Page 36 of Clear Shot (Lauderdale Knights #9)

Aiden

“…there is a remote possibility that the cut vas deferens reattached on their own. When this happens, the cut ends of your tubes find their way back to each other and fuse. Then, small channels form in the scar tissue, allowing sperm to wiggle through. And that appears to be what happened with you…”

The urologist’s words echo through my mind on replay.

Small channels form in the scar tissue, allowing sperm to wiggle through.

Holy mother of God, what have I done?

I’ve been staring at the ceiling all night, lamenting my bad luck, bad choices, and bad karma.

Some bullshit called the vas deferens re-fucking-attached.

It happens in like two out of every thousand vasectomies.

And it happened to me.

Since I’ve always been cautious about diseases, I’ve used condoms religiously since the procedure so I wouldn’t have known any different.

Until Hana.

Because she trusted me.

And I trusted her.

Somewhere in the middle of falling in love, buying a new house, a hurricane, and mind-blowing sex, things got turned inside out and upside down.

Deep down, I know I fucked up.

I always knew.

That’s partly what sent me spiraling into this depressive episode that I still haven’t snapped out of.

But I have to.

I should be getting traded any day now, and if not, I have to get back to playing. One way or another, I have to work past this and figure out what to do about Hana and the baby—a child I never wanted but found its way into existence anyway.

The results of the paternity test smacked me right upside the head earlier today and I don’t think I could feel worse if I tried.

I was horrible to Hana, and I wouldn’t blame her if she never forgives me.

We have to figure out what to do about the baby, though, and that’s going to be the tricky part.

I must have dozed at some point because my eyes pop open at noise coming from downstairs.

“Hello?”

Jesus.

“Is anyone home?”

Who the fuck is in my house?

I sit up in alarm, looking for some kind of weapon but I barely have furniture, much less a weapon.

“Who the fuck is here?” I yell in annoyance.

“Uh, your neighbor.”

Christ on a cracker.

There’s someone in my house, I’m not dressed, and I probably need a shower.

“We, uh, came by to welcome you to the neighborhood. Is your wife here?”

Fuck me.

We?

There’s more than one person in my house?

Something smells good and I frown in confusion—did the neighbors bring us food? God knows, I can use some, but I don’t know anyone.

I pull on shorts and a shirt and pad down the stairs to find three attractive women probably in their thirties standing around looking uncomfortably friendly. And holding something that smells incredible.

And for the first time in a week, my stomach rumbles.

“Sounds like you’re hungry,” one says. “I’m Daphne Simms, and this is Heather Maldone and Farrah Berkowitz.”

“Uh, hi. Sorry, I’ve been…sick. I’m Aiden.” I don’t offer a last name because people may recognize me and I don’t need any more negative press from nosy neighbors who caught me unaware.

I’m hungover, dehydrated, and still reeling from yesterday’s appointment with the urologist.

Small channels form in the scar tissue, allowing sperm to wiggle through.

“Your door was open,” Heather says with an amused smile. “So we figured you’d be home.”

“We brought homemade rugelach and vegetable lasagna, right out of the oven.” Farrah proffers the pan.

“Oh, uh, you didn’t have to…” What the fuck am I doing? I’m not going to live here now that Hana’s gone. Why am I even bothering with these women?

Mostly because they’re standing in my foyer, expecting to be invited in.

“Is your wife here? The pretty blonde?”

She’s actually more of a brunette, but her hair looks golden in the sunlight.

“Hana,” I reply automatically. “No. She’s…at her brother’s.”

“Oh.” Daphne looks momentarily disappointed. “We’ve been hoping to meet her but it seems like you guys aren’t here much.” She looks toward the unfurnished great room.

“I travel for work and she’s been… helping with her brother’s new baby.”

“Well, we’re so excited to have someone young in the neighborhood,” Daphne says, brightening. “A lot of the owners are older, and we were hoping for some younger blood.”

“Well, uh, I don’t know if we’re staying,” I admit. “I may be moving for work. It was unexpected so I’m not sure yet.”

“Oh.” Now all three of them look disappointed.

Jesus, could I possibly disappoint any more people this week?

I heard from Mr. Knight earlier and he was pissed that I asked for a trade without talking to him. I know he’s spoken to Hana, so he probably thinks I’m a world-class douche, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

“Well, we brought food.” Heather smiles. “And tell your wife to please just come say hello even if you wind up moving.”

“I appreciate it,” I say, finally finding some semblance of manners. “Sorry if I seem distracted. I was asleep and there’s been…a lot going on.”

“Of course. And we won’t keep you.” Farrah heads right for the kitchen and I let her because…well, why not? I could use sustenance right now. Hopefully, she won’t have anything to say about the empty whiskey bottles all over the counters.

“Well, we left some food for you,” Heather says. “We’ll let you get back to…resting. Please tell Hana we’d love to meet her, even if you wind up moving.”

We exchange a few more pleasantries and then they’re gone.

Leaving me unsure what to do with myself.

I could eat. I need to eat.

So I go into the kitchen and wince at the mess. They’re going to think I’m a complete slob, and I guess I am. Without Hana, I haven’t had any reason to think about cleaning or even cleaning up the garbage. Christ, I really am a fuck-up.

And never more so than with my wife.

She should be here now, meeting our new neighbors, making friends and starting our life together. The life we were both so excited about. The life we decided we wanted. Together.

What made me turn on her so quickly?

Fear.

That’s the only answer.

I was—I am —afraid.

Of fathering a child with my genetics.

Of being a father to any child because I don’t know how my depression will impact my ability to be a good father.

Now that I’m older, I know some of my father’s issues stemmed from his depression—and his inability to deal with it.

He medicated with drugs and alcohol, got addicted, and spiraled in a multitude of ways.

I won’t do that.

Not only am I aware of my issues, I have a huge support system. Doctors, therapists—and friends. Friends that are like family. Johan and Jordan and Anders. Felix and Decker. Even Mr. Knight. Who made it very clear whose side he was on when we spoke earlier.

My friends sided with Hana too.

I’m an asshole, but I’m not stupid—it’s pretty obvious who fucked up here.

The issue is how to fix it.

Can I be the father my father wasn’t? And what will I do if we made a child who inherits my genetic fuckery?

Of course, there’s always the chance that I didn’t.

That our child will be like Hana, full of love and laughter and light.

And that child will have Hana to help raise him or her.

The difference in this baby—and everything else about my life now—is Hana.

Jordan told me that Hana is leaving for Slovakia, unable to trust that I’m going to take care of her. Them . She feels she’ll have a better support system in Slovakia since she doesn’t want to burden her brother or friends.

He also hinted that everyone thinks I’m a fucking loser.

That hurts.

It’s also the kick in the ass I needed.

Now that I’m out of bed and have food in my belly, I’m able to really assess the situation, and I don’t like anything about it.

I don’t like that she’s not here.

I don’t like that she’s not talking to me—even though that’s my own fault.

I don’t like not knowing how she and the baby are doing.

And I definitely don’t like the fact that she’s taking my kid and moving to Slovakia.

Suddenly, everything is crystal clear and I know exactly what I have to do.

Nothing has changed.

Except…everything has changed.

I love her. In fact, I’m deeply in love with her. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about her, which means I have to uncluster this fuckery I’ve created. Even if I have to get down on my knees and beg.

That’s an idea, though.

Getting down on one knee. I didn’t do it when we got engaged the first time, so she’s due some romantic gestures. Hell, all the romantic gestures. And once I’ve assured her of how much I love her, we’ll deal with everything else.

No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, Hana and I are having a baby.

And there’s no way in hell I’m letting the woman I love and our kid move thousands of miles away.

Finally, something in my brain clicks and I start to move, heading for the stairs.

I have to stop her, which means getting to the airport and probably buying a ticket if she’s already gone through security.

But I don’t care.

I’m going to do whatever it takes to win her back and bring her home.

Bring them home.

Because I’m going to be a dad.

It’s still scary, but nothing has ever felt more right.