Chapter 3
"Oh, I just meant that maybe if you showed me a picture," she pressed, desperately curious about the only girl (only person, really) who had ever been linked with Theo, "or told me a little about her, then I would know what kind of girl you liked, for when you feel like dating again—or even for something more casual!
Your type, I guess." She put a hand on his arm.
"We just don't want you to be lonely, Theo."
"I don't have a type," Theo said very seriously, but most guys said that because they believed it was the politest thing to say.
"Maybe not looks-wise, but everyone has characteristics they want in a partner.
Is she a good cook?
Does she dress well?
Is she athletic, like you, and is exercise and nutrition something she values?" She was really pushing it now, and poor Theo looked like a deer in headlights.
"I mean—I don't know.
I don't know about any of that."
Emma frowned.
"You don't know if she dresses well?"
"I just don't know her that well.
She has a... style.
Kind of... punk?
That's not right.
Never mind.
I actually don't know her very well.
She's just a friend.
Who I don't know very well."
Emma looked at him.
"It's true," he muttered defensively.
"But this girl's number was in your phone?
You still have her number, right?"
But I don't really know her."
"Alright," Emma said.
"How did you get her number?"
Theo considered this, staring at the baby in his arms.
"She gave it to me.
We met, like, once.
Once or twice.
She gave me her number and that was pretty much it.
I'm not even sure her name was 'Fleur.' I might have... misheard."
Emma hummed.
Theo looked intently at the baby in his arms.
"I don't," he muttered defensively.
"We don't, like... hang out.
We don't do anything together."
Was there something sad in the way he said it, or was Emma projecting again?
In the past, Mason had accused her of being project-oriented.
She wanted things to make sense, and she wanted the people she cared about to be happy.
Theo and Mason's friendship was simple, but she knew how much Mason valued having him on the team.
They were both level-headed, quiet, unobnoxious men, and in the world of professional athletes, sometimes that made them the outliers.
Theo was someone Mason could relate to, someone he could talk about his problems with, and he was a good captain and a good friend.
But Theo, from what Emma could tell, didn't seem to have any friends outside of the league—even really outside of his own team.
While that wasn't uncommon for the men she knew in the NHA, it still wasn't particularly healthy.
Theo bounced Oliver in his arms.
He was so much more confident around babies than most of the single guys she knew, even though Theo was an only child and, as far as she knew, didn't have any close family members.
He dangled his fingers in front of Oliver's face, smiling at the baby, and Emma's heart melted and thumped hard at the same time.
She watched her baby reach up and grab his fingers, cooing in delight when Theo let him catch them, and thought about the baby girl in her stomach.
She would need a godfather, wouldn't she?
Preferably a godfather with a girlfriend.
"You just started doing yoga, right?
Mason mentioned.
We should find a class to attend together, at least during the summer.
It would be fun!
And I bet there are tons of women in those classes who would love to get to know you.
Someone, you know,
closer to home."
Theo sighed.
Fairview Medical, Harborside
Mason tried to stop his leg from bouncing, but it was hard.
He was, admittedly, pretty uncomfortable.
Not just because of the hard plastic chair he was sitting on, or the distractingly cold air.
"Chilly in here, huh?" he attempted, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Theo glared at him.
He was sitting, shirtless (and, for a professional athlete, Theo was usually fully dressed, so Mason was a little distracted, sue him) on the hospital bed, still wearing skintight athletic leggings and hockey socks, which were the only things protecting him from the frigid air.
It was not enough, though, because his nipples were pebbled.
Mason felt a little guilty, and he felt extremely sympathetic.
Seriously, they were practically purple.
Not to mention, well.
The bruises.
"Don't," Theo said, tone as short as Mason had ever heard it.
Mason ripped his eyes away from where they had once again drifted to the constellation of love marks on Theo's chest and collarbone, little purple and pink bruises, each obviously the size of a pursed mouth, speckled with burst capillaries.
It was crazy distracting, actually.
Was this why Theo usually wore an undershirt, even in the locker room?
He used the same showers as the other guys, but sometimes he seemed to take forever to undress.
Mason had sometimes wondered if he was shy—and, he supposed, maybe that was true.
In a way.
"Man, no worries, I totally get it." Mason looked pointedly at the far wall because there were no windows in the little room.
We were in Westgate three days ago, after all."
"Shut up," Theo said.
It was almost a growl.
Mason really, really tried to focus on the wall.
Theo shifted on the bed, rolling his shoulders (and even his shoulders were littered with hickeys), then winced.
"Goddamn it," he said, gently lifting his bandaged forearm into his lap.
"I think the local anesthetic is wearing off."
Mason winced, not wanting to look at the bandages or think about why they were there.
Theo chuckled.
"For a guy who plays a contact sport where we sprint around on knives carrying giant clubs, you are surprisingly squeamish."
"Hey," Mason said weakly, but it was unequivocally true.
He fucking hated blood.
He hated hospitals, too, although he'd been forced to get better about that once he had so many kids.