Page 30 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ace

The place is a mess. Beer bottles scattered across the coffee table, the rug, the kitchen counter.

One’s somehow under my damn foot, and I almost eat shit stepping over it as I move toward the window, blinds barely cracked.

Miami sunlight slices through like it’s mocking me for hiding in here all day.

I just sit here with the taste of regret in my mouth, trying not to think about Brooke saying she’s pregnant and not knowing if the kid is mine.

I want to be okay with that. I want to be steady and mature and evolved. But deep down, I know myself.

I know what happens when I get attached and start picturing a life and then have to watch it dissolve.

The doorbell rings. I glance at the time and squint toward the hallway. I don’t remember ordering anything.

I crack the door and in walks Leo, clipboard under one arm, expression like he’s about to flip the entire room over.

“What the hell is going on?” he says, stopping short when he sees the state of the place.

I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling the weight of it. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re spiraling.”

“That’s probably accurate then.”

He crosses to the window and yanks the blinds open fully. “You skipped practice. I ended up covering everything, but half the guys think you’re sick, the other half think you had a breakdown.”

“Neither’s wrong.”

“Dude.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“You okay?”

“No.”

He grabs two beers off the counter and tosses one to me before plopping onto the couch. “Talk.”

I stare at the label on my bottle. “Brooke’s pregnant.”

“Okay.”

“It might be mine.”

“I know that too.”

I glance up, and he just gives me that even, patient look of his. Like he’s not surprised.

“You knew?”

He shrugs. “You’re not subtle, man. You’ve been off for days. You haven’t shown up to practice on time since Monday. You skipped the review. That’s never you. And then when Jason mentioned Brooke’s name the other day, you looked like you were gonna choke on air.”

I exhale, let my head drop back against the chair. “You ever get so scared that you start convincing yourself it’s better to walk away than risk staying?”

Leo tilts his head and thinks about it. “All the time.”

I let that settle for a second, then I finally say the part I’ve never told anyone. “There was someone. Before.”

He watches me, still and quiet.

“After Daisy’s mom, years later... I was seeing someone casually. It wasn’t supposed to be serious, but we got close. She got pregnant. It was early, maybe twelve weeks, when she lost it. We hadn’t even told anyone yet. She didn’t want to. Said it wasn’t real until we heard a heartbeat.”

Leo’s face softens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I was the only one who knew,” I say quietly. “And I carried it like it didn’t matter. I buried myself in work. Coached harder. Yelled more. Whatever I could to not think about the fact that I lost something I hadn’t even let myself hope for.”

Leo nods, his voice calm. “And now Brooke’s pregnant.”

“And I’m trying not to do it again. Trying not to care too much. But it’s too late. I’m in. All the way in. And I don’t even know if the baby’s mine.”

I pause, let the words fall out raw. “I’m older. I don’t make sense for her. I don’t have ten more years on the ice or some legacy tie. I’ll just be the man who didn’t walk away when she needed help. But maybe that’s not enough.”

Leo leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know how long Maddie and I took to get this right? And half that time, I was fucking it up. But we kept showing up. Because that’s what this kind of thing takes.”

I swallow. “Even when you’re scared?”

He gives a small smile. “Especially when you’re scared.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

He reaches over and slaps my shoulder once. “So, take the time you need. But don’t walk away unless you’re really done. And we both know you’re not.”

He’s right. I’m not.

“I keep thinking... what if I start picturing it? What if I start imagining bedtime routines and baby bottles and being a family, and then the DNA test comes back and I’m not the father? What then?”

“You grieve it,” Leo says simply. “And then you choose whether or not to love the kid anyway.”

I look at him.

“That’s what being a man is,” he continues. “Not biology. Showing up. Choosing it. Over and over again.”

I sink down beside him. “You’ve got your own mess. Ford and Asher. Maddie. How the fuck do you make it work? Especially with pregnancy and the babies after?”

He laughs. “Bad communication at first. A few near breakups. Then therapy. Now? Honesty. Boundaries. Schedules. We mess up all the time. But the reason it works... is because we never stop talking.”

He taps his chest.

“And you, big guy, being the oldest, the most intimidating, the leader? You’ve got to talk. To Cam. To Tanner. But especially to her. Imagine how scared she is right now. You running out like that didn’t help.”

I wince.

“And whether or not that baby’s yours…” he adds, voice lower now, “That’s secondary to how you show up for her. For the kid. You want to be a father? Be one. DNA’s not the measure of that.”

That hits. Square in the chest. Because I do want that. And he’s right—I already left once.

Never again.

“I messed up,” I whisper.

“You love her?”

I nod. “More than I want to admit.”

“Then you show her.”

He leans back. “You still want to win this Stanley?”

“Damn right.”

He tosses a tablet onto the table. The opposing team’s roster. “There’s talk they might forfeit.”

I blink. “What?”

“Three of their forwards were caught in a betting scandal. NHL’s investigating. No one’s confirming anything, but the rumors are wild.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “Let them forfeit. We’re taking the Stanley this year. Come rain, come sunshine.”

Leo grins. “There’s the guy I know.”

I nod and grip the bottle tighter.

Yeah. Maybe I just need one more day. Then I’ll face her.

And say the thing I should’ve said weeks ago.

It takes another beer and four hours of pacing the apartment before I finally do it. My phone’s in my hand, thumb hovering over her name. I’ve already typed out two dozen texts and deleted every one of them. None of them sounded right. None of them felt like enough.

So, I press call.

It rings once. Twice.

Then, “Hello?”

“Come up,” I say.

There’s a pause on the other end.

“Okay,” she answers.

I leave the door unlocked. The apartment’s still half-lit from the hallway light, empty beer bottles lined like ghosts across the counter. I clean nothing. I don’t move from where I stand at the sink, gripping the edge like it’s the only thing holding me together.

I hear the door click open. Her footsteps. Then she’s standing across the kitchen, face tired, hair in a messy knot like she hadn’t planned on going anywhere tonight. She’s wearing a long T-shirt and biker shorts, no makeup. Her eyes lock on mine and stay there.

I walk to her. She doesn’t flinch when I reach for her. Doesn’t pull away when my hands curl around her waist.

I press my forehead to hers and close my eyes. “I was an asshole.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“I was scared. Doesn’t make it better. But I need you to know it.”

She nods, her hands resting on my chest like she’s debating whether to hold me or shove me.

“I want to be with you,” I say. “I’m not saying I’ve figured it all out yet. But I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you .”

Something breaks in her face, a shift in her eyes, and then she kisses me. Hard. Desperate. Her mouth opens against mine like she’s been holding back everything, and now it’s spilling free.

My hand slides to the back of her neck. Her fingers yank at my shirt. We move as one toward the counter, knocking over a glass as we go. It shatters against the floor, but neither of us stops.

She lifts herself onto the counter, legs wrapping around my hips. I push the shirt up, fingers grazing her bare skin. She’s already pulling at my pants, urgency in every movement, and my mouth moves to her neck, her collarbone, the top of her breast. She gasps, hands tight in my hair.

It’s messy and fast and full of everything we’ve been holding back. Her thighs clench around me, and my hips rock forward, grinding against her with no patience. Her breath stutters, and her head drops to my shoulder.

When we finally still, when the rush fades just enough to breathe again, she’s quiet. Too quiet.

Then I feel it.

Her tears against my shoulder.

I freeze.

“Brooke,” I whisper, pulling back enough to see her face. “What’s wrong?”

She wipes her cheek quickly, embarrassed. “I don’t know. Everything. Nothing. It’s just... a lot.”

I press a kiss to her temple. “You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to be overwhelmed.”

“I didn’t plan any of this,” she says. “I didn’t plan to fall for three men. I didn’t plan to get pregnant. I didn’t plan to be this confused.”

I nod, brushing her hair back. “And I didn’t plan to lose my shit when I heard you were carrying a baby that might not be mine. But I did. I panicked. And I hurt you. I know that.”

She sniffles, steadying herself. “You were honest. That matters. But this... this is bigger than any of us.”

“I know,” I say. “But I meant what I said. I want to be with you. However that looks. If that means sharing you, I’ll do it. Not because I’m weak or giving up, but because I care enough to want you happy, even if it’s not just with me.”

She’s silent for a long time, just watching me. Then she exhales slowly.

“I need some time,” she says finally. “To think. To figure out what this could be... especially with Jackson in the mix.”

“Of course.”

I press another kiss to her shoulder, then rest my head there.

We stay like that for a while. In the quiet, in the weight of everything. It’s not perfect. But it’s real. And for now, that’s enough.