I used the key Langley had given me yesterday, letting myself in as instructed by the lone text I’d received from Brogan earlier. I couldn’t fault him his short reply when I said I was heading his way—becoming a father overnight had to be the last thing he ever expected to happen.
“Hello?” I called out as I shut the massive door behind me. The home smelled fresh with a clean, crisp scent and had rich wooden floors, textured walls, and vaulted ceilings. The kitchen looked like a chef’s dream and was entirely pristine, almost as if he never used it. But, as I walked farther into the house, I realized everything in the place had its own place—the couches in the living area complimented the end tables, the built-ins had perfectly placed books and knickknacks, and even the artwork lining the hallway looked to be placed with intent.
“Up here,” a gruff voice called from the second level of the house.
I walked up a giant staircase, heading toward where I heard his voice. A wailing cry—followed by a desperate sigh—had me hurrying down another hallway, past what I could clearly tell was a master bedroom, and toward another bedroom down the hall.
I lingered in the open doorway, finding Brogan on the carpeted floor, his eyes closed in frustration, a screwdriver in one hand and a whole lot of wooden pieces belonging to what appeared to be a crib spread out around him. Skye cried in a bouncer next to him, and I saw the rise and fall of his chest as he tried to center himself.
“Hi,” I said, tiptoeing over the array of wood until I got to Skye. I unbuckled her from the bouncer, gently lifting her onto my shoulder and starting the bounce I knew in my bones. Skye’s cries stopped, and Brogan sighed heavily.
“Hi,” he said, the word rough and ragged. From the purple beneath his eyes and the tension in his shoulders, I could tell he was beyond overwhelmed and exhausted.
I peeked inside Skye’s onesie, making sure she wasn’t wet, then smoothed my hand over her back as she nuzzled her head against my chest. Warmth spread in my chest as she relaxed against me, and I scanned the room more thoroughly.
“That looks like a very serious crib for someone who isn’t sure this is his baby,” I said, hoping like hell I could jostle his stress for a second with a joke.
He grunted.
Well, that was something at least.
“She didn’t sleep last night, did she?” I asked, still bouncing up and down slightly while rolling my hips in a figure-eight motion. I’d nailed the move years ago and had soothed many a colicky sibling with it.
“How can you tell?” he asked, continuing to work on the crib.
I glanced around the room, noting the chaos. “Just a wild guess,” I said. When Skye started nuzzling my chest again, I patted her butt and said, “I’m going to go make her a bottle.” Before turning out of the room.
One bottle of formula and a few good burps later, I had one very tired Skye in my arms and Brogan had finished the crib. I sashayed into what would be a nursery, if it had anything other than the crib in it, and gently laid a freshly swaddled Skye into her brand-new crib. I hovered for a good ninety seconds, keeping my hand on her little chest before slowly removing it. She was definitely overtired, which made sleeping about ten times more difficult, but she had a full belly, and her eyes stayed closed as I turned around. Brogan stared at Skye with a sort of lost and amazed look, and I tugged on his massive arm to get him out of the room. I shut the door behind me, heading down the stairs with the giant following behind me. I mean, the dude had to be at least six-four, a delightful beard along his strong jaw, and with muscles and a scowl to match? He could give Jason Momoa a run for his money. Not that I was noticing him at all.
I wound up in the kitchen, leaning against the pristine marble island, wondering if I should go grab my stuff or talk to him about it first.
He heaved a sigh as he sank into a barstool across the island and rubbed his temples. “I’ve never, not once in my life, known anything was capable of crying so much.”
I bit my bottom lip to hold in the laugh, my heart going out to this NHL star. Not that he didn’t play an obvious part—allegedly—in creating this baby, but still. It’s one thing to be told you’re having a baby and another to be sprung with the news in the span of a night.
“Every baby is different,” I said. “My little sister Gene was an angel, never cried, slept through the night, ate well.” I shrugged. “My little brother Joseph never stopped crying. In fact, his voice is super rough due to all the crying he did as a newborn.”
Brogan looked at me with those wide hazel eyes of his. The flecks of honey brown and gold stood out amongst the green, and there was just a hint of panic growing there. Panic, but also a solid sort of resolve I couldn’t help but admire. Not to mention, they were pretty nice eyes to look at. Well, when he wasn’t scowling, that was.
Okay, even with the scowl, he somehow managed to pull it off.
“You found the formula, okay?” he asked.
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh as I glanced at the can of formula that he’d left out on the counter behind me.
“You mean the super expensive, wholly organic formula you put over there?” I teased, and he nodded.
I had peeked around his kitchen while warming the formula, and I had to say I was shocked. Everything in the cabinets was organized to the nth degree, with the brand labels facing out. It looked like one of those professional organizers’ Instagram kitchens. Not what I expected from the millionaire hockey star, who looked like he could be comfortable swinging a trident around while fighting for an underwater kingdom.
“I’m surprised you haven’t created a label and custom spot for the stuff yet,” I teased again, noting a hint of levity returning to his hazel eyes.
He shrugged. “I haven’t had time to make one yet,” he said, and a pang of sympathy hit me dead center in the chest. He wasn’t in denial, wasn’t trying to push Skye off to the system until he had one-hundred-percent proof she was his. He was giving it his all, and I had to admire that about him.
“You’re a pretty organized person,” I said.
“I like efficiency,” he said. “I’m not really into wasting time. If everything has its proper place, I’m not wasting time trying to find it.”
I bit back a laugh again. “You know babies kind of throw a wrench in that whole routine, right?” I asked, wanting to be real with him from the get-go. “I’m not saying you can’t have a baby and a clean house, but I want to help give you realistic expectations.”
He grunted. “Everything that has happened since yesterday has been pretty unreal.”
I nodded. “I understand,” I said, then furrowed my brow. “Well, in all honesty, I don’t understand.” I sighed. “I don’t understand how a mother could drop off her baby like this.” I flashed him an apologetic look, and he stared at the counter, his mind in a totally different place.
“Do you have any idea who she might be?” I asked when he hadn’t responded. When he continued to look at that counter like he was seeing a flashback of everyone he’d slept with in the past year, I turned around and opened his fridge. I grabbed two bottles of water and headed around the island to hand him one.
He blinked a few times, taking the water from me, looking up at me from my slightly raised position as I stood in front of where he sat. “I don’t exactly keep a roster,” he said, his tone wholly defensive.