A Lie for a Lie (All In 1)

“What if she chokes on it, though?” Mom asks.

“It was just a suggestion.” Stevie slaps her thighs. “What’s the thing that’s most symbolic of your relationship?”

“Kody.” That’s a no-brainer.

“So include him somehow. He’s the reason you’re together, so make him part of it.”

“That’s actually a great idea.” Simon and I have had similar conversations over the past few months. I asked him back at Christmas for permission to marry Lainey, and since then he’s been on me about when I’m popping the question. He’s also mentioned the expansion draft quite a few times, and often those two conversations happen at the same time.

Stevie smiles and bats her lashes. “See? Not just a pretty face.”

“You’ve always been more than a pretty face, Stevie.”

“So are you, RJ.”

We all laugh, and I promise to call when I’ve popped the question, which hopefully will be tonight.

I end the call and exhale a long, slow breath. I’ve put off this conversation long enough. Lainey’s contract with the aquarium is up in three weeks. It’s already March, and playoffs are around the corner. And after that the expansion draft picks will happen.

One of our team members will go to Seattle. If Lainey agrees with my plan, it’ll be me.

I’ve just finished getting dressed and styling my hair when I hear the alarm buzz downstairs, signaling Lainey is home. I find her in the front entryway, trying to get Kody out of his snowsuit before he takes off down the hall. He’s definitely my son. He has two speeds: fast and faster. He was crawling by six months, standing by eight, and walking by nine. Now he’s bumbling around like a drunken, miniature frat boy. He’s also in the 99th percentile for height and weight, meaning he’s going to be a big boy, just like me.

“Da!” he yells. He starts flailing, batting at Lainey’s hands, when he sees me. I’m not sure if he’s actually calling me Dad or if he’s just making noise because he can, but I’m going to pretend it’s the former.

Lainey raises her hands in defeat, and he rolls over, then pushes himself to a stand. He looks like an overstuffed marshmallow, his arms sticking straight out as he bumble-weaves over to me. I crouch down and put my arms out, ready to catch him. He makes it halfway before he falls, but he doesn’t give up. He pushes back up unsteadily and stumbles the last few steps into my arms. “Good job, little man!”

I lift him into the air and make airplane sounds. He giggles and squeals. I tuck him under my arm like a snowsuit-covered football and close the distance between myself and Lainey.

She has one arm out of her jacket and one still in. I slide my fingers into her hair, tip her head back, and kiss her—with tongue—while Kody wriggles and laughs under my arm.

I release her and take a step back. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” She arches a brow and shrugs the rest of the way out of her jacket. I set Kody down on the mat and help him out of his snowsuit. Once he’s free, he plunks himself down on the floor and starts going through the contents of Lainey’s purse, which would be fine if he didn’t try to shove everything into his mouth like it’s food.

“Give that to Mommy.” Lainey plucks a lip balm from his chubby fingers. He yells his displeasure until she replaces it with a soft hockey puck. It immediately goes in his mouth.

“He must be teething again.”

“He’s chewing on everything these days—like a little beaver, aren’t you?” Lainey picks him up and tickles his side, heading for the living room, which has slowly been overtaken by his toys.

We’re in the process of trying to divide the space so the whole thing doesn’t look like some kind of toddler amusement park.

Lainey sets him down in front of one of his educational toys that lights up and flashes . . . and plays annoying music, but he loves it and it keeps him entertained while we make dinner, so we deal with the noise.

“How was your afternoon at the spa?” Lainey went with some of the other wives. She deserves the break, because she moms it hard-core most of the time.

It’s been baby steps all the way: getting her used to worrying less about finances, infusing her into my life and my world, acclimating to the media attention. I don’t think that’s something she’ll ever be particularly comfortable with, but she seems to be handling it well, as long as I don’t throw too much at her at once.

She holds her hands out and wiggles her fingers. They’re painted Chicago colors.

I take her hand in mine and kiss her fingertips. “I like these.”

“I bet you do.” She steps into me, lowering her voice. “And I bet you can’t wait to see what they look like when they’re wrapped around your cock later.”