And then a voice came from behind him.
“Hey, you're Lance Couture, aren't you?”
Before Lance could turn around and greet a fan with a polite smile, ahand appeared on his shoulder and spun him around.
A sudden force impacted his eye with apop.
A stranger's fist had bludgeoned his face. Rage immediately boiled in Lance's veins. He rolled with the punch, and before he could think better of it, instinct won out. He countered with a hard left hook and caught the drunk square on the chin.
The stranger's jaw twisted as he flew off his feet and sailed backwards. His helpless body launched into the crowd around him, knocking those bystanders to the floor like a bowling ball exploding through wooden pins.
Glasses fell to the floor and smashed with acrash,and bottles rolled on the floor. Shouts and screams erupted as the bar floor turned into a war zone. Someone began tossing bar stools dangerously through the air.
Radar grabbed the lapels of Lance's coat and pulled.
“We need to go.Now.”
Chapter 7
Paige
As soon as Paige left her parents' house, she called her best friend, Emily, and told her to hurry over. She had big news about Irie's father and needed help figuring out what came next.
Emily wasn't quite buying it. She squinted at the cell phone footage, closely studying it for the tenth time. “I mean …sure… I guess I can see why you'd think that. Hekindalooks like him, in a way. But—”
“He looksjustlike him,” Paige corrected her friend as she paced around the living room of her small one bedroom apartment. Irie was peacefully sleeping in the bedroom. “Andhis name is Lance.Andhe plays for Boston.Lance from Boston,Emily! Ithasto be him.”
“I understand why you'd get your hopes up.” Emily spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. “But to me, it just seems like a few random coincidences strung together. And hey, remember all the other times you've sworn up and down that you'd seen the guy? And then you'd point him out to me and he looksnothinglike the guy we met that night, except for maybe having blond hair?”
Paige frowned. Emily was right; she'd mistaken men in the past for Lance. She had a history. Couldn't be trusted.
“Look, I get it,” Emily continued. “I'm sure it's super easy to get swept up by this idea that a rich pro hockey player could be Irie's real father.” She pointed at the screen, where Lance Couture and Irie were 'touching' hands once more. “Because that swoon-worthy moment right there? That was beyond cute. That mademyovaries throb, okay? So I can only imagine what it's doing toyouremotions.”
“So you really think I'm just imagining it.”
“I don't think that's the same guy. Can't be. It's impossible.”
Paige sighed. If nothing else, Emily's insistence was starting to win her over, but she badly wanted to believe thatthisLance, hockey superstar, was her Lance.“Couldn't I get a family court to order Lance Couture to take a paternity test or something?”
“Maybe?” Emily said, but her doubt seemed to grow by the second. “But don't you have to be able to prove that you at leastknowtheguy in some way before a judge would issue a court order?And since he's a famous athlete, I imagine that's even more difficult. Otherwise, every psycho stalker fan in the country could have a baby and claim he knocked her up, right?”
Hopelessly, Paige threw her weight into the love seat. “Great. So no matter what, I'm screwed. I don't haveanyproof that I ever met a guy named Lance—any proof besides Irie, that is. And even if it reallywashim, the famous hockey player, then he could just say he's never met me and I'm some deranged psycho fan.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't dare cry.
Emily wrapped her arms around Paige and hugged. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever took you out that night. I talked you into doing something that you didn't want to do. I feel so bad about it, Paige.”
“It's not your fault. Iletmyself get sucked in by that guy. I knew exactly what he wanted.” She shook her head. “But at the same time, it's not like I regret it, you know? I love Irie more than anything. I just … I feel so bad for her. I don't evenknowwho her father is. When she's old enough that she starts to have questions, I don't even know what to tell her. I havenothingto tell her about her father. Do you know how that feels? I feel like such a rotten, shamefulslut—”
“Hey. C'mon. Don't talk like that.” Emily squeezed her tighter. “Irie's the miracle baby. We already know this. She was determined to be born.”
Miracle baby.That's what Paige and her friends jokingly called Irie, but right now more than ever, those words resonated with Paige. She remembered the look on Irie's face as she swung that hockey stick. The look on her face when she held her hand up to Lance Couture. She heard her Dad's words once more—it's a sign!
Was itreallyso crazy? That her one-night stand couldactuallybe a millionaire sports star who fathered her baby, who suddenly began developing a love for hockey herself?
Okay, yeah, when Paige thought about it like that, she knew it was partly crazy. But she also knew she'd be even crazier to not eventryto contact the athlete. She'd find a way to send him a message. She'd contact the team, if that was her only option.
But he'd been in Nashville.Today.
