Chapte Seventeen
ALEKSI
The sky over Seattle looks unsure if it’s going to cooperate tonight.
I check the forecast again even though I’ve already checked it eight times.
Clear enough for a few hours. If the weather holds, the planets will do the
rest.
I get a text on my phone:
Donna-Trey’s Realtor: Congratulations. The house officially closed.
Can you meet me tomorrow to get the keys? Want me to pull the For
Sale sign before I leave today?
I can hardly believe that I bought a house that cost half my yearly contract
guarantee but Vivi said that she’d been in the neighbors house a few times for
birthday parties with Adeline and it would be perfect for Kendall.
If I trust anyone to understand Kendall’s taste, it’s Vivi. I know that buying
a house without asking Kendall is a huge step that she’s either going to take
as romantic or pushy. If she hates the house or thinks I’ve lost my damn mind
for buying it for her then the realtor said there were four other offers on the
table and she can turn around and resell it for me.
Me: No. Keep the For Sale on it for a few more days until I can
bring Kendall to see it. I don’t want to freak her out.
Donna-Trey’s Realtor: No problem. Just let me know if you want
me to relist it, otherwise I’ll come by for the sign in a few days.
Good luck!
I’m taking a huge leap here, I know, but Kendall deserves the best and so
does our kid. That apartment is too small and I have the money to make sure
she gets what she should have had a long time ago.
I could see in her eyes how much she wanted that crib and chair in a
nursery for him. And it’s the one thing I can do to take something off her
plate.
Next thing… that ancient car. But one step at a time or Kendall might run
for the hills. She scares a little easily. I have to go slow with her. Not the pace
I want to take but I’ll do it.
The plans Vivi has for the nursery sound perfect and I gave her an
unlimited budget to do it with.
Painters arrive tomorrow and then furniture the day after.
My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s my sister.
Saara: Everything on for tonight?
I grin. Of course my sister remembered. She knows how much this night
needs to go right.
Me: On. As long as the clouds stay away.
While I wait for her to answer, I move through my apartment ticking off
items I’ve triple-checked already. Picnic basket—packed. Lanterns—charged.
Telescope—collimated and begging to show off. Printed star map on heavy
paper—coordinates of the night we met, the exact time stamped like a secret
only the two of us know.
Another buzz.
Saara: They’ll cooperate. You’re the most stubborn person I know,
and the sky fears you.Saara: Also, breathe.Saara: And remember
who you are.
I open the pantry, close it again. I don’t need anything in there, but my
hands want a job.
A bench-scratcher who was told he skated wide, shot wild, thought too
much. A late call-up. An optimist because if you don’t expect the puck you’ll
miss it when it comes. A man whose chest has felt hollow since that night in
Nevada. Another buzz.
Saara: Don’t forget, you’re a fighter, Aleksi. You always have been.
Saara: Sometimes you also have to tell people what you want and if
she’s not madly in love with you already, then something is wrong
with her.
A screenshot fills my screen of a text exchange between me and my sister.
It was training camp week one.
Me (last year): I just met my future wife today. She’s the team
doctor.
Heat climbs up my neck. I remember hitting send and tossing the phone
face-down like the words might explode.
Me (now): I was jet-lagged.
Saara: You were in love, and you still are. Go set up your fairy
lights, Romeo.
I’m still smiling when the knock comes. Not a timid tap. Three decisive
knocks that sound like a woman who has a city to run, a team to hold
together, and a baby boy casually growing inside her.
I text Saara back quickly.
Me: She’s here.
Then I pocket the phone and open the door.
Kendall stands there in a soft black sweater dress and sneakers, hair braided
over one shoulder, cheeks bright as if she walked three blocks fast and argued
with herself the whole way. She smells like coconut shampoo and not her
usual doctor smell. It hits me in the sternum in a way that has nothing to do
with my lungs.
“Hi,” she says, cautious but smiling.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to stare at the curve of her belly, currently protecting
our son as he grows, hopefully with a stronger heart than mine. “You’re right
on time.”
“I only live a few blocks away,” she deadpans. “Even I can’t mess that up.”
I lift the picnic basket. “Good. Because I… may have planned a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Are you okay with a rooftop picnic? I might have bribed the stars too.”
The corner of her mouth tugs. “You’re bribing the stars now?”
“Only with dessert.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “Show me.”
We take the elevator up and then the extra stairs, the wind cooler on the
roof, the city flaring to life around the Commons like someone flicked the
dimmer from moody to gold. I’ve spent the last two hours transforming the
corner by the pergola into something not even the most jaded part of me can
call anything but romantic: fairy lights strung along the lattice, lanterns low, a
thick blanket spread wide, mismatched cushions like a soft barricade against
the world. The telescope stands beside it like a quiet conspirator. Seattle hums
below us—headlights threading the streets, the bay a black mirror cut by a
ferry’s light.
Kendall stops. “Aleksi…”
“It’s not much,” I start.
“It’s beautiful.” She says it like a fact she can’t talk herself out of.
I lift the basket onto the blanket. “Sit. Eat. Pretend we’ve always done this
in the right order and I didn’t…” I gesture vaguely at her belly. “Get
enthusiastic before asking you out.”
She chuckles. “Enthusiastic? Is that what we’re calling failed condoms
now?”
“I’m working on my PG version of events. We’re going to have little ears
here soon enough.”
Her laugh breaks open the last of my tension. I pour sparkling water into
tumblers, plate the food: still-warm mushroom and truffle flatbreads from the
place across the street that Scottie says has the best food, roasted carrots with
yogurt, a tangy apple salad with butter lettuce, a little box of cardamom buns
because Saara previews the menu for me to make sure I was picking the best
ideas and told me if I didn’t include the cardamom buns that I’d lose Kendall
forever to a man with better taste in food.
I was going to cook but when I told Saara she told me that mom’s always
been biased and my cooking is not that great.
“So,” I say, passing her a plate. “The doctor is allowed to eat carbs
tonight?”
“The doctor is allowed to eat anything that doesn’t smell like onions.” She
stares at the flatbread like it might make vows to her. “This smells like
heaven.”
We eat. The wind teases the fairy lights. A gull cries once and then decides
it has better places to be. For a few minutes the city falls away and it’s just
her tiny sounds of appreciation and the way she keeps catching herself with
her palm on her belly, as if she can’t quite believe he’s there.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Long.” She takes a slow breath. “Penelope put out several fires with one
email. I signed forms. I pretended the internet didn’t exist.”
“The internet is canceled,” I say solemnly. “By order of me.”
“You have that power?”
“I have a telescope. That is basically the same thing.”
She smiles, then looks toward the edge of the roof where the sky opens. “I
forgot how much I like being up high. It makes the city feel… manageable.”
“Then we’ll stay up here until it is.”
“Let me show you something,” I say, before I can ruin the moment with
nerves. I pull the tube from the basket—the rolled print tied with twine—and
pass it to her.
“What is this?”
“Coordinates,” I say. “To someone important.”
Her brow lifts. “Should I be jealous?”
“Open it.”
She unties the string, the paper unfurling across her lap. A navy sky dusted
with constellations, the coordinates printed small at the bottom, the title in
simple white type:
The Night You Were Found.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Aleksi…”
“It’s the sky over Seattle the night you told me about him,” I say quietly.
“The first time you said the words out loud.”
She traces a finger over the stars. “You bought him a star?”
“A bright one,” I admit. “Registered and everything. You just have to pick
his name and then we can officially finish the registry.”
She laughs, the sound small and shaky. “I get to pick his name?”
I nod. “Someday he’ll ask about how we brought him into this world, and
you can point out the window and tell him he already had his own piece of
our sky before he was even here.”
“Come on,” I say lightly, because otherwise I might say I love you and I
promised myself I wouldn’t. “Before the clouds change their minds.”
I set the telescope, fingers remembering motions my father taught me in
our backyard, breath syncing to the simple joy of lining up light-years for
someone you want to impress without making it feel like a trick. Saturn first;
she deserves rings.
“Look,” I tell her, stepping back.
She bends to the eyepiece, braid sliding forward, sweater shifting over the
soft curve of her. The wind lifts a strand of hair; I want to tuck it behind her
ear and don’t. She inhales sharply.
“Saturn,” she whispers. “Whoa, I didn’t realize how clearly you can see
everything with these. It looks fake.” She straightens, eyes wide. “Like a
sticker.”
“We forgive it because it’s old. Life gets busy on earth. It’s perspective I
guess.”
She laughs again, the sound like a small fire in a cold room. “What else can
I see?”
“Jupiter will be sulking behind clouds for another hour,” I say. “But I can
show you Albireo.”
“Which is…?”
“A double star,” I say. “Two stars that look like one until you look close.”
“Seems on brand.”
I peer in and move it to the right location and then step aside for her. She
leans in. “Oh—wow. One’s blue.”
“And the other is gold,” I say. “Together they balance.” I could keep going.
I could tell her about optical doubles or gravitational pairs, how sometimes
they only look close from our angle, but I don’t. She’s smart; she’ll hear the
rest.
She looks up at me, the sky reflected in her eyes. “When did you get into
this?”
“After my hip surgery when I thought my career was over. My dad bought
me the telescope. He wanted me to remember that we’re all just a spackle of
dust on a watery planet. That if we don’t take the shot, the universe doesn’t
care one way or the other, so do it anyway,” I say, surprised by how easily the
word comes now. “During those nights of rehab when I thought my career in
Hockey was over, the nights were the worst. I’d go up to the roof of my
building and realize the same stars were over Helsinki as everywhere else.
That I hadn’t disappeared just because no one can see me playing on a team.
No one sees the planets day to day… but they’re still there.”
Her face changes—softens, yes, but with a weight that says she understands
exactly how that kind of loneliness feels.
“Maybe it doesn’t make sense to a lot of people but it helped put everything
into perspective for me. Whether I ever played again or not, it wasn’t earth
shattering. It took the pressure off.”
“I think that’s beautiful. And I think your father was a very smart man.”
“He was. I hope I’m half the father he was.”
Her hand reaches out, resting against my heart. “I know you will be.”
She shifts, one palm sliding instinctively to her belly again. She’s done it
six times tonight, like a metronome only I can hear. I want to ask if he’s
moving yet, if he kicks when she lies down, whether she’s thought about
names, whether she’ll let me paint tiny galaxies on his nursery ceiling. I want
to ask if I can be there for everything and still be the quiet she needs.
Instead I lower the telescope and sit beside her on the blanket. The city’s a
hush below us; the sky is pretending to be kind.
“I need to say something,” I begin, and the way her shoulders go tight says
she thinks it’s something dangerous. “I hate the noise. The rumors. The way
people talk about you like you’re a headline. I want to—” I stop, flex my
hands once against my knees, dial back the part of me that would walk out
onto a press scrum and swallow all their microphones whole. “But I know
what we agreed, and I am okay with being quiet if that’s what keeps you
steady. I’m—” I search for the word that doesn’t scare her. “I’m here.
However you need me to be.”
She stares at my mouth like the words might rearrange themselves if she
watches long enough. Then she nods once, like something inside her gives.
“Thank you.”
The wind lifts. The fairy lights sway with it. I want to tuck her under my
arm and build a wall around us out of blankets.
“Do you want dessert?” I ask, because I’m a genius at changing the subject
when I’m about to say something true.
“What kind?”
I lift the little bakery box with a flourish. “Cardamom buns. Contraband
levels of butter.”
Her eyes actually light. “Okay, I officially forgive you for the pizza
incident.”
We tear them in half and hand each other the bigger halves. Sugar dusts her
lip; she swipes it away with her tongue and my brain goes static for three full
seconds. All I can think about is kissing her, but that’s nothing new. All I ever
think about is kissing her.
She leans back against the cushion behind her, a hand curved over the side
of her belly. I lay back next to her and without thinking, I let my hand rest
near her on the blanket, palm up, an offer I won’t push.
She looks at my hand. Then at my face. Then down again. Then she reaches
for it and places my palm against her stomach. “He liked the buns too,” she
says, and then I feel it.
A kick, a push… something that tells me he’s here with us too.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. It feels like someone put a small new sun in
my chest and told it to warm the parts that went cold in the desert.
We sit like that, staring at her perfect belly, my hand spayed out of most of
it to make sure I don’t miss anything if he changes position.
Another small hello. “Show-off already.”
“Wonder where he gets that,” she says, voice fond.
I can’t help it. I lean forward and press my lips to the place my hand just
was. Not a kiss full of heat—just a pressed vow, a quiet greeting to two
heartbeats at once. When I look up, her eyes are wet.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” she whispers back.
This time, her eyes don’t leave mine. And then I take a chance, because I
have to when she looks at me like that. I lean down slowly, giving her every
chance to stop me—but she doesn’t. Her breath catches, lashes flutter, and
then her hands find the back of my neck.
The kiss starts tentative, testing, then deepens with a hunger neither of us
bothers to disguise. She tastes like cinnamon and Seattle in September. The
world shrinks to the sound of our breathing, the slip of her fingers in my hair,
the quiet sigh that leaves her when I shift closer. Her knees part, and I move
between them, bracing my palms against the blanket so I don’t crush her belly
—just close enough for her to feel the weight of me, the slow press of need
that matches the thud of my pulse.
She lets out a small sound of agreement, as if to say this is what she needed
too, and it undoes me.
My hand skims up her side, catching on her sweater dress, the curve of her
hip beneath soft fabric. It’s not about taking; it’s about remembering that
beneath all the conflict keeping us apart, there’s still something unbreakable
between us.
Then the wind decides to ruin it.
A sudden gust sweeps through the balcony, rattling the telescope and
knocking over the empty glasses with a crash. We break apart, breathing hard,
both startled into laughter.
“Guess the universe has opinions,” she says, cheeks flushed.
“Jealous universe,” I say, still catching my breath. I stand and then help her
up next, righting the telescope and checking the lens. “I should get all of this
stuff inside before it breaks.”
“Here, let me help you,” she says, quickly kneeling to grab the picnic items
off the blanket. “Save the buns at all costs,” she teases, reaching for the
cardamom bun box first to tuck it back into the basket.
“God forbid the buns fly away.”
“It would be an utter tragedy.”
She keeps helping me pack, but I can see her belly is making it harder.
“Kendall, let me do that. Just relax. I’ll have everything packed up, and we
can head downstairs.”
“It’s okay, I can help.”
Soon we’re packed up and heading back down to my apartment.
I open the door for her and let her in first. We drop everything on the
kitchen counters, and then there’s a short pause between us–like the tension
from that kiss is still pulling at both of us.
There’s something about having her in my apartment. A feeling deep down
that’s begging me not to let her leave. To say something that will convince her
to stay. This place finally feels like home but only because she’s standing in
it.
I take a few steps closer, her eyes locking on mine. I brush a few strands
that fell out of her bun away from her face. “Will you stay tonight? I’m not
ready to let you go just yet.”
The truth is, I’m never ready to let her go. I wish I never had to again.
I see her glance instantly at the open door to my bedroom, her mind already
jumping a few steps ahead. That’s how Kendall is—a planner through and
through—and she already knows what staying the night could mean.
“You want me to stay over?”
“I just want to keep you to myself… just for a little longer. What we do or
don’t do is up to you. But if not, I’ll take you home.”
“I drove…” she says, though I can see she’s still debating whether she
wants to stay.
“I’ll still take you. We can get your car to you tomorrow.”
“I want to stay,” she says finally, stepping closer until we’re toe-to-toe. She
licks her lips, and now I know we’re on the same page about how this night
ends.
“Say that again,” I ask, bending closer. I need to hear it—her choice.
Maybe it’s just for tonight, but I still need to hear it.
Her hand slides up my chest, her fingertips burning into me like a brand.
Like I’m all hers—and I am.
“I want to stay… with you.”
That’s all I need. My arm catches her around the waist, pulling her against
me, her baby bump padded between us. My lips crash down on hers, and she
raises her chin to meet me, her mouth needing mine as much as I need hers.
I reach my hands around the back of her thighs and lift her. She wraps her
legs around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom.
I carry her through the doorway, her thighs tight around my waist, her
mouth never leaving mine. The bedroom is dark, I never bothered to turn on
the lights. I only planned for dinner and the stars, of course… I hoped for
more.
Moonlight slants through the window, painting everything silver-blue.
I set her down on the edge of the bed, gentle, one hand cupping the back of
her head so she doesn’t jar. She’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes dark
and wanting. Her hands find my chest, fingers splaying wide like she’s trying
to memorize the architecture of my ribs.
I reach for the hem of her sweater dress, pausing to meet her eyes. She
nods, lifts her arms, and I pull it over her head in one smooth motion.
Underneath: a black bra, simple and devastating. The swell of her belly, round
and perfect. I bend to press my lips there first—a kiss to the place our son is
growing, safe and warm.
She makes a sound low in her throat, fingers threading into my hair.
I kiss her again, just above her navel. Then lower. Then at the waistband of
her underwear. Her hips shift, seeking, and I hook my thumbs into the elastic
and slide them down her legs. She lifts, helping, and then she’s bare from the
waist down, sitting on the edge of my bed like a prayer I don’t deserve to
answer.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say, voice rough.
“I’m huge,” she counters, but there’s no heat in it.
“You’re perfect.” I kiss the inside of her knee. “Every single part of you.”
Her breath hitches when I move higher, lips tracing the soft skin of her
inner thigh. I take my time, savoring the way she trembles, the way her
fingers tighten in my hair when I get close but don’t give her what she wants
yet.
“Aleksi, please—”
“I know,” I murmur against her skin. “I’ve got you.”
I spread her thighs wider, settle between them, and the first taste of her
makes my brain go quiet. Salt and heat and something uniquely hers. She
gasps, hips jerking, and I hold her steady with one hand splayed across her
belly, the other gripping her thigh.
I work her slowly, learning what makes her shake, what makes her moan
my name like a curse and a benediction. She’s slick and wanting, and when I
slide two fingers inside her she clenches around me immediately, already
close.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “God, don’t stop—”
I don’t. I curl my fingers, find the spot that makes her back arch, and keep
the pressure steady while my tongue circles her clit in rhythmic strokes. Her
thighs start to shake. Her breathing turns ragged. And then she’s there—
coming apart with a cry that she tries to muffle against her own hand, her
body pulsing around my fingers, her other hand fisted in my hair so tight it
borders on painful.
I don’t stop until she’s boneless, until she’s pulling me away with shaking
hands.
“Too much,” she gasps.
I press one last kiss to her inner thigh, then rise to my feet. My cock is
straining against my jeans, aching, but seeing her like this—flushed and sated
and still trembling—is worth the wait.
She reaches for my belt, fingers clumsy with need. “Off. Now.”
I help her, shucking jeans and boxers in one motion. My cock springs free,
already leaking, and her eyes darken when she sees it.
“Come here,” she says, scooting back on the bed.
I follow, crawling over her carefully, bracing my weight on my forearms so
I don’t crush her belly. She spreads her legs, making room for me, and the
head of my cock brushes against her entrance.
I push in slowly, inch by inch, and the feeling of her—wet and tight and
bare around me—makes my vision blur. She’s so hot, so perfect, and the lack
of barrier between us feels monumental, like a wall coming down.
“Fuck,” I breathe when I’m fully seated. “Kendall—”
“Move,” she says, nails digging into my shoulders. “Please, Aleksi, move
—”
I do. I pull out halfway and thrust back in, slow and deep, watching her
face for any sign of discomfort. There’s none. Just pleasure, raw and honest,
written across her features.
I set a rhythm—steady, deep, hitting the spot inside her that makes her gasp
every time. Her hands roam my back, my shoulders, my ass, pulling me
closer, deeper. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, our breathing,
the small desperate noises she makes when I angle my hips just right.
“You feel so good,” I murmur against her neck. “So fucking good—”
“Harder,” she demands, and I comply, picking up the pace, driving into her
with more force. The bed creaks beneath us. Her breasts bounce with each
thrust, and I dip my head to catch one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard.
She keens, back arching, and I feel her start to tighten around me again.
“That’s it,” I encourage, switching to the other breast. “Come for me again.
I want to feel it.”
“Aleksi—” My name breaks on her tongue. “I’m—oh God, I’m—”
She shatters, clamping down around me so hard I see stars. I fuck her
through it, relentless, chasing my own release. It builds at the base of my
spine, pressure coiling tighter and tighter until I can’t hold it back anymore.
“Kendall—” I thrust once, twice more, and then I’m gone, spilling inside
her with a guttural groan, hips jerking as I empty myself completely.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us shaking, slick with sweat. I
press my forehead to hers, breathing hard.
I pull out slowly, careful, and roll onto my side next to her. She curls into
me immediately, her belly pressed against my hip, her head on my chest.
“Stay,” I say, even though she already said yes. “Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs, already half-asleep.
I pull the blanket over us, press a kiss to her hair, and let the weight of her
anchor me to this moment, this perfect, impossible, beautiful moment where
she’s mine and I’m hers and nothing else matters.
It’s the first time in months that I think I might get good sleep without my
nervous system trying to tell me that I forgot something, like I left the oven
on or I forgot to lock my car. Because the two things I forgot are finally
wrapped around me tonight, safe in my arms.
