“And if I have to make it happen myself…?”
She winked. “All the adventure and chaos in the world, and you don’t even need to go through security.”
She was right.
I’d spent the last eight years racing around the globe, searching for fun and excitement and meaning—everything Adrian could offer. I traveled only to avoid my feelings, and, even when confronting those, I still chose to ignore what it meant.
I didn’t just want a baby.
I wanted a baby with Adrian. I wanted stability. Intimacy.
Love.
And now that I had tasted it, I’d never again spend my life wandering from place to place, denying my own happiness, because I was too afraid of the possibilities.
The only place I wanted to be was at Adrian’s side.
After all, I was having his baby.
And I would tell him the good news as soon as I possibly could…
Right after I told him how much I loved him.
23
Adrian
I never should’ve let her go.
The only thing worse than my career festering in a self-inflicted limbo was the fact that I’d pushed away the one woman who might’ve kicked my ass back into the locker room and forced me to be the leader the team needed.
Clover had always been that friend for me. Rock wasn’t the right word. She wasn’t hard or unmovable. She was a motivation. A reason for me to move forward, to do better. A bandage for when I bled, and the ice on my injuries.
I’d depended on her more than I’d realized. No good morning texts with goofy jokes, no breakfast burritos, no pestering me about new bruises, bumps, or bleeding scrapes.
Clover had always cared for me.
But I didn’t know how much she had balanced me.
She was my life outside the arena. As much as I hated returning to training camp every morning, I loathed leaving it even more.
In the end, she’d been right. She was all I had beyond hockey. And, for as much as I’d sacrificed, it wasn’t like any team would give a damn about me after that singular season, game, period, play, moment.
I did my job, and I was paid well for it. But the team only benefited from my role. They didn’t appreciate it.
The franchise used me. Ironfield didn’t know we existed yet. The media waited for us to fail.
The true joy of the game—beyond my own skill and love for the ice—was supposed to be shared with my friends and family. The ones watching from the stands and cheering me on.
Clover had been that fan.
And I’d pushed her away.
Refused her calls. Even the texts that pleaded with me, begging for a call, five minutes to meet.
A chance to talk.
We were beyond talking. She’d hate me for it. Probably would never forgive me. But that was good.
Clover wanted a baby, a family, and someone to love. But she wouldn’t find it with me, and she wouldn’t look for the one who could give her those things if she thought we had a chance.
Maybe that was why it hurt. Walking away from Clover hadn’t ruined me. I’d destroyed myself first by falling in love.
At least I could take solace in that pain, because the normal aches and complaints from practice no longer offered that sweet agony of a job well done.
The team silently skated off the ice after the whistle blew. That was fine. Talking usually spawned arguments, created more misunderstandings, and threw more blame around.
“Real stellar work today, gentlemen…” Oz stripped out of his pads and left them heaped in the middle of the locker room for someone else to deal with. “Fucking junior league work. I’m in the prime of my career, but I gotta lug around this no-talent, overrated, garbage deadweight on and off the ice.”
“Yeah?” Cash still wore one skate or he would’ve stormed our goalie. “Why don’t you go whine to Sports Nation about it? I’m sure they’d give you another twenty minutes to cry on air.”
As Captain, I was the last off of the ice. Gave me enough time to debate if I really wanted to head into that locker room.
Couldn’t run. Couldn’t escape it.
But I could delay it.
And mourn it.
Fortunately, a feminine voice hissed my name from the shadows. Wasn’t in the mood to talk to Magnolia Mallory, but, judging by her scowl, it wouldn’t be a social call.
She frantically gestured to me, doing her best to look inconspicuous in a white blouse and cotton candy pink skirt. She’d unfastened the top two buttons. Wasn’t professional anymore, but after her network burned our guys day in and day out, she needed any edge she could get for an interview.
Might’ve helped if she didn’t always bring bad news.
I followed her to the equipment room, stomping my skates against the carpet. A nice guy usually removed his hat in the presence of a lady, but between my stick and gloves, the helmet had to stay on. At least I spit out my mouth guard.
“I’m not in the mood for an interview,” I said.
“Really?” Magnolia tilted her head. “Figured you’d be in better spirits.”
“Fucking why?”
She paused for a long moment. “At some point, things have gotta turn around, right? Good news is just around the corner.”
I used to believe that. Now?
“What do you want?” I asked.
“A comment.”
Irritation locked my jaw. “Christ. What happened?”
“I wanted you to see it first.” She tapped her iPad and played the video. “The coaches were just told about it. This is already with my bosses…and the police. They won’t hold the story.”
Shit. I braced for the worst.
Didn’t clench hard enough.
The video was shot on a cell-phone—vertical orientation, but, given the punches flying at the cameraman, I couldn’t complain.
The bar fight was quick, brutal, and utterly one-sided in favor of Beau Beckett.
Despite being a pretty boy superstar, Beau fought like a starving dog scrounging around the streets for a scrap of meat. He launched himself at a preppy, college-aged douche of a kid, forsaking a broken beer bottle so he could attack the man with his own barstool.
The patrons hollered, the bartender threatened to call the cops, and Beau tossed a pile of hundreds onto the counter to pay for the mess. He took a tipsy woman by the arm and hauled her out of the establishment.
“Fuck.” I passed the iPad to Magnolia. “When did this happen?”
“About two o’clock in the morning. The owner already identified Beau to the police.”
“What happened to the other guy?”
“Crawled out under his own power—pretty sure Beau hurt more than his pride. Black eye. Missing a tooth.”
“League’s not gonna like this.”
“But the network will.”
Great. “How soon until the story breaks?”
“Tonight. The news cycle moves fast, and Ainsley Ruport doesn’t like to go too long without a story on the Forge.”
It’d be nice to spend one practice without the media stomping on our dicks, but that was the price we paid for ruining our careers in Ironfield.
The pads and equipment made me sweat off the ice. I’d need a long shower to rid myself of the stench of this day.