Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“And you somehow don’t think that’s more offensive than point-blank asking my one-weekend stand if her baby is mine?” I scoffed as I pulled into my designated parking space.
“No, that’s just being smart legally. She’ll get that.”
I put the car in park and sat there silently for a second.
“What’s going through your head, Nixon?” Nate asked me. We always knew when the other wasn’t giving up the full story. Call it twin intuition or whatever. We knew.
“She told me I could sign my rights over,” I said quietly.
“Damn.” A few breaths passed. “You thinking about it?”
“What? No!” If that baby was mine, there was zero chance I’d walk away. But the last time I’d made that commitment… Don’t go there. “It just made me think that she might be telling the truth. Someone trying to extort money isn’t going to offer an out.”
“Solid argument. Where did you leave it?”
“We exchanged numbers, and she told me not to wait too long to decide if I want a role in the baby’s life because she’s not planning on sticking around.” What kind of mindfuck was that? Who the hell told you in one breath that she was having your kid, and in the next informed you that you weren’t worth staying around for? “Anyway, I asked for some proof. Was that too insulting, oh wise one?”
Another sigh filled my speakers. “No, that’s smart. You need me up there? I can hop on the next flight.”
Some of the anxiety twisting my stomach into knots lifted, but I knew I couldn’t pull him away from Harper. These were the only months they got together before the NHL season started. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll call you as soon as I know for sure what’s going on.”
“Okay. Offer stands…Oh, and…uh….are we telling Mom?”
“Fuck no!”
“Just making sure.” He laughed.
I hung up with my twin and headed inside for our weightlifting session. Thirty minutes later, I was covered in sweat as Roman spotted me for the bench press.
“Any news?” he asked quietly.
He and Hendrix were the only guys I’d told besides Nate since they were the ones who had found me standing in a daze in the middle of the training field after Liberty left.
“Nope,” I grunted.
“Well, the good news is if it’s true, at least it’ll be a good-looking kid.” He offered me a smile as I put the bar back.
“If there even is a kid,” I muttered as I sat up slowly. Would it have Liberty’s green eyes or my—hell no. I stopped myself cold. Something this huge could only be handled one emotional step at a time, and until I had proof that she was actually pregnant, there was no imagining any kid.
“Hey, did you guys see the new trainer?” Hendrix asked with a grin, then threw a wink at the blond with a clipboard.
“Don’t.” Roman and I answered simultaneously. No doubt he still would, and then we’d have to deal with that shitstorm, just like we had with the last two grad students who’d done their internships with the team.
“What? It’s not like she’s a minor or anything.” He shrugged.
“For fuck’s sake,” Roman muttered.
My cell phone vibrated, and I whipped it out of my pocket.
Liberty Jones.
My stomach hit the floor as I showed the screen to Roman and Hendrix, then made a beeline for the side door. This wasn’t the kind of call I was going to take in the fucking weight room.
“Hey,” I answered as the sun hit my face, and the door swung closed behind me. The air was sticky with humidity.
“Nixon?” she asked, her tone slightly hesitant.
“Yep.”
“This is Liberty.”
“I know.” The corners of my mouth lifted in a slight smile. “You put your name into my phone, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” I pictured her shaking her head. “I have the proof you asked for…if you still want it. If not, my offer stands. You can sign your rights over and delete my number. There’s zero pressure.”
Damn, my chest felt like it was in a vise at those words. “I want it. The proof,” I rushed the second part and wondered just how awkward this conversation could get.
“Okay. I’m free tonight, but my car is in the shop so I can’t come—”
“I’ll come to you,” I interrupted. “What time do you want me?”
There were a few heartbeats of silence. “You’re willing to come to my place?”
“Do you really think I’m that big of an asshole that I wouldn’t come to your house when you’re telling me that you’re carrying my child?” My temper flared, and I looked both ways, making sure no one heard me nearly shout that. Where was my trademark control?
“Well, no. You just didn’t seem interested.”
“I’m interested.” I pressed on the spot between my eyes, feeling a headache coming on.
“Well then, okay. I’ll text you my address. Seven o’clock work for you?” Her voice perked up.