Page 138 of Daddies on Ice

He was there, watching us, following the team.

And he had help from someone on the inside.

51

TISH

The image of Mica lurking in the background of that docuseries footage burns behind my eyelids every time I close them.

Even now, hours later, sitting in my living room with a cup of tea growing cold in my hands, I can’t shake the violation I feel knowing he’s been watching me. Watching us.

At least we have proof now. Something concrete to show the police that he’s been stalking me, that all those anonymous messages and gifts weren’t just coincidence.

But the relief I should feel is overshadowed by the creeping sensation that crawls up my spine every time I think about his eyes on me, studying my every move.

God, what if he knows I’m pregnant?

The police weren’t much help when we called them earlier. “Not enough evidence for an arrest warrant,” they said. “We’ll contact his parole officer, let them know he’s wanted for questioning in connection with an attempted kidnapping.”

As if that’s supposed to make me feel safe. As if Mica cares about parole violations when he’s already proven he’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.

My hand drifts unconsciously to my still-flat stomach.

Carl, Jake, Ash.

One of them is the father.

I won’t choose between them. I can’t.

They each hold a piece of my heart, and the thought of losing any of them makes me physically ill.

But I also won’t force them to stay if they can’t handle sharing me, sharing this child that might not even be theirs.

Tomorrow. I’ll tell them tomorrow night.

I’ll make a nice dinner and then tell them.

If I’m going to drop a bombshell on them, at least I can do it with full stomachs.

The next evening, I’m a bundle of nerves as I put the finishing touches on dinner.

The pot roast smells incredible, filling the apartment with the rich aroma of herbs and slow-cooked beef.

The table is set with my good dishes, candles flickering in the center. I even picked up a bottle of wine, though I won’t be drinking any.

Becky is safely at Carl’s house with Mrs. Henderson, the sweet older woman who babysits for him sometimes.

I told her I had an important business meeting, which isn’t entirely a lie, and she’s aware of the Mica situation.

Carl arrives first, as always punctual to the minute.

He fills my doorway in dark jeans and a navy sweater that brings out his blue eyes, his silver hair perfectly styled.

The sight of him makes my pulse quicken, the same way it has since that first day I walked into the team offices.

“Smells amazing in here, Trisha,” he says, leaning down to kiss my cheek. His lips linger a moment longer than necessary, and I catch the subtle scent of his cologne. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I wanted to do something nice.”