so comfortable, so beautiful holding my baby, and I have never held one in my life. I have no idea what to say.

  Chapter Four

  Paisley

  * * *

  Mikah. Angelo.

  The bundle in my arms squirms but I can’t pull my eyes off the guy on the couch who looks approximately point three seconds away from passing out right where he’s sitting. He’s gone from looking at me like I’m crazy to gaping at me like I’m an alien.

  “Angelo,” I murmur and the bundle in my arms kicks his legs. He’s so sweet and easily takes to the bottle. When Mikah took off to his bedroom to get dressed, a visual I am intently trying to forget I ever saw otherwise I won’t be responsible for my actions because good Lord… wow… that was a pretty sight, I dug through the bag I’d dragged in and found bottles with a note typed and taped to them saying he drinks four ounces of formula every four hours. I filled the bottle with water, dumped in two scoops of formula and while I shook it, the baby stopped crying, like he already recognized the sound.

  He took to it easily, but now he’s shoving the nipple out of his mouth, so I pull it back and hold him for a moment.

  “Do you want to hold him?” Mikah is frozen on the couch like he’s turned into a statue and who can blame him.

  A birth certificate is in his hands and while the note he read is crumpled into a ball and on the floor, he clearly must believe whatever it said.

  I’m dying of curiosity, but it’s not my place.

  “I don’t know how.” He sounds so tortured my heart hurts for him.

  I don’t know t
his man at all and I’ve fantasized about him more than neighborly appropriate. But can I leave him alone with this baby? Does he want to be alone with his baby?

  “I can show you,” I say and my voice is almost a whisper. In my arms, Angelo lets out a low grunt and I remember what I was doing with him. Lifting him, I gently hold him so he’s upright, chest to my shoulder. I rub his back from his bottom toward his shoulders, pressing lightly in the middle. He needs to burp, and Mikah hasn’t moved to help.

  “I don’t…” Mikah shakes his head and then laughs. It’s an airless sound that sounds like he’s choking. “I don’t know you. I don’t know him. I didn’t know… I know… I know nothing.”

  “Hey, hey,” I repeat to get his attention. At my shoulder, Angelo burps and I hold him there, patting his bottom. There are diapers in the bag and he should be changed. The man on the edge of a possible panic attack in front of me is more important.

  Why I feel so invested is the weirdest thing. Perhaps because I can’t just leave a baby with a stranger who has admitted to knowing nothing.

  How did this bizarreness become my life? All I wanted for tonight was a bubble bath and a romance novel. For a moment I question why I bothered checking out my peephole, but then I imagine what could have happened had I not and I shiver. No, I’m glad I found him, and I’ll go home soon, once Mikah is calmer and able to think of a game plan.

  “Is there anyone you can call? Someone who can help, I don’t know… get you settled?”

  My knowledge of babies is vast, and I’m suddenly no longer tired. I blame the adrenaline and fear and craziness of the last twenty minutes for the energy burst, but I can’t leave him looking so lost. For a moment, awareness brightens his brown eyes that are closer to gold than brown and he falls back into the couch. He rattles off a few guys’ names, lets out a word I don’t think is English which makes me more curious. He has an accent, not heavy, but it’s obvious and the more he mutters in what I’m certain is another language, the more attractive he becomes.