Chapte Thi teen
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 reads Nordstrom 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’s not working,” 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.”
Of course it does.
I thank him and drag the box inside, half glaring at the neat mountain of
Aleksi’s generosity piling up beside my couch.
I gesture to the second box.
“What? I’m helping,” he says simply. “Also—” he gestures toward my
belly, “—you look like you haven’t eaten today.”
I squint at him. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because you forget to eat when you get busy. And it’s lunch.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” he says, and before I can argue he adds, “I was going to
grab pizza anyway. Come with me.”
The mention of pizza makes my stomach growl loud enough to betray me.
His mouth tilts into that cocky grin that should be illegal.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But only because I’m starving.”
The smell of melted cheese and garlic hits before we even sit down.
We ordered a large half-veggie, half-pepperoni because he refuses to
believe a pizza is complete without meat, and right now, pepperoni sounds
like heartburn, yet another pregnancy symptom that Aleksi said means the
baby will have lots of hair.
At this point, I’d happily take a bald infant if it meant the acid would stop
burning my esophagus.
He leans back in the booth, relaxed in that effortless way only Aleksi can
manage. “So,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes, “how’s the baby?”
“He seems happy,” I tell him, resting a hand over my bump. “I’m starting
to feel more movement now, but it’s faint—like a little butterfly most of the
time. Half the time I can’t tell if it’s him or gas.”
“The baby’s giving you heartburn and gas?” His mouth curves into a grin.
“Sounds like all the things I give you too. Like father, like son.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “And gray
hairs. Don’t forget those. You’ve been giving me a lot of those lately.”
He laughs, low and warm, the sound wrapping around me like a sweet
memory. “Gray hairs? When?” he asks as he pulls another slice of pizza and
takes a giant bite.
“Whenever you step onto the ice.” I admit.
He licks his lips, catching a little pizza sauce and the grease from the
cheese off his lip. “You don’t like watching me play?”
“No… that’s not it. I don’t like watching you get hurt.”
He smirks. “I knew you cared.”
We both laugh and then our food comes. We talk about the season, about
how quiet Seattle feels in the off-week, about where I can make things work
in my studio apartment when the baby gets here until I can get out of my
lease and afford a bigger place.
“Too small for a crib,” I tell him, taking a sip of my lemonade.
“You’ll move soon,” he says, like it’s already decided.
I roll my eyes. “You’re overly confident for someone who doesn’t have to
find housing in this market.”
He laughs. “My father taught me practical optimism. Nikola Makelin was
the epitome of the glass is half full.”
“Your father’s name was Nicola?” I ask. It’s the first time he used it. A
name puts to much more weight to the man who raised Aleksi.
“Yeah, Niko is what my mom called him.”
“I like it.” I say.
“Me too,” he smiles down at me.
When we leave the restaurant, the air is cool, sunlight breaking through a
wet sky. We’re passing storefronts when I notice a display in the window—a
soft cream crib with carved edges and a matching padded rocking chair
beside it. I stop without meaning to.
“You like the crib,” he says quietly.
“It’s gorgeous,” I admit, then shake my head. “But I don’t have room for it
right now.”
Nor do I have the money since I haven’t had a funded savings account in
the years since Tarron. A part of me wants to demand he pay me back, but the
other part knows that even if he pays me back for his debt he’ll act as if I owe
him. Peace of mind is expensive, it would seem. So is marrying the wrong
man.
“Indulge me,” he says, already holding the door open. “It’ll be fun.”
“Aleksi—”
“Come on. You said you wanted a bigger place soon anyway, right?
Doesn’t hurt to look.”
I should say no. Instead, I follow him inside, because I can’t help the
fantasy of what life could look like someday. And shopping with Aleksi for
baby things feels oddly like bonding. His excitement is contagious.
The baby store smells faintly of vanilla and new wood. Soft lullabies hum
through the speakers. And damn it, I fall for everything in the store. The crib,
the rocking chair that fits me like it was molded for my body, the plush
blanket with tiny stitched snowflakes.
A cheerful saleswoman approaches. “Can I help you with anything?”
Before I can answer, Aleksi says, “Yeah, how much for the crib?”
I shoot him a look. “We’re just looking.”
“It’s gorgeous, right?” the woman beams. “We sell out every time. I
actually only have one left in stock—then they’re backordered until spring.”
I start to nod politely. “That’s fine. I’ll come back.”
Aleksi, of course, has other plans. “How much?”
“Eight hundred ninety-five,” she says.
He nods. “We’ll take it.”
“What?”
“I have room in my storage unit. You’ll need it eventually.”
“It’s too expensive, Aleksi. And there’s no rush.”
“You love it,” he says, voice soft but firm. “You should have it.” Then
—“How much for the chair?”
The woman lights up. “That one’s our luxury model—heated, massaging,
bottle warmer built into the armrest. Twelve-fifty.”
“Aleksi,” I demand, “don’t even think about it.”
He grins, as if driving me crazy is half the fun. “We’ll take them both.”
Before I can grab his arm, he’s already handing over his black Amex.
The saleswoman smiles. “Would you like me to keep this on file in case she
needs anything else?”
“Yes,” he says immediately as I say “No”. Then, turning to me, pressing the
card into my hand. “It’s yours from now on. Anything you or the baby need.”
I stare at it. “I can’t take this.”
“You can, and you will.”
“This is insane.”
“It’s not insane. It’s me taking care of both of you. And just so you know…
it feels fucking amazing everytime you let me. So make me happy, okay? You
owe me since that shit head Tarron gets to walk around free and clear,” he
says, entirely too pleased with the fact that he got me there. I did ask for a big
favor, even if it is to protect both of our careers. But fine, I’ll settle on this
one thing.
“Now we’re even,” I tell him, sliding the card in my wallet so I don’t lose
it.
It’s a little terrifying to have a card with no limit in my purse. What if I lose
it, or I get mugged. I try to push the thought away… for now. I know I worry
too much.
The saleswoman returns with a receipt and a bright “Congratulations,”
before I can dig myself out of the hole.
When we step back into the street, the box order confirmed, I’m torn
between melting and murdering him.
“I still feel guilty for letting you do that,” I say quietly.
He stops walking, turns to me. “You’re doing all the hard work, Kendall.
You’re growing me my own little best friend. So let me handle a few easy
things.”
My throat tightens. I hate that he’s this good. I hate that it feels like love. I
hate that he obsoletely means that this little boy is going to be his best friend.
I already know that that’s the kind of relationship my son will have with his
dad.
I hate that he’s making it hard to push him away. To pretend that this was
all just a one-night stand that we’re trying to make the best of it.
Before I can reply, my phone buzzes.
Penelope: Hey, did you ever send those charts to the physical
therapist coming in tomorrow?
Crap. My stomach drops. I didn’t. It completely slipped my mind.
“I need to head into the stadium,” I say quickly. “Forgot to send a few
files.”
“Do it tomorrow,” he says easily.
“I can’t. Penelope needs them in the morning.”
“I was planning to hit the gym anyway,” he says, far too smoothly. “I’ll
drive you. You work, I work. Then I’ll take you home.”
I don’t believe that he was meaning to go to the gym for even a second. But
I can’t help the relief I feel at knowing that I won’t be in a deserted stadium
by myself, with the exception of a couple of security guards, this late at night.
“You were not planning that,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
He grins. “Do you always have to call me out? It makes it hard to be
romantic.”
I try not to smile back. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”
“I know.” His voice gentles. “I just don’t like the idea of you being there
alone.”
And damn it, that word—alone—does me in.
Because as much as I want to resist, it’s nice knowing someone will be
there. Scratch that… it will be nice knowing he’s there.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But only if you promise not to hover.”
He grins, triumphant. “I’ll be on the other side of the stadium in the gym
the entire time. You just come get me when you’re done.”
I roll my eyes but feel my heart soften anyway. “You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he corrects. “Finnish trait.”
The stadium feels different when it’s empty.
Aleksi’s in the gym somewhere beneath me, pretending to need a workout
when we both know he’s here because of me.
I drop into my chair as my computer boots up, filling the silence. I can’t
stop thinking about the last few hours and how he fed me, bought an entire
nursery, handed me his black card like it was a spare stick of gum, and now
he’s parked himself in the same building just to make sure I’m okay.
It’s ridiculously sweet.And infuriatingly annoying how damn hard it is not
to fall for him.
The man’s too good. Too patient. Too quietly relentless in all the ways I
never knew another human could be.
I lean back, pressing my palm to my stomach as I feel another flutter from
the baby, like a reminder that my life isn’t mine alone anymore.
“You’re already halfway in love with your dad already, aren’t you?” I
whisper. “I don’t blame you.” I tell my baby bump.
My phone buzzes.
Isla: How’s my favorite preggo doing?
Me: Currently being smothered by a six-foot-three Finnish
caretaker with a hero complex.
Isla: Translation?
Me: He showed up with lunch, bought an entire nursery, handed me
his black card, and then drove me here under the pretense of
“working out” so I wouldn’t be alone.
The typing bubble flashes almost immediately.
Isla: This is the first time I’ve ever heard of that as a complaint.
I laugh under my breath. I get I sound ungrateful. Like a whiny spoiled
brat.
Me: He’s doing too much. I can’t let him think this means anything.
Isla: He’s the father of your child, Kendall. This isn’t “too much.”
It’s called being a good man.
Me: It’s called being a distraction.
Isla: Your baby just won the daddy jackpot. The man’s already doing
more than most first-time dads—and half the seasoned ones too. You
couldn’t have picked better if you tried.
Me: I didn’t “pick” him. We got trapped in a quarantine and he used
faulty condoms. It was a mistake.
Isla: Let’s be honest for a second. You and Aleksi have been dancing
around each other since he got signed. The sex was inevitable, so
don’t blame that on the motel. And now you have a baby on the way
and a partner who’s literally building you a nest. You’re allowed to
let him in a little. Let him help. You deserve it.
Me: Are you my therapist now?
Isla: I’m multitasking.
I smile, shaking my head.
Isla: Anyway, did he get you that body pillow you wanted?
Me: He offered. I said no. I’m trying to set boundaries.
Isla: Boundaries are overrated. You should’ve let him be your body
pillow.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as a ridiculous image flashes in my
brain—Aleksi stretched out beside me, warm, solid, his hand resting
protectively around me, like he did in Nevada.
God. I need help.
Then Aleksi sends a text.
Aleksi: I’m done working out and I just took a shower in the locker
room. I can take you home whenever.
I shoot him a text quickly. “Great, I’ll be ready in five minutes as soon as
my upload finishes.”
Then I click back into Isla’s text conversation.
Me: Aleksi as a bodypillow is a dangerous idea.
I sent my phone down as I select the recipient doctor I need mymy files to
go to.
I see her text notification come up on my phone and smile at it.
Isla: It sounds like a great idea to me.
I pick my phone back up and enter the chat box..
Me: You have no idea how tempting it is. These hormones are
making me so damn horny I’d give anything to sit on Aleksi’s cock
again. The sex was incredible.
I hit send, grin halfway formed—then freeze.
The chat header doesn’t say Isla.It says Aleksi Mäkelin.
“Oh my God.”
I stare in horror as the gray checkmark appears.
Then the second one.
Read.
The universe doesn’t give me time to breathe before the door to my office
swings open.
He’s standing there—barefoot in a damp hair, towel slung low around his
hips, droplets still clinging to his skin.
“You always have a free invitation to sit on my cock, Kendall,” he says,
voice low, rough, as he stalks toward me. “All you have to do is ask.”
I think my brain actually short-circuits.
“That text wasn’t meant for you. It was supposed to go to Isla,” I manage,
voice strangled.
“I think you’re wrong. I think you finally sent it to the right person.” He
takes a step forward, every inch of him glistening temptation. “Someone who
can make that happen for you.”
“We can’t, sex will only complicate things, like it already has. It was just a
fantasy, something I wasn’t going to act on.”
His mouth curves, equal parts smug and wicked. “Sex with me is a fantasy?
Guess I’m not imagining things then.”
He keeps moving closer, slow and deliberate, until the air between us
thickens to something neither of us can ignore.
“This is our place of work,” I blurt, because my brain’s last defense
mechanism is professionalism.
“No one’s here but us. Besides, the broom closet has gotten a lot of use
from the players and your friends,” he says softly.
And that’s the problem.
Because he’s standing there—dripping, beautiful, and completely
unbothered by my mortification—and all I can think about is how easily he
makes me feel safe.
And how badly I want to stop pretending I don’t want him.He takes one
step closer, then another, until my back hits the edge of the exam table. My
breath catches. The air between us feels hot, heavy—like the walls
themselves are holding their breath.
“Aleksi,” I whisper, palms braced against the cold metal edge. “We can’t.”
His voice is low, steady. “We can if you want to.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
He’s close enough that I can smell the faint mix of soap and his skin—
clean, masculine, familiar. The towel around his waist shifts when he moves,
a single drop of water sliding down his chest and disappearing against the
hard lines of his stomach. And then I see it, he’s hard under that towel.
God help me. I bite down on my lip as I stare down at the towel raised from
his erection.
“You look like you need someone to take care of you. I already told you
Doc, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“I don’t need—” I stop, because the lie feels too heavy to finish.
His hand rises, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “You’re allowed to
need things, Kendall.”
He says it so gently it almost breaks me.
The hormones, the exhaustion, the relentless tug of wanting him. It all blurs
together until I can’t tell where logic ends and need begins. I don’t even
realize I’ve leaned forward until his breath ghosts against my lips.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
I don’t.
Instead, my hands fist in the damp fabric at his waist to pull him closer. The
kiss is rough, clumsy, desperate—two people trying to remember how to
breathe through the ache. He groans, deep and low, like I’ve just given him
permission, finally.
The towel hits the floor.
His hands find my hips, my thighs, his touch careful but claiming all at
once. He lifts up on my shirt and I respond, lifting my arms over my head,
giving him permission.
It doesn’t take long before we’re both bare in my office, his hard cock
bobbing between us. When he lifts me onto the table, the metal creaks, and I
gasp, half laughter, half disbelief.
“This is so wrong,” I whisper, lips brushing his ear.
He smiles against my throat. “Then why does it feel so good?”
I can’t answer. I don’t want to.
His mouth trails lower, slow kisses along the edge of my jaw, my
collarbone, down the front of my t-shirt until my thoughts scatter. My hands
slide into his hair, tugging him closer, anchoring myself to the only thing that
feels solid right now—him.
Every movement is careful and filled with need. He touches me like I’m
breakable, like the baby between us is already his whole world.
“I don’t have a condom with me,” he says.“I think we’re past condoms at
this point,” I tease.
“I haven’t been with anyone since you,” he tells me, and I already told him
that I haven’t been with anyone else when I told him I was pregnant.
I nod, giving her permission to take me bare. And I want it. I want to feel
Aleksi with nothing between us.
When he finally pushes inside me, the sound that leaves my throat isn’t
words—it’s release. Relief. Need. His forehead drops to mine, his breath
uneven.
“Still okay?” he asks, voice rough.
“Better than okay,” I whisper, arching into him.
He moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing me all over again. My
fingers dig into his shoulders, the rhythm of his body syncing with the uneven
beat of my heart. Each thrust pulls me further from the guilt.
And when it breaks—when everything inside me unravels—he catches me,
holds me through it, mouth pressed to my temple, whispering something in
Finnish that sounds like a promise.
For a long time, there’s just the sound of our breathing and the hum of the
overhead lights. He brushes his thumb over my cheek, catching a tear I didn’t
realize had fallen.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah. I just…” I trail off, because I don’t know how to
explain it—the exhaustion, the release, the terrifying comfort of being held by
him again.
He smiles softly. “Good. Because you can use my body anytime you want.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “This isn’t exactly going to help our case to keep
our jobs.”
His eyes search mine, open and steady. “I’m serious though. You know that
right? If you need anything at all, someone to make sure you eat, someone to
bring you to the office so you’re not alone, or…someone to scratch your
horny pregnancy itch, I want you to pick me. I want to be the one you call.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, and for a moment I let myself lean into it,
because pretending I don’t need him is getting harder by the minute.
I shake my head, still laughing, still breathless. “I still can’t believe we
made a baby because of expired condoms.”
“Fate,” he says, dead serious.
“Idiocy.”
“Same thing,” he says with a grin, leaning in to kiss me again.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe it is fate, or idiocy, or some impossible mix
of both. Because no matter how much I tell myself I shouldn’t want him,
shouldn’t need him–every time he looks at me like this, I forget how to resist.
“I’ll get dressed,” he says quietly, grabbing my clothes off the floor and
handing them over. “Then I can drive you home. Unless you want to come
home with me tonight? I’ll order dinner in and we can watch a movie.”
I’m about to say yes before my brain catches up. “That’s probably not a
good idea.”
He pauses as he wraps his towel back around his waist. “Why not?”
“Because we agreed to keep a low profile. It won’t look great if someone
snaps a photo of the team doctor sneaking out of your building in the middle
of the night.”
He studies me for a moment, like he’s weighing whether to push or not.
Then his mouth curves into something soft—accepting, but sad. “Yeah.
You’re right. I just had to take my shot.”
“It’s just… ever since I found out you’re pregnant, I keep walking into my
apartment like I forgot something. I’ll stand there for a minute, keys still in
the door, trying to figure out what’s missing. And it always hits me. It’s you.
It’s you and the baby. That’s what’s missing.”
My heart stutters with his honesty.
“Aleksi…”
“I’m not saying it to make this complicated,” he adds quickly. “I know the
rules. The team, the board, protecting Penelope, your license.”
The silence stretches between us.
I hate that part of me wants to tell him to take me home anyway. That part
of me craves the safety he offers—the warmth of just being with him, the
sound of his laugh, the way he makes me feel like I’m not alone in this.
But that’s not reality.
Reality is press photos and team sanctions and a medical board that would
destroy me without blinking.
He protects me, and I protect him. That’s how this works.
“I can’t,” I say finally, voice soft but steady. “We can’t. Not yet.”
He nods once, jaw tight but understanding. “I know. Doesn’t mean I won’t
keep trying.”
“Of course you will.” I can’t help smiling. “Persistent Finnish trait.”
“I’ll get dressed and meet you at my car.”
I nod and then he walks out of my office in only a towel.
But I already know that when he leaves, he’s taking a piece of me with him.
No matter how much I resist it, this isn’t something I can deny anymore.
