“There are M&Ms in here.” She looked up, excited. “This isn’t healthy.”

There was no point in mentioning his usual choice of trail mix didn’t contain chocolate. He’d bought it, subconsciously, hoping to share with her. “I’ll just pick those out.”

“And give them to me,” she said, handing the bag back. He opened it and snuck under the covers with her. Dumping a handful in his palm, he held it out and let her pick out the chocolates. “Thank you,” she said, and the words carried more meaning than just for the food.

He kissed the top of her head. “No problem. Now. Zombies, ghosts, or ax murderers?”

“Your pick.” She rifled through his next handful of mix for the chocolate. “Just make sure you aren’t holding this when the scary stuff gets going. Otherwise, it’s gonna get ugly when peanuts and raisins go flying.”

He kissed her again, hiding a smile in her hair a moment before making a selection.

Chapter Twenty

Killian walked up the steps of his apartment, keychain swinging around his finger, whistling. Life was good. Practice had been fantastic, the team had really rallied after that embarrassing show in Miami, and he was in his last week of his agreement with Aileen. After the interview was over and done with, he’d slowly start working his way toward telling her about Charlie . . . once he was one hundred percent positive it wouldn’t be a problem.

Not that Charlie was the problem. His son was never the problem. Emma, however . . .

As he stuck the key into the lock of his front door, he heard Mrs. Reynolds’ door open behind him. He sighed inwardly, plastered a smile on his face, and turned toward her.

And the smile froze as he saw Emma and Charlie standing on the threshold of Mrs. Reynolds’ door. Charlie clutched a Hulk action figure in his hand, and Emma held onto the handle of a rolling suitcase.

“Daddy!” Charlie squealed, then bolted at him. Killian barely managed to bend down in time to catch him. Hauling his son up on his hip—dang, the kid was getting huge—he gave him a massive hug, then looked him over once for injuries. “Hey, bud. You okay? What’s wrong? Anything hurt?”

Charlie giggled as Killian’s hand passed over his side. “That tickles, Daddy. No hurts.”

No hurts. He hugged Charlie again, pressing a kiss to his clean, baby powder–scented hair that was identical to his own. Then he glanced at Emma over their son’s head. “What the hell?” he mouthed.

She smiled grimly and stepped aside for Mrs. Reynolds.

“I caught these two hovering around your door about an hour ago. And I said to myself, there’s a young man who needs a cookie.” She gazed softly at Charlie, who giggled again and held up two fingers. “Or maybe two.”

“Uh-huh. Well, thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.” He swung the door open wide and gestured for Emma to walk in ahead of him. “I appreciate you entertaining them. Must have gotten my times mixed up.”

“Anytime I can have a wonderful little boy over for some lively entertainment is a good day,” she said, patting her hair. Not that any of it was out of place, with as much hairspray as she likely used on it. Then, with a sharp look that told Killian she’d caught on to the situation, she added, “He’s a good boy, that one. A good egg. I’m sure his parents are very lucky to have him.”

Killian nodded, his throat closing up tight. Then he walked in and shut the door. “Hey, bud, wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah!” Charlie ran for the couch and jumped on it, bouncing once before settling. His bright red shirt with Iron Man’s mask stood out so much against the light brown couch. Beaming, his son slapped his knees and said, “Which one?”

“How about we try in here?” Killian went to the second door, took out his keys and unlocked it. Opening it wide, he grinned as Charlie gave a loud squeal of joy and ran in.

The second bedroom consisted of a twin-size bed with navy blue comforter, a simple dresser he’d bought at Target and assembled himself, and some posters of comic book characters and heroes he knew Charlie loved. The small TV and Xbox console that sat on the dresser, along with an assortment of DVDs and age-appropriate games were what really caught his attention.

The dresser and closet, Killian knew, also contained just a few sets of clothes, and an extra set of bedsheets.

By some people’s standards, it was a pretty basic room. But it was something he’d had to do.

“When did you put this together?” Emma asked quietly.

Killian shrugged, embarrassed. “Just, you know, things here or there if they caught my eye.” Which was a lie. The day he’d moved in to the apartment, he’d bought a crib and diapers to keep, just in case. The fact that Charlie had never used them was a sucker punch to the gut. But he’d been able to donate them to a shelter, and that had felt good. Sneaking them in and out without Mrs. Reynolds seeing had been another story altogether. And replacing them with little boy–appropriate furniture and accessories had soothed the ache.

“It’s sweet, that he has a place here.”

Not that he’d ever used it.

There was no reason for saying so. He was using it now, even if it was unexpected.

Charlie kicked off his shoes with flair and rolled around on the bed. “What movies do we got?”

After a quick debate, he chose The Tales of Despereaux. Killian started the movie, his heart swelling as he turned around and found Charlie already snuggling with a stuffed monster from Monster’s Inc. “Your mom and I are gonna be right out here, okay?”

Already engrossed in the movie, Charlie waved him off. “Okay, bye.”

Killian hated to make his son watch a movie five minutes after seeing him, but he and Emma were going to have a serious Come To Jesus, and their son needed to be sheltered from it.

He found Emma sitting primly at the kitchen table, a glass of water in front of her and her purse slung over the arm of the chair. The luggage, he noted, had been shifted to sit next to the couch. She waved him into the opposite chair, as if she were a queen bestowing a peasant the honor of her presence. He sat, because if he didn’t, he might go into the kitchen and find something to throw at her.

“What the hell, Emma?”

“Charlie missed you,” she said simply, as if that were all the explanation needed for why she’d broken a nearly six-year-long agreement to not pull this shit. “And I was sick of you blowing off his calls and visits.”

“I call back when I miss one of his. And one visit, Emma. One fucking visit.”

“Don’t use that word when he’s around,” she warned, but Killian sliced a hand through the air.

“You’re one to talk about rules. Sneaking around, breaking our own agreement? Nice co-parenting style you’ve got there, Emma.”

“You were—”

“The season is busy for me. Always has been. Always will be. It’s my job. And I’ve got a freaking reporter dogging my heels until the end of the regular season. You thought now, of all times, was the best opportunity to show me up?”

She bit her bottom lip for a moment, but he didn’t buy the innocent act. She was a good mom, a great one. And she’d been easy to work with in regards to Charlie’s custody and parenting. But something was up, and he wasn’t about to let her get away with just violating the rules so easily.

“I need some time off.”

Time off. “What, like a vacation? You want a vacation? For God’s sake, Emma.” He sat back and let his hands fall to the table. “You couldn’t have told me that on the phone? Two weeks from now, you can take a month off. You know I’ve never said no when you wanted a long weekend or a trip or whatever. As long as I could swing it, I’ve always said yes. I’ve always come up to stay with him when you wanted to go to a conference or see your mom out in Portland.”