Page 3

I’ve been pacing it for the last two days. After I finished packing to head back home, I fell down an internet rabbit hole—desperately trying to work out how likely the baby is to be mine. The trouble is, I’m relying on a very unreliable Amie. More lies than truth leave those pouty red lips. The only decent thing to come of this whole mess is the spell she had me under has finally been broken, and I see her for who she really is.

A scheming bitch.

Today is allegedly results day, and I’ve had my email on auto-refresh. I’m tempted to call the clinic and find out what’s taking them so long. It’s only ten in the morning, but seriously, how long can this shit take?

I pause my pacing when I hear a knock at the door. Swinging it open, I find Jon on the other side. It’s good to see him, and jeez, I need the distraction.

“You look like hell. Has your shaver broken?”

I cast a hand across my chin. Yeah, I’m letting myself go. “Too busy refreshing my email.” I turn and walk toward my living space; my apartment is completely open-plan, so at least I’ve had plenty of room to do laps. “Why didn’t you use your key, and why are you here so early?”

Jon steps in and shuts the door behind him. “Haven’t got your fob on me, and Felicity needed to head back early. Her boss has a disaster case on his hands and wants his best team. I swear all she does is work and study for the bar.”

“She’s driven that’s for sure,” I reply.

“Definitely, and it’s fucking hot,” he says, smoothing a palm across his mouth.

I hold up a hand. “Yeah, alright man, I don’t need details on what makes your cock twitch. We all know you get it more than you ever did when you were out fucking anything that moved.”

Jon’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. If I said that to him last year, his reaction would’ve been totally different. His anxiety filled playboy days are way behind him, and I’m fucking proud of how far he’s come, with help from his wife-to-be.

“How are you holding up?”

I shrug and collapse on my couch. “How do you think?”

“Well, judging by the state of this place and the state of you—not great. How about I help?”

“Not sure you can, but thanks for coming over early.”

“When was the last time you ate a decent meal?”

Truthfully, days ago. My stomach’s been too anxious to digest anything.

He takes my silence as my answer. Rising from the usual couch he sits on when he comes over, he thumbs over his shoulder to my door. “Come on. Let's grab pancakes and talk some shit; I’m good at that.”

I really don’t want pancakes, but fresh air might do me some good.

Twenty minuteslater we’re down at the pancake house. I’ve lost count of the number of cheat days we’ve spent here. A stack of blueberry pancakes is set in front of me. Usually, I have an appetite that if hockey hadn’t worked out, I could’ve made a career out of competitive eating. At six foot five and with an in-season weight of two hundred forty pounds, I make the ideal defenseman and enforcer and have the appetite to match. But as I take my first bite, I know I’ll barely finish half.

Jon points his fork at me from where he’s inhaling his boring maple syrup and butter stack. “If you don’t eat that, I will. Your body’s still healing from the hit, and it needs energy. Not eating isn’t going to change the outcome.”

“I think I preferred you when you were less sensible.”

“Yeah, this straight-talking British girl whipped my ass into shape.”

I’ve got a fork of blueberry pancakes halfway to my mouth when there’s a ping. Jon pauses and looks at me, and I know it’s the email.

Pulling my phone out the pocket of my hoodie, I hand it over. “You read it, but if it’s another text from Amie asking me to meet her to talk, just delete it.”

“You sure, buddy?”

I rest my elbow on the table and drop my head in my hands. “Yeah, because I think I’m gonna hurl.”

There are a few beats of silence, and I don’t know what he’s doing. I can’t see his face since my eyes are covered by my palms. The seconds feel like decades.

Finally, I feel a hand land on my shoulder and slowly, I turn my head. Jon comes into focus; he’s standing over me with a beaming smile. “It’s over man. It’s not yours.”

Don’t get me wrong, I want to be a dad someday, but never like this and like hell with a girl like Amie. Although with the way I’m planning to be celibate, that might be hard. The news that’s just been delivered floats in the air, refusing to sink into my consciousness. “Sorry, come again?”