Another Goal, page 21
I’d always give her a choice. And I’d love her, even if she didn’t choose me.
I tried to pour all that into the kiss that tangled and twisted our mouths. When we finally pulled apart, she met my gaze for a long, painful heartbeat.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay.”
“I’m tired,” she said. “I think I’m going to nap while Bree’s asleep.”
I nodded, unsure how far to push.
“Don’t you have practice?” she asked.
“Informal. I don’t have to—”
“Go. Please. It will be good for you. And there’s something I need to do.” Millie rose, paused to look down at Bree in her crib, and walked out of the room.
Luka
Millie had been right. Getting a stick in my hands, flying across the ice, and slamming pucks into the net helped me clear my head. I had no idea how executives sat through meetings. That shit was brutal. Hockey made sense. Love, relationships…not so much.
Two and a half hours later, drenched in sweat and grinning like a loon as Maxim cursed me after a fucking fantastic deke, I leaned over, hands on knees, and let myself glide across the ice.
“You good now?” Cruz asked as he skated up beside me.
“Yes. But no.”
Cruz made a humming noise. “What did you do?”
I rose to my full height and glared. “Why do you think I did something?”
Maxim slapped his giant paw on my shoulder. “Because we’re men and we fear our feelings and do dumb shit to make them go away.”
Cruz skidded to a stop at the rink’s exit and pointed at Maxim. “That.” He led us off the ice.
I sighed, demoralized, as I admitted that I had, in fact, been stupid. Or at least not approached Millie’s feelings with the care I should have. I told them about Trent’s comments on the plane and her guarded, hurt reaction to my suggestion of the paternity test.
Cruz gave his head one shake, then let it drop. “That’s partially my fault. I should have considered how she’d take that—especially knowing what a snake her father is. And Gunnar’s asshole comments.”
“There’s so much on her plate right now. She just had a baby, for God’s sake. She shouldn’t have to litigate her entire life on top of that. Yet that’s exactly where we are, and I can’t make any of it go away.”
Maxim nodded, meeting my gaze when I finally lifted it.
But it was Coach Whittaker who answered. “Sounds like what I did when I freaked out about how much I loved Trix and Paloma, even though I knew I wasn’t good enough for them.”
I glanced over my shoulder, too tired and heartsore to be angry my coach was eavesdropping. “But you’re happy now?”
He smiled. “Yeah. Even when they make me crazy, which is often.” He pressed his lips together. “Those two are good at it.”
“Because they know you so well. And it’s probably part of their love language,” Cruz offered.
Millie
My hands shook as I picked up the small box I’d had delivered while Luka was at his practice. My heart pounded, but my grip was sure. I met him in the living room when he returned.
He was freshly showered, but his face was pinched. He searched my eyes, seeking answers I hoped I could give him.
“Would you sit down?” I asked.
He moved toward that giant armchair and sat. I walked toward him, my legs wobbly, and dropped to my knees between his spread ones. I set the box on his thigh.
“What’s—”
“Your engagement ring,” I said.
“You bought me an engagement ring? That’s a thing?”
I nodded. “Oh yeah.” I shrugged. “The jewelers off Montrose had many choices.”
We both smiled. Montrose was at the epicenter of the vibrant gay scene in the city. Houston was a lot more cosmopolitan than outsiders gave it credit for; probably because the city also embraced its roughneck roots.
Maybe that’s why I loved Houston so much—it was messy, effervescent, chaotic, and so alive. “I think I’m going to want to continue working,” I told him. “But I’m going to want to be around for Bree, too, so I don’t know what that future will hold. But it’ll be here. Here in Houston.”
“You’re sure? I mean, I know the city holds bad memories—”
“I’m sure.” I heaved a breath. “I’ve always loved the city. I love Ida Jane and the CATS. It’s my father I feared. But with you, I’m not scared of him anymore.”
Luka smiled, his fingertips grazing my cheek. “I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart, but you understand I may get traded.”
“I understand that. But you won’t be traded to Sri Lanka.” I opened the box. “I want us to be a family, hopefully here, but wherever we need to go. I want Bree to know how loved she is, every day. And I want you to know how loved you are by me. Every day.”
I scooted closer to better show him the thick platinum band, inset with a tiny channel of rubies. “Since we’re both June birthdays, I went with our birthstone, but if you hate it—”
He lunged forward, his hand cupping the back of my head, and kissed me. The ring went flying, but I wasn’t worried. We’d find it soon enough.
After an intense make-out session that ended with my toes in pins and needles and the rest of my body primed for more than we could do safely, Luka crawled around on the floor until he found his ring.
“Put it on?” he asked.
I slid it past his knuckle. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want a wedding band, too—”
“Yes. Both. All of it.” He grinned with such joy, my breath caught. “I’m fucking engaged!” he crowed.
Bree shifted and then cried. We looked at each other and laughed.
“I’ll change her and then we can talk plans while you nurse her, okay?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He paused, suddenly seeming shy. “I have ideas about the wedding.”
“I want to hear them,” I said.
“And I want to go back to Colombo, but not to live.”
I smiled. “No, not to live. But we’ll visit. It’s a magical place.”
“I want to get married soon.”
“Then we will.” I kissed him, and he kissed me, until our daughter squawked again.
Keelie and Ida Jane insisted on watching our eight-day-old daughter for Luka and me while we went to a meeting our lawyer, Jonathan Dresden, had set up with my father. I was grateful, but leaving Bree with my besties almost made me more nervous than facing the man who’d lied to me for years. Though bringing Bree along would have definitely been worse.
I pulled the lapels of my suit jacket over my breasts as we waited at the conference table, hoping I didn’t have another milk accident like the one yesterday. Luka must have been thinking the same thing because he leaned in and whispered, “I’d pay ten grand to see you hit him in the eye.”
I laughed but also gagged a little. I didn’t want my father in contact with any part of me, even my breast milk.
A minute later Chasten Jones strode into the room like he owned it—with Trent and the smarmy lawyer from the hospital in tow. I reached for Luka’s hand, and he held on, letting me know he was there. I glanced over at him, accepting his slight nod. He’d let me handle this—we’d already talked about that—but he offered the vote of confidence I needed. He believed in me.
“Mr. Jones,” I said, my voice whip sharp. “Mr. Cox. And…attorney.”
“Millicent,” my father said, evidently accepting my use of his surname as his due, as opposed to the distance I was putting between us. “Andre Castinelli is my legal counsel.”
“Right. Well, this shouldn’t take too long. Jonathan, if you’d like to explain,” I said, looking his way as the others took their seats.
“My pleasure, Millie.” Jonathan passed Andre a brief, and the other lawyer picked it up lazily. “My client is suing you for the entirety of the funds designated for her in the will of her mother, Allison Seymore Jones. She’s also suing for damages created by the lies told to her regarding her mother’s illness, the subsequent forced removal from her home, and the emotional cruelty created by the attempts to coerce her into a conservatorship.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“Actually,” Andre said, setting down the document. “It’s legal. And smart.” He scowled at Chasten. “Based on your deceased wife’s will, Ms. Millicent Jones was the sole beneficiary. That’s not the will you shared with my firm.”
“Because, because she changed it.”
“No, she didn’t,” Jonathan said. “And I’m sure of that because I was her legal counsel at the time, which is why I’m representing Millie now.” He leaned forward. “You committed fraud, lied to your only child, and used her money to try to coerce her into a life she never wanted. In exchange for the money and properties and businesses you bought using her funds, we won’t press criminal charges.”
Trent sat back in his chair, mouth gaping. Clearly he’d believed Chasten was the wealthy one—the holder of the cards—not me. I tried to squelch the satisfaction rolling through me as he turned paler and began to sweat.
Okay, I didn’t try very hard—at all, really. Trent deserved to sweat and worry after telling me he’d keep me locked in the house, where a woman belonged, while he went out and lived his life. Misogynist scum.
Luka settled our clasped hands on his thigh. I rubbed my thumb along his muscle enjoying the flex under my caress.
“That’s preposterous,” my father—no, Chasten exclaimed. His face was a mottled, deep red.
Luka shifted his hand, and his engagement ring rubbed against my finger, causing me to smile.
“You think this is funny?” Chasten snarled.
I wondered if he might have a heart attack or a stroke. That would be…sad. Yes, I’d feel bad if my father, my only blood relative besides Bree, was gone. But I wouldn’t miss him. I couldn’t. He’d never really been a part of my life.
I cleared my throat. “No, what you did to me—what you tried to do—isn’t funny at all. But I do guess I’ll get the last laugh, because despite your awfulness, I found Luka, and I have a beautiful daughter. A family. Something you’ve never achieved.”
Andre Castinelli smirked at me, and Luka squeezed my hand a little harder. I knew he was struggling to let me handle this my way. No doubt he wanted to shove his fist through Chasten’s teeth.
“What are you going to do with my holdings—should you manage to weasel them away from me?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
Both he and Trent seemed to relax at that, and I let them. I wouldn’t do anything with those companies. People counted on them for their livelihood, and I wouldn’t disrupt their lives. I would fire Chasten and Trent, of course, and if they hadn’t had egos the size of Texas, they would have figured that out already.
Sometimes others’ entitlement really paid off.
Chapter 17
Luka
The next morning, after the team’s morning skate, I sat down in the chair in Coach’s office—his fancy management office located in the Wildcatters’ executive suite. This space was even nicer than the office at the arena. The chair supported me with sumptuous cushions made of some fine, soft material. Coach’s desk was an eclectic mix of wood and glass and metal—a sculpture in its own right. Thick carpet muffled his footsteps as he rounded the desk to sit in the chair behind it.
I couldn’t help feeling as if I was the peasant, and Silas Whittaker was the judge, jury, and probable executioner of my future. I reminded myself that Millie and Bree were at my condo. They were my home, not a city or even the walls that housed us. Wherever the three of us were together, I could flourish.
“This is really a formality, but I prefer to meet with my players face to face.”
I clenched my hands where they lay on my thighs.
“Gunnar will be here shortly, as he has a few things he wanted to say to you, too.”
I dipped my head, unwilling to open my mouth. I might as well have swallowed nails. Leaving Cruz, my unexpected best friend and, yeah, my brother—I loved that scary-ass son of a gun—not to mention Cormac, who’d overcome so much to earn that sheen of perfection. Then there were Naese and Maxim. The guys had been more of a family to me than my parents ever were. How was I going to do it?
“I don’t think we have to wait for him on all of this, though,” Coach continued. “I sent the details to your agent before you came in. We wanted to get ahead of your contract negotiations during the next off-season, Luka. We don’t want to wait. We consider you one of the Wildcatters most valuable core members, and we’re offering you a five-year extension with a nice pay bump. I hope you’ll consider what we’re doing here and how we want you to fit into that plan, because I’m almost positive Colorado’s going to beat our offer.” Coach’s nostrils flared and his lips pinched. Everyone knew Coach was the most competitive of us all. He hated losing anything, ever, including a bidding war.
I swallowed as his words sank in. “You want to keep me?”
Coach smiled and tilted his head. “You thought otherwise?”
“Well, yeah, I wasn’t sure you’d see me as a good fit after all the drama.”
“Do you know what I’ve witnessed this past season?” Coach asked. His gaze remained direct, his hands folded on top of his desk. His nails were short and neat, his hands now smoother than any player’s. But if you looked closely, he still had the nicks and scars of a former player. That was another reason I respected Coach so much. He’d sweat and bled and stressed over the game just like the rest of us.
I shook my head, a knot of barbed wire bobbing in my throat.
“I’ve watched you go from unfocused and sometimes lazy—using your talent and athleticism to skate by—to a man who’s dedicated and focused. One who prioritizes his family and has the other younger players turn to him when they have questions about growth.”
I swallowed as I stared at my hands. “I want to stay in Houston,” I began.
“And we want you to,” Gunnar said from the door. “You show excellent potential to be one of our next-gen franchise players.”
Weight sloughed from my shoulders like dirt from the bottom of a shoe. I grinned. “That means a lot. Everything, actually.” From the moment I’d heard about the Houston expansion team, I’d known it was going to be life changing. Being here, learning from Silas, Cormac, Maxim, Cruz—all the guys—had taught me what it meant to be a man as much as how to be a better hockey professional.
“Plus, everyone sings Millie’s praises,” Gunnar added. “Adam said she’s a good influence on Naomi—has helped her settle down. And obviously Ida Jane loves your partner.”
“Paloma has also enjoyed spending time with her. She said Millie’s head is on straight,” Coach said.
I looked over at Gunnar. “What happens to the franchise if you don’t go through with Chasten’s deal?” Because that wouldn’t be happening.
His eyes gleamed. “Nothing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”
“I don’t need Chasten Jones’ money. We have a healthy fan base and sell out most games. You guys are popular with the locals, so we have robust jersey and merchandizing sales. I was more interested in Chasten’s community connections, wanting to make inroads into some programs we haven’t yet been able to ramp up.”
“Like a summer-long hockey camp for local kids,” Coach offered.
“Or at-risk teen mentorships,” Gunnar added.
“Those programs sound fabulous,” I told them.
“They do, but they’ll wait until we find the right person,” Gunnar said. “Chasten Jones is not that person. He wanted to force his daughter into a conservatorship so he could maintain control of money that wasn’t his.” Gunnar’s lip curled. “Or even worse, take a baby from loving parents as a power play—a bargaining chip.”
I leaned forward, hands clasped between my knees, unsurprised that Gunnar knew as much about my situation as I did. “All three of us did the buccal swab, and we already have the results.”
“Did the answer change anything for you? I mean, how you feel about the baby?” Coach clarified.
I huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t even want to bother with the test because Bree’s been mine from the get-go. But indisputably, now everyone can know it’s me. I’m her dad. Though, I have to say once again, Millie’s word was enough for me.”
The two most powerful men I knew nodded their understanding, approval shining from their eyes.
I’d found it. My place. My home.
I’d needed Millie and Bree to settle me, to help me prioritize what was important—my family, my team, then my job. For the first time since my parents had skipped my pee-wee championship, I felt peace.
Whole.
I needed to tell Millie. But first…
“If Millie pries that money away from her father, which she will, would you be interested in working with her?”
Gunnar and Coach exchanged a look.
“She’d need to bring us a proposal,” Gunnar said.
“One that funnels some of Ida Jane’s clients into the program?” I asked.
Gunnar chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder. “You should be the one negotiating your contract. You do a better job than your agent.”
With a wave, he left, and I returned my attention to Coach.
He’d leaned back in his chair. “You really pulled your head out of your ass, Stolly. You’ve come a long way this year. Why don’t you go share the news with your woman so I don’t regret saying that—or offering you such a juicy contract?”
I left the office with a near-skip and a mile-wide grin. I called my agent and left a message to let him know I was accepting Houston’s offer. He called back immediately, again and again, but I let those go to voicemail, knowing he’d rail against me not including him in my decision-making. He’d huff and puff about the money I’d left on the table when I accepted the Wildcatters offer and not Colorado’s. But I’d call him back in a couple of days—once the ink was dry on my contract—and remind him that he’d just earned a fat paycheck. His job was to look out for my best interests, and those were in Houston, with the Wildcatters.
