Baby Makes Three

By RJ Scott and V.L. Locey

When baby makes three, Christmas will never be the same for Ten and Jared.

There's not much that Tennant Rowe hasn't accomplished, and all before reaching thirty. Hoisting the Cup, marrying the man of his dreams, and becoming a spokesman for LGBTQ2+ athletes' rights have filled his world with great joy. While his successes on and off the ice have been beyond his wildest expectations, he's now wondering if it's time to add one more tiny addition to his already wonderful life.

Being a dad to Ryker and marrying Ten are the two of the best things in Jared's life, only something is missing. He always wanted more children, but with Ten and the Railers riding a wave of success, how could he even broach the subject of adoption or surrogacy with the man he loves? Jared would give the moon and the stars to his husband, so when Ten reveals his desire to be a father, they start a journey that will fill their Christmas with a new and special kind of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RJ Scott
• Release date: Nov 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781785642135

RJ Scott

RJ Scott is the author of the best selling Male/Male romances The Christmas Throwaway, The Heart Of Texas and the Sanctuary Series of books.She writes romances between two strong men and always gives them the happy ever after they deserve.

Book preview

Chapter One

JARED

February

I hated waking up to a Ten-sized space in bed but in the last few weeks it had become the norm. Missing the early morning snuggling was one thing, but knowing that my normally unflappable husband woke every day with his thoughts in a twist was hurting my heart. As I tugged on sweats and a T-shirt and resolved to hunt him down, I didn’t know what I’d find.

Day one of waking at dawn I’d found him running hell for leather on our treadmill, day two it was weights, day three he was slamming pucks at the net in our large backyard, then day four we were back to running. It was twenty-one days since we’d gotten the letter from the Harrisburg Central Family Agency, and I had no idea what Ten could be doing today. Hockey players were a superstitious lot, but I was convinced this new daily ritual he’d formed was less about helping his game and more about escaping his worries.

I grabbed coffee and the specific protein shake Ten had on game days and went searching for him, finding him in the home gym. Only he wasn't running, or lifting weights; he was sitting on the treadmill, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was a sight for sore eyes, his dark hair soft and messy around his face, his Railers T-shirt with his number was old and worn and hugged him like a second skin, and his shorts meant that I got a good peek at his long legs and spectacular hockey thighs. But it wasn't any of that that I focused on—it was the look of misery on his face.

The Railers were on top of the division by five points, he’d played with a fire that blew away the opposition, and the team was on a high. So I was sure it wasn't hockey that was playing with his mind. Also, he’d only just had another checkup so I hoped it wasn't his brain that was causing him issues. He had headaches sometimes, moments when words didn’t immediately come to him, but that was a small non-issue according to the specialist, just remnants of the trauma.

I was sure it was tomorrow that was messing with his head, but then it was a big day for us both. Stress and worry frustrated him, and that was why he’d reverted to routines.

Babe? I called from the door.

He glanced up at me. Hey, he murmured.

You worried about Philly? I knew he wasn’t, and also knew full well what his answer would be. At least it would raise a smile.

He huffed. The day I worry about playing hockey is the day hell freezes over.

Good. I deliberately didn't push him to tell what the actual reason was, always kept it to hockey, because one day he’d tell me the truth. I almost left him to his thoughts, but it appeared that today was the day he’d decided to share.

Jared? It’s not hockey, it’s all these worries about what we’re doing.

My stomach fell. About trying for a baby? We’d made the decision together, on Christmas Day, and had talked the issue to death until we were both completely sure we were on the same page. Ten wanted a family with me, I wanted a family with him, and at the end of it we’d hugged and agreed that the time was right.

No, not that.

What about then? Do you want to talk?

You’re going to think I’m stupid, he muttered and rubbed his eyes.

Never.

Well, what if our surrogate hates us? he blurted.

And there it was. Twenty-one days ago we’d had an email confirming a potential match from our choices, and twenty-one days ago Tennant Madsen-Rowe had begun to lose his shit. I instinctively knew that was the thing messing with his head, but it was up to him to process it all and let me in when he reached a point where he couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

I handed him the shake, and settled next to him on the treadmill, bumping elbows. What is there to hate?

Where do I start?

I winced at the resignation in his voice. As his coach I needed his head in the game today, but as his husband and lover I wanted to make everything right for him. You know she picked us from the list, right?

Yeah, but—

No buts, babe. We ticked all the boxes, same-sex married couple, sportsmen, annual income, family history, your injury and recovery backed up by doctor letters, my divorce, Ryker, wills, trusts, suggestions for contacts, references, there was nothing we left off, so if she chose us then she made decisions based on facts.

She can still pull out of it all.

I put an arm over his shoulders and tugged him close. She could, and you know what? We’ll deal with that if it happens. Together.

What if we go all the way to the end and—?

Stop thinking ahead. Let’s take each day as it comes. Treat it like hockey and take each day on its merits, where each win and loss forms a tapestry of content to get us to the finals.

He laughed, and I knew I’d broken the fears for the moment. Dude, did you just use the word ‘tapestry’ in a sentence about hockey?

I have mad English skills, I said with a smile and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. He faced me and the kiss changed from a peck to a full blown hello and good morning.

Ten would be fine and we’d make it through the game, and then hell, we’d rock the meeting tomorrow with the potential surrogate.

Together.

Isobel Mackie was thirty-one, a beautician, married to Eddie, and with a twin brother, Adam, who was gay. Isobel had signed up with the agency when her brother had been going through the same process as us to become a dad with his husband. In a selfless exchange of love, she’d offered to become a surrogate because her brother was now the father of twin boys by using the same method. That was one of the things that had drawn her to us the most; that she knew what the process had been like for the brother she adored, and that her family supported her one hundred percent. In fact, her husband, Eddie, was with her today as her advocate, and there was so much love between them that it was like looking in a mirror at Ten and me. The four of us were ushered into a plush room to sit at a round table with the agency owners and a young woman called Michelle who was there to take notes.

We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, all very formal when all I wanted to do was hug Isobel until she squeaked. Of course that would be after I explained to her that Ten was sure she was going to back out, and then begged her not to.

It’s so nice to finally meet you in real life. She smiled broadly.

And you, I said when Ten stayed quiet. I knocked my shoe against his, but he was focusing on the paperwork in front of us.

Do you have any questions for me? Isobel asked with an open smile, and I knew Ten had a thousand, but again, silence.

This is the time to discuss the finer points, Lloyd, the owner of the Harrisburg Central Family Agency encouraged, but Ten seemed tense.

Ten? I murmured, You want me to—?

No, it’s okay, he said, then lifted his chin. I’d prefer this meeting to be just the four of us in here, with Michelle as our case manager, Ten interrupted.

For a high profile situation we usually oversee, Lloyd said.

Actually, we’d prefer it to be Michelle, Isobel murmured.

Lloyd glanced at his wife, Jennifer, the other half of the ownership team, but Jennifer shrugged.

Okay, if that’s the way it has to be, then Michelle has this, she said, and pushed back her chair. Michelle, make sure you detail everything.

Yes, ma’am, Michelle murmured, and opened the pad in