I Found the Hockey King's Son, Now He Wants Me as His Mate

Chloe Sullivan POV:

My feet froze to the floor. The word was a key, jamming into the deepest, most painful lock in my heart.

I turned around slowly.

A little boy, no older than five or six, stood in the doorway of my room. He had a mop of soft, dark brown hair and impossibly large gray eyes that were fixed on me with a mixture of hope and anxiety.

He clutched the straps of a black backpack that looked too big for his small frame.

My heart skipped a beat. For a dizzying second, I thought of the baby the doctors had pronounced stillborn all those years ago. If he had lived, he might have been this age.

I shook the absurd thought away. I was exhausted, hallucinating.

I crouched down, forcing my voice to be gentle. "Hey, little guy. I think you have the wrong person. I'm not your mommy."

His lower lip trembled, and his big eyes instantly filled with tears. He shook his head, his voice stubborn. "You are. I know you are."

He took off, his little legs pumping, and threw himself at me. He wrapped his arms around my neck, burying his face in my shoulder. "Mommy," he sobbed, "I've been looking for you for so long..."

My entire body went rigid. He was so small, so warm, smelling faintly of milk and clean laundry.

I couldn't bring myself to push him away.

I let out a helpless sigh. "You're incredibly sweet, kiddo, but I'm really not your mommy."

"You are my mommy. I know a secret..."

A deep, magnetic, and icy male voice suddenly cut through the air from the doorway of the hospital room. "Mason."

The little boy flinched, his small body giving a visible shudder before he whipped his head around.

I followed his gaze toward the door.

Even having been in circles filled with attractive men, it seemed none of them could remotely compare to the man standing there.

He was wearing a crisp white button-down, the highest button left undone, exuding an unspeakable, untouchable ascetic appeal. His features were impeccably carved, like a masterpiece of marble, with a sharp, intelligent, and composed look in his eyes. His tall, broad-shouldered frame—undoubtedly built for the ice—carried the relaxed, aristocratic elegance of old money.

"Daddy!" the boy called out, immediately standing at attention.

I looked back at the boy, finally understanding exactly where he got his striking looks.

"Back to your room," the man ordered sternly.

Mason pouted, clearly reluctant, but nodded obediently. It was obvious the kid had been raised with excellent manners.

He turned back to me. "Mommy, I'm going back to my room now. It's right next door. Will you come visit me later?"

Meeting those eager, pleading puppy-dog eyes, I simply couldn't find it in me to refuse.

"Okay," I nodded, figuring I would go over later to properly explain to the poor kid that I really wasn't his mother.

"Oh, right, Mommy. My name is Mason, but my nickname is Mace. You can just call me Mace."

After finishing his little introduction, Mason reluctantly shuffled over to the tall man at the door.

The man was towering—easily over six-foot-two. With Mason standing next to him, the height difference between the elite athlete and his son was picturesque and undeniably adorable.

The man took Mason's hand and led him away, not having spared me a single glance the entire time. His demeanor was stiff and completely aloof. Yet, somehow, it didn't come off as entirely rude. I suppose that was just the privilege of being ridiculously good-looking.

Truthfully, I was never a fan of socializing anyway. A man like that, who treated strangers with such cold distance, actually made me feel perfectly at ease.

I pulled myself out of the hospital bed to head to the restroom. My right leg was still wrapped in a heavy cast, making movement incredibly difficult, but I stubbornly and proudly forced myself up onto my crutches. It was just instinct—the habit of being alone through almost everything. Even during those three years I spent with Evan Parrish, I had never once bothered him or relied on him for anything.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of gratitude for that stubborn part of myself. It was exactly why, even when the sky seemed to be falling, I could remain unbroken and unyielding...

It took a massive amount of effort, but I finally managed to hobble out of the restroom on my crutches. The moment I stepped out, I froze.

There was a man standing right in the middle of my hospital room.