Page 8 of Meant for Mayhem

Beckett folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall while I dug in and pushed again. The tote scraped forward another few inches, protesting the entire time. Honestly, I respected its commitment to the bit.

By the time I reached the end of the hall, I was sweating, breathing hard, and actively reconsidering every life choice that led me to this moment. I braced one foot against the railing and wrestled the tote into position until it finally landed with a heavy thunk at the top of the stairs.

“There,” I declared.

Beckett looked from me to the tote. “To be clear, that’s not down the stairs.”

“It’s at the stairs.”

“Was that the goal?”

“It is now.”

He laughed, then moved to help me right as the sound of a car tearing up the gravel drive drew our attention outside. Lori Conway’s house was several miles outside of Linwood, nestled against the Gore Range mountains. We didn’t get many visitors aside from Beckett, his fiancée Emmy, and her son Jace.

“Do you know that car?” I asked, brow furrowing the closer the silver SUV got.

“Don’t think so. You?”

I shrugged, trying to recall if I’d seen it before. Since tomorrow was my last day as Lori’s in-home caretaker, I knew Beckett had hired someone to help with his mom. The idea of strangers hanging out every day with Lori instead of me sat like a lead weight in my chest, but I hadn’t worked this hard for a master’s degree in speech pathology to walk away when my clinical fellowship year began.

I opened my mouth to ask if he was going to check, but Beckett cursed under his breath and hopped down the steps two at a time. I frowned, looking back at the car that was now parking outside, trying to make out the driver and why Beckett yanked open the door and shoved his feet into a pair of unlaced boots, in a hurry to see whoever had parked outside.

A lifetime of trauma and an active imagination had me picturing every worst-case scenario when the car came to a halt. But nothing prepared me for the sight of Mikko Laaksonen climbing out of the car before the dust from the gravel drive had even settled.

My back went ramrod straight, staring at the man I hadn’t seen in months. He was tall enough to dwarf the SUV door, broad shoulders tense beneath a grey tee, a dark blue hat covering most of his features. But I didn’t need to see him clearer to fill in the blanks.

Dark blond hair shaved close to his head, except where it was long enough to imagine running my hands through the top. Ice-blue eyes, as still as a glacier in the Arctic Circle, and hiding as much power. Muscle-corded arms, flexed as he put himself between me and my father last winter. Protecting a woman he’d literally just met.

I hated that he was such a permanent fixture in my mind.

Hated that I thought of him almost daily.

And I hated that he was here, when he was supposed to be lacing up for morning skate in Denver, two and a half hours away.

Not that I kept track.

Hockey was not my thing.

I also hated that somehow I was plastered against the glass window, scrambling for the latch to open it so I could overhear whatever Beckett and Mikko said.

“Open, dammit,” I muttered as I yanked on the sash, to no avail. I kept yanking, hoping it would give enough to let me hear their conversation as Beckett followed his former teammate around the car to the back passenger door.

By the third try, I gave up, then crawled over the bin blocking the stairs, nudging it a little over the lip. On quiet feet, I tiptoed down into the living room for a better view.

Snow-tipped mountains framed us on all sides, the last of fall fading into winter in the Vail Valley. The pond behind the house rippled in the wind; string lights hung from poles around the would-be outdoor rink. Everything was peaceful until Mikko opened the car door and I heard the faint sound of a child crying.

“It's too windy,” Lori said from behind me. “You won’t be able to hear anything from there.”

I jerked upright, spinning to look at Beckett’s mom reclining on the couch before her physical therapy appointment. She smirked, enjoying that she’d caught me red-handed. “I figured you might like a little air in here. It feels stale, doesn’t it?”

She lifted a shaking hand, pointing at the foyer. “Must be why Beckett left the door open then. My careless boy.”

The wind moved through the open foyer, lifting the pages of a magazine on the entry table, proving her point.

“Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not a girl’s girl, Lori.” I tapped my temple, then hurried toward the front door, crouching below the windows to hide the fact that I was absolutely snooping on their conversation.

The moment I put my face in the crack between the door and jamb sharp wails carried across the quiet yard. A second later, Mikko leaned into the SUV and lifted a tiny girl out of a car seat, her legs kicking in outrage.