“I don’t need you to be perfect, Haisley,” he continues. “I don’t need you to have it all figured out. I just need you to stop shutting me out every time things get messy inside your head.”
Something about the way he says it unravels another piece of the tight knot in my chest.
“I’ll try, but I’m still scared.”
“So am I,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
He watches me for a long while after those words, his expression unreadable. Then he glances at his watch. “Fuck, I gotta leave for the pre-game skate in ten. But before I go, I want you to know I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
He turns away, leaving his drink on the counter. He doesn’t say anything else or look at me as he leaves the kitchen.
And then he’s gone.I stand there, alone, staring at the two mugs still sitting side by side, and wonder how the hell love is supposed to bloom when both of us are still learning how to let it grow roots.
34
DON’T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT THE MOTHER OF MY CHILD AGAIN
RASMUS
The sound of the puck dropping marks the start of the last three minutes of the second period. The arena fills with excitement, fans cheering loudly. But I let it all fade away, locking my focus on the play unfolding before me.
We’ve got an advantage on the power play as one of the Beavers’ players got two minutes for high sticking. From the corner of my eye, I spot Lewis Farrington. A well-known dirty player of their team who also (unfortunately) happens to be Haisley’s ex. The same ex who mistreated her. All I want to do is erase that smug smile from his face.
“I saw your big news on social media before the game,” Farrington taunts, skating beside me. “Enjoying my leftovers and got her pregnant? What a fucking mistake, man.”
My stomach drops. What the hell is he talking about? We haven’t posted anything yet as we agreed to keep it quiet until after the season. But someone must have leaked the information.
Fuck, the pregnancy was supposed to be ours alone. Private and safe from the world. Now it’s out there, discussed openly, twisted into a weapon in Farrington’s arsenal.
I don’t respond. I can’t. If I open my mouth, I’ll lose control. I’m filled with anger but also a rush of adrenaline. The game is still ongoing, but all I can focus on now is his damn voice. My grip on the stick tightens, my knuckles turning white.
“Bet she didn’t tell you how she used to beg for it. Pathetic little thing.” He’s persistent, his tone dripping with contempt. “I don’t blame you, though. That sweet pussy can make a man go?—”
Every ounce of control I’ve been holding onto fractures, and red fills my vision. Dropping my stick and gloves, the cool air bites my bare hands as I close the distance between us in one swift motion.
“Don’t you ever talk about the mother of my child again,” I snarl, taking hold of the front of his jersey. “You had your chance with her, and you blew it.”
His face falters for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovers, too cocky for his own good. “Or what? You gonna hit me? Go ahead, Westerholm. Show everyone you’re as weak as I said you were. So weak that you managed to knock up a hockey whore.”
The last bit of my restraint snaps. My fist is already flying toward his face. It connects with a sickening crunch. Farrington stumbles, his head jerking back, eyes widening in surprise. He wasn’t expecting me to actually hit him.
He tries to hit me back but misses. My body moves on its own, fueled by pure instinct to protect what’s mine. I pull my handback, ready for another swing. But before I can make contact again, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me away while someone holds Farrington from trying another hit.
“He’s not worth it,” Jasper says with a serious tone, his grip firm. “Don’t get yourself into more trouble because of him. Trust me.”
“Fuck him.” My chest heaves as I glare at Farrington, who’s wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “He’s never allowed to think about her again. End of story."
“You’ll regret this,” Farrington spits out, but there’s no fire left in his voice. “I hope the pussy is worth it.”
I can’t move because Jasper won’t let me go. But I lower my voice so only he and the jackass can hear me. “If you mess with my family one more time, it won’t stop here. Haisley and that baby are my fucking world.”
The refs come between us, their whistles piercing above the rest of the noise. My chest heaves, adrenaline still running through my veins as I shake off Jasper’s grip. Farrington is skating backward now, spitting blood onto the ice as he goes. I’ve never wanted to punch someone more in my life.
“Keep your cool, Ras,” Jasper reminds me. “Let him go. It’s over.”
One of the refs skates toward center ice. The arena falls into a murmur, everyone waiting to hear the verdict.
“Team Peacocks, number nineteen. Two minutes for instigating, plus a game misconduct for fighting.”
