One-Timer (Carolina Comets), page 18
“Our baby.”
“You know what I mean.”
I glare at him. “No, sorry. I don’t.”
“It’s reckless of you to not—”
“Reckless? Reckless? You act like I did this on purpose! I’ve been sick, Lowell! It’s not my fault.”
“Sick?”
“Yes! And you’d know that if you were around.”
“Oh god.” He rolls his eyes. “Excuse me if I’ve been busy playing hockey. You know I can’t always be around during the season.”
“You’ve had no problems with it until recently.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, in case you haven’t noticed, you haven’t exactly been around lately.”
He hasn’t. Not for days. He hasn’t come over. He’s barely texted me. He’s been pulling away whether he’s ready to admit it or not.
“I’ve been playing hockey! In the NHL!”
“Stop saying that! Stop saying that like it matters or changes anything. Every other night this season you’ve had no problem spending the night in my bed.”
“Is that what this is?” He scoffs, pacing back and forth with a look of disgust lining his features. “You’re mad because I haven’t been around to fuck you?”
The air is sucked out of my lungs at his words, and I swear if I wasn’t all hooked up, I would be out of this bed and out of this room so fast because I cannot stand to be in it with him for another minute.
I have no idea who I’m looking at right now. Whoever it is, it’s not Lowell.
This isn’t the same man who has spent countless nights rubbing my back or helping me up to pee in the middle of the night. This isn’t the same man who had a heart-shaped pizza delivered to me just a few weeks ago because he was worried I wasn’t eating enough. This isn’t the same man who looks at me like I’m the only person in the world. This isn’t the same man who looks at me, especially not when he’s staring through me right now.
This man? This isn’t the man who makes me feel like I’m his.
I don’t know this man, and I don’t want to know him either.
“I—”
The door is pushed open, and I snap my mouth shut, not wanting to argue with Lowell in front of the doctor.
She beams at us, walking farther into the room. “Ah! Your husband is here. That’s—”
“We’re not together. I’m just the dad.”
My heart drops, and I know if I were standing up right now, I’d need to sit down.
His words are harsh and final, and even though I know we never defined just what it is we’re doing, I didn’t expect it to feel like I’m having my heart ripped out of my chest at the way he insists we’re nothing.
I’m not asking for a ring or a commitment, but does what we’ve spent the past several months doing really mean nothing to him?
Because it means something to me.
By the tone in his voice, it means too much to me.
Lowell isn’t looking at me. He’s only staring at the doctor, who is shifting her eyes between the two of us.
“Well?” Lowell prompts, lips flattened in a frown.
The doctor clears her throat. “You’re being released, Miss Kelly. Everything is looking much better now. Just need to make sure you’re drinking lots of fluids.” She turns to Lowell. “Maybe grab a sports drink or two on the way home, Mr. Lowell. As an athlete, I’m sure you’re aware of the benefits of replenishing your electrolytes.” She turns back to me. “Sound good? Any questions for me before we get you discharged?”
“No, Dr. Kane, thank you so much for your help today. I really appreciate it.”
She smiles. “It’s no problem at all. We see this happen from time to time, especially when the mother-to-be is under stress. Just make sure you’re resting, taking breaks when you can, and trying to avoid any stress triggers. It can make that mommy brain even worse.” She winks. “I’ll get these to the front desk, and we’ll get you on your way shortly.”
She shuffles out of the room, leaving us to slowly die in this oxygen-deprived space.
“Is that what you want, Lowell?”
He snaps his eyes up. “Huh?”
“When the baby comes…is that what you want to be? Just the dad?”
He knows what I’m asking.
He knows what I’m asking, and he just stands there. He doesn’t answer. Just stares at me…through me.
I hate it so much.
And in this moment, I hate him so much.
“I—”
“Pardon me, Mr. Lowell, but we wanted to go over some insurance information with you.”
He clamps his mouth shut, sending me one last glance before following the doctor out of the room, and I have my answer.
I’m not alone long enough to let the reality of what just happened simmer before a nurse comes in and helps get me unhooked and out of bed. She’s dropping me into a wheelchair—hospital policy—when she asks, “Do you have someone to take you home?”
“They’ll be waiting outside.”
She nods, then wheels me through to the front entrance. She’s helping me out of the wheelchair and into the car when Lowell comes skidding out of the sliding glass door of the hospital.
“Hollis, wait!” he calls out, jogging down the sidewalk to us.
“Thanks,” I say to the nurse. “We got it from here.”
She glances from me to Lowell, making sure I’m good, then takes the wheelchair and leaves.
“You can’t be serious,” Lowell says, coming to a stop before me. “You’re leaving with Harper?”
“What does it matter to you who I leave with, Lowell? We’re not together, remember?”
He opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it closed. He knows they’re his words I’m hurling back at him, which is why he can’t even defend himself right now.
“I’ll text you.” And I will. I’m pregnant with his baby. I’m not shutting him out. I turn to Harper, who is shooting a nasty look Lowell’s way. “Let’s go.”
She helps me into her car, glaring at him the entire time. When we’re about to pull away, she sighs, and I know she’s about to dive into the I told you so speech.
“Don’t,” I say to her quietly. “Please. Not now.”
Another sigh, then a nod.
I watch Lowell disappear in the rearview mirror, leaving half of my heart in the hospital parking lot.
22
LOWELL
I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve been hurt in all my years of playing hockey. I’ve had broken bones. I’ve taken one-hundred-plus-mile-per-hour pucks in places people should never take pucks. I’ve lost teeth. I’ve been beaten to the point of being unable to walk for days.
I’ve played through it all.
But this hurt? I’m not sure I can handle it.
And this time, it’s all my fault.
I fucked up.
I fucked up big, and not just out on the ice where we blew a three-to-one lead yesterday and lost seven to three because my head was completely out of the game.
No. I fucked up long before tonight, so many times in fact.
I should have never kissed Hollis.
I should have never slept with her.
I should have never kept sleeping with her.
And I definitely, one hundred percent should not have fallen in love with her.
But I did, I did, I did, and I so fucking did.
Standing in that hospital room seeing her with all those straps and monitors on her broke me. It broke me and it fucking scared me that it broke me, because this isn’t about us. It was never supposed to be about us.
Things with Hollis were never supposed to be this serious. One time, one night, and we move on. One night and we act like it never happened. She wasn’t supposed to still be around, and she definitely wasn’t supposed to get pregnant.
This whole thing has been a mess from the beginning, and I only have myself to blame for giving in to the temptation and breaking my rule that hockey comes first no matter what. I don’t know the exact moment I fell for her—probably when she punched me—but I know the exact moment I realized I couldn’t love her. I can’t love her because if I do, I can lose her. If I never love her at all, I’ll never know what it feels like to lose her, and I can walk away intact.
But that’s bullshit.
It’s always been bullshit.
I know that now. I know that because I’m sitting on this godforsaken bench in a million shattered pieces, and I have no clue how to put myself back together.
“How do you want it?”
I sigh, because I knew I’d be hearing from him at some point. I finish lacing up my skates, then look at Collin, who is standing over me with his arms crossed and a murderous stare etched into his eyes.
He’s pissed, and I don’t blame him one bit.
I sit back, meeting his ire because I deserve it and I know I do.
“How do I want what?”
“Your death. Poisoning? Axe? Arrow? Shovel? Rope? Knife? Chainsaw? Spoon? Take your pick.”
“Fuck off. I’m not in the mood for your games.”
“Oh, trust me—this isn’t a game.”
Imagine my fucking surprise when he actually pulls a spoon out of his back pocket and whacks me on top of the head with it.
“OW! What the…”
He grabs me by the sweater, pulling me off the bench and tugging me until we’re nearly touching noses.
“Fuck off, Wright,” I seethe, ignoring the surprised cries of What the fuck from our teammates, who are already half-dressed getting ready for practice. “It’s not your battle.”
“Bullshit it’s not. Your girl has been on my couch for the last week while my girl is fixing her. It’s my problem as much as it’s yours.”
He pulls me close until we’re nose to nose, and I grab his sweater, shoving at him, but he doesn’t budge. “Leave it alone.”
“No!” he roars.
I shove him again, catching his chin with my fist that’s holding his sweater. It’s the first hit, and it’s all it takes for his eyes to darken and for him to take a swing at me.
I let him hit me. I let him hit me because I deserve it and so much more.
I don’t know how long he hits me. I stop counting, and I stop hitting back. I just take it, accepting my punishment.
Because this? What’s happening right now? It’s nothing compared to how I’m feeling on the inside.
“Dude, dude. Whoa. Come on, man, that’s enough, all right? Chill out.”
Rhodes pulls on him, trying to drag him away. He doesn’t relent, and I like that he doesn’t relent. I like that he’s here having Hollis’ back. I’ve never been happier to be hit in my entire life.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!”
Collin drops me the instant Coach blazes into the room, a glower marring his face as he takes in the sad state of each of us. His hands are on his hips, his lips pressed and angry. He shakes his head, looking completely disgusted by both of us.
“Is this what we’re doing now, huh? Fighting each other instead of the other team?” He scoffs. “Fucking despicable.” He points a finger at Collin. “Scratched, starting tonight.” Then he points to me. “You? Two games. You’re supposed to be leading this team, especially right now when we need it the most. Instead, you’re in here fighting with your own teammates. You know better than that, Captain.”
I hate the way he spits the word at me.
I don’t feel like a captain. Especially not right now.
I nod, accepting it.
“Good. Now get the fuck out on that ice and leave whatever this bullshit is in here. Understood?” He laughs derisively, shaking his head and muttering as he walks out. “Fuckin’ children. All a bunch of children.”
The door slams shut behind him and the room is completely quiet, everyone just watching to see what’s going to happen next between Collin and me.
We stare each other down for a long time until finally, Rhodes lays a hand on his shoulder.
“We got practice, man. This is over.”
“It’s not. It’s not over. He doesn’t get to just break her and walk away. That’s not how it works.”
“Break her?” I mutter. “I didn’t break her. She broke me.”
Collin whirls back around, ready for more. “What’d you say?”
“I said I didn’t break Hollis. She broke me, and I love her, okay?” I shove myself up, staggering just slightly from being knocked around like a punching bag. I rub at my jaw that’s already throbbing, trying to catch my breath that just won’t seem to come. “I love her. Are you fucking happy now?”
“No,” Collin seethes. “I won’t be happy until she’s happy, and you have a lot of fucking fixing to do.”
“This is all your fault,” I say to Smith as we head into the building for the game tonight—the game I won’t be playing in because I’m a healthy scratch.
Everyone knows that’s the worst kind of scratch to be. It means you’ve screwed up and now you have to pay by forcing your team to pick up the slack without you while you sit in the box with the night off, watching the repercussions of your actions.
It fucking sucks, and it especially blows because Coach wants Collin and me up in the box together. Based on the bruises on my face and the split lip he’s rocking, it’s clear we got into it with one another. The press is going to have a fucking field day with it no doubt.
“Yeah? And how’s that exactly?”
“You told me to ask her to dance, and I did. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be in this mess at all.”
His brows rise, and I hate that the look he’s giving me says we both know that’s not true. I think even if Hollis and I hadn’t danced that night, we would have still ended up in that garden together, wrapped around one another like a clandestine meeting under the stars.
If we hadn’t, Smith would have told me to ask her to dance.
He knew all along.
Fucker.
“What are you going to do?”
I look back at Fiona. The only thing I want to do is jump inside of her and drive to Hollis and tell her how sorry I am.
But I can’t. I have to be here, for a hockey game I’m not even fucking playing in because Coach is sadistic.
“I’m going to fix it. Eventually.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“This might sound fucking nuts, but have you tried honest communication?”
I snort. “Like you’ve tried with Emilia?”
“My situation is a little more…complicated.”
“And mine isn’t?”
“No. It’s pretty straightforward if you just get your head out of your ass and look at it from a non-damaged perspective.”
“But I am damaged.”
He stops walking, turning to me. “You’re right. You are—but so is Hollis. She got divorced less than a year ago because her husband was cheating on her. Then she got pregnant right after. She’s damaged too, but guess what? She’s not going around putting up walls and blocking people out because she’s afraid. She’s facing this shit head-on, which is a lot more than I can say for you.”
I…fuck. He’s right. I know he’s right.
“I know.” I scrub a hand over my face, exhaling sharply. “I know, okay? I’m an idiot. A bigger idiot than Miller.”
“Yeah, you are,” Miller says as he walks by shooting me judgy eyes.
Shit. Even the rookie is on my case.
Smith sighs. “I’ve put my life on hold for my career. I’ve been married to this game for longer than you’ve been alive. Hockey is my life, but it doesn’t have to be yours. So, if you love her and there’s a chance for you to have a family, take that chance. Because trust me, Lowell, these years? They’re going to fly by fast, and before you know it, you’ll be an old man like me signing one-year contracts hoping you can hold on to the game you love for just a little longer because you know when it’s over, you’ll truly be alone.”
I swallow, my mouth sticky and dry just thinking about living a life without Hollis in it. I mean, yeah, we’ll always be connected because of the baby, but just thinking of another man raising my child too, another man touching her…knowing her the way I do…
I can’t stomach it.
It’s supposed to be me.
I’m yours, she promised.
Mine, I swore.
“Tell her, Lowell.”
23
HOLLIS
“All right, tell me what’s going on.”
My brows scrunch together. “I don’t know what you mean. Nothing’s going on.”
Emilia looks at me with shrewd eyes. “Hmm, nice try. But you’re my best friend and I know you better than that. So, tell me…what happened?”
Everything happened.
“It was…nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. You were dehydrated and in the hospital, so it clearly wasn’t nothing.”
Oh. That’s what she’s talking about.
“Right. It was just that—a little dehydration, but I’m better now.”
“Good. I’m glad. Now tell me about what happened with Lowell.”
My heart leaps into my throat just hearing his name. “W-What about him?”
“Why is he moping around the rink?”
He is?
I think in another life at another time, it would give me a bit of satisfaction to know he’s hurting like I’m hurting.
But it doesn’t. If anything, it makes me feel worse.
A small wave of discomfort surges through my belly, and I rub it to help soothe it. I take a mental note of the time like I have been all day since they began in the wee hours of the morning. They’re getting closer together and more painful, that’s for sure.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say to her, pushing through the discomfort.
“Yes, you do. Start talking.”
I know she’s not going to give up. To be fair, I knew she wasn’t going to give up when she came over here tonight when she’s supposed to be working. She took a personal day just to spend time with me. I love her for it, but I also would have been fine having a night to myself to sulk.
