War (Boston Bolts Hockey #3)

11. Tyler

ELEVEN

TYLER

Brooks: Merry Christmas Eve, guys. Love you all.

Aiden: Aw, duck. You’re making me emotional. I love you too, big bro.

Aiden: And you, Tyler Warren, my favorite captain.

Aiden: And you, Daniel Hall, my good boy.

Me: Why am I not your good boy?

Brooks: LOL

Hall: Because you’re a daddy.

Aiden: Heyoooo, didn’t see it going that way, but ya know, now that he says it, can we call you Daddy War?

Me: Fuck you all.

Brooks: Hey, I didn’t say anything.

Me: Fine. Brooks, you’re exempt.

Brooks: How are the kids? All set for Christmas morning?

Me: They’re good. Just waiting for my dad and his family to leave and hoping the social worker doesn’t pick tomorrow to show up and check on us.

Brooks: That a thing?

Me: Yeah, after Josie’s fall, they think I need supervision. Apparently being a single dad without a steady nanny gives them reason to worry.

Brooks: That sucks. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to those kids.

Aiden: You know what you need?

Hall: A hot nanny for me to bang?

Me: Dude, the last nanny around the arena was your sister. Do you really want to talk about who is currently banging her?

Me: Here’s a hint, it’s our coach.

Hall: That was low! Even for you.

Me: Play stupid games…

Aiden: No, he needs a wife.

Brooks: Aiden, you’re an idiot.

Me: Lol, the lawyer suggested the same thing.

Hall: Did you know that mail-order brides are really a thing? There are a ton of hot ones. Check out this contract! link to website

Brooks: I’m out. My fiancée just told me I have to undress her to find my present.

Aiden: Oh, if my wife isn’t wearing candy I can eat off her, this will be a very unmerry Christmas.

Me: Merry Christmas, guys. Thanks for checking in.

As I close out of our text thread, I swallow a laugh. The last thing I want to do is wake Scarlett. I’m lying beside her in her toddler bed, my body curled around her in a way that’ll make it extra hard to move tomorrow. But it’s the only way I can get her to sleep, and I am in no rush to get downstairs and deal with Xander and Dory again.

Tonight hasn’t been nearly as terrible as I thought it would be. I have my kids to thank for that. They held my focus pretty steadily, making it easier to let Xander’s comments roll off my back.

Their joy, especially Josie’s, was worth any discomfort, and as much as I hate to admit it, Ava is mostly to thank for that.

My little girl really does deserve someone like that in her life. A woman who loves her. Who puts her first. Madi isn’t wrong. A wife would be one hell of a solution. If only I could find someone who would put these kids first. But is that even a possibility? Their mothers won’t even do it. How can I expect another woman to?

Honestly, a contractual marriage is probably the only kind I’d ever enter. With all the obligations and expectations spelled out ahead of time, leaving no room for getting attached or getting hurt.

Wouldn’t hurt if the woman was as attractive as Ava.

My phone buzzes in my hand, so I unlock it, being sure to keep the light from the screen from flashing Scarlett.

Hall: Seriously, check out this chick!

As I’m reading, a picture of a woman pops up.

I snort at the image. Sure, she’s gorgeous, but this can’t be real, can it? Mail-order brides? God, people are nuts.

Me: Where do you find this shit?

Hall: It came up as an advertisement when I was reading Calliope’s column.

This kid and his damn mythical Calliope. I swear he’s used her name in every conversation we’ve had since he discovered her column this year. It’s a sex column, though he gets all ass-hurt if we refer to it as that, saying it’s a column about life. Yeah, Calliope’s sex life. Not the least bit interested but curious about these apparent contracts, I scan the terms.

Wife agrees that husband is the owner of her body. All orgasms, if any, will be given only with his consent. This includes self-induced pleasure and usage of toys.

Disgust rolls through me. What man in their right mind thinks like this? I can think of nothing hotter than walking in and finding a woman using a toy. Why the hell would a guy want to restrict that? And owner of her body ? This was obviously written by a man with a small dick. I don’t need to agree to some ridiculous contract to have my wife begging for me to touch her.

My wife. My stomach knots at those words. Where the fuck did that come from?

I scrub a hand down my face. Fucking Hall and his contract are getting to me.

Irritated, I focus on my phone again, ready to text him and let him know what an idiot he is. Before I can close out of the contract, another line catches my attention.

Wife will only speak when spoken to.

I’m still blinking in shock when giggles float in on the air and my curiosity is suddenly shifted. After pressing a kiss to Scarlett’s head, I ninja myself out of her hold without waking her—and hopefully without straining my back even more than I already have—and fall to the fucking floor.

Silently laughing, I roll my head back and stare up at the ceiling. What the hell am I doing with my life? Sometimes, I don’t recognize the man I am now. But when another giggle rings out, my heart thumps against my chest, and a warmth I never felt until a year ago flows through me. Anxious to see the smile that goes along with that sound, I stand and sneak out of Scarlett’s room, then head across the hall.

Josie is dressed in Christmas pajamas and snuggled under a pink comforter one shade brighter than her pink walls. Lyrics from Taylor Swift, Lake Paige, and Melina Rodriguez are stenciled on the walls, along with purple birds I drew freehand to match the 1989 Album. Ava, who is stretched out on top of the covers with her back to me, is giving Josie her full attention. She’s always giving Josie her full attention.

“Melina and Lake sang together?” Josie’s face is lit up like she can’t believe it.

“Yup. It was a really magical night. There were Christmas carolers decked out in these old-fashioned dresses, and there was even a reindeer hanging out in front of the fire station with three kittens on its back.”

Josie giggles. “Now I know you’re making this up.”

Sucking in an exaggerated breath, Ava props herself up on an elbow. “You believe that Lake and Melina sang for a Christmas event in a tiny town, but you don’t believe there was a reindeer? I left my phone downstairs, but I’ll show you pictures the next time I see you.”

Josie snuggles against her, giggling, and Ava rests her head on the pillow again, threading her fingers through the little girl’s strawberry locks.

“Were there a lot of kids?”

Ava hums. “Yup.”

“Sounds magical.” The longing in her tone makes my heart crack. “Bet there were a lot of families too.”

I hold my breath, waiting for what she’ll say next. Ava stiffens, as if she, too, is concerned about the way this conversation might turn.

“Do you think my mom is okay?”

Eyes closed, I take a deep breath, assuming Ava may need my help to navigate a response .

Before I can announce myself, she responds with an answer more perfect than any I would have come up with. “I hope so.”

“Me too. She didn’t really feel like my mom,” Josie says almost matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean?”

Every second has become a balancing act, not only for Ava, but for me, as I consider how to join the conversation. I hope like hell Ava says the right thing, but at the same time, I don’t have the first clue what that would even be.

Josie’s lips twist as she considers her response. She’s always considering her words. She’s never rash, and she never yells. “It’s just a feeling, I guess. Have you ever had a really comfortable pillow or stuffed animal you loved? I had both in the hospital, and they made me feel better when I was sad. You too. You always cheered me up when I was lonely.” She beams at Ava like she is her entire moon and stars. “She didn’t feel like you. I wish you could be my mom.”

Ava pulls Josie to her chest, and in a strangled whisper, says, “Me too, love. Me too.”

I step out into the hall, my heart in my throat and at a complete fucking loss.

Josie needs Ava. Yet here I am, selfishly trying to adopt this little girl. Maybe I want her, but she certainly doesn’t need me.

Pulling on my hair, I tiptoe out of the room and head downstairs.