With that, the team’s PR genius and his personal tormentor walked down the aisle to the back of the plane, sat down in an empty row, popped in her earphones, and closed her eyes.

Meanwhile, he was still standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking the handful of Ice Knights players trying to get to their seats—the lucky kind that didn’t come with a baby, a nemesis, or the woman who had told him to go straight to the penalty box and not come back. The baby wiggled in his grip, her little chin starting to tremble under the weight of her apparent dissatisfaction. His pulse picked up and his mind went blank. This was like holding a live bomb, and he had no idea which wires to cut.

He looked over at Christensen and Shelby. Christensen still sat with his back to the aisle. Shelby just lifted an eyebrow and shook her head. Panic starting to make his palms sweat, Ian adjusted his hold on Freya but kept his arms locked so she was about as far away from him as possible.

Squaring his jaw, he gave the baby a firm look. “You’re not gonna cry.”

Freya’s answer was to let out an earsplitting yowl and turn a shade of purple he hadn’t been aware was possible for a human. Grown men winced. Stuckey, who was known for slamming into people with enough force to knock teeth out, sank down into his seat as if to hide. He swore he spotted Lucy smirking for half a second before she flattened her lips and went back to pretend sleeping.

“You can’t hold a baby like that if you want her not to cry,” Christensen said, his voice having no problem cresting over the crying.

Turning to Christensen, he glared at the other man. “How do you know?”

The forward’s’s expression turned smug. “Because I babysat all through high school to pay for my hockey gear.”

“So take her.” He held the baby out to Christiansen.

Freya hollered louder.

“No way.” He held up his hands, palms forward. “Lucy said you had first shift.”

Freya wailed again. It was like an ice pick being jabbed into his ear. Ian turned to Shelby and silently offered her the kid.

Her blue-lined eyes rounded before narrowing into tiny slits. “Why, because I’m a woman?”

Ian didn’t respond. She looked like a woman who knew how to fillet a man and was getting ready to show off her skills on him—probably with a rusty knife that had a dull edge.