Page 24

Chapter 24

Hormonal Sun

Nora

I was no stranger to keeping secrets from my dad. But keeping this baby-sized secret that was currently making me crave Jell-O and making me pee approximately every fourteen minutes had proved more challenging than anticipated.

I rearranged the throw pillows on my couch for the fifth time, as if the feng shui of decorative cushions would somehow make this evening go smoother.

My dad was in town for a game, and even though I’d be seeing him the following week when I flew home to Los Angeles for Christmas, I couldn’t not have him over. However, after our horrible loss against the Pacific Storm with a complete shutout with them scoring five goals, I’d rather lick my wounds alone.

My phone buzzed with a text from my dad saying he was ten minutes away.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, rubbing my belly, which still wasn’t showing unless you counted the tiny bump that only appeared when I was naked. “Your grandpa is going to lose it.”

I’d taken to talking to my stomach lately, and I was sure my baby was going to think I was nuts before they even came into the world. Or they would need immediate therapy right out of the womb.

I quickly went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked normal. Tired, but not obviously pregnant. It had been a little over a week since my ultrasound, and my baby bump still hadn’t grown beyond a small swell that wasn’t noticeable unless you looked for it.

Still, earlier before the game when I’d seen my dad, he’d given me a funny look, studying me like I was game film he couldn’t quite decode. Brett Hastings didn’t miss much, especially when it came to me.

There was a knock on the door, scattering my thoughts like startled birds.

I took a deep breath, mentally repeating: You’re a grown-ass woman. You have a career. You pay taxes. You can tell your dad you’re pregnant.

When I opened the door, my dad stood there with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. His Pacific Storm jacket was unzipped, revealing a plain black T-shirt that somehow made him look younger than his fifty-four years.

“There’s my girl.” He pulled me into a one-armed hug that smelled like the same aftershave he’d worn my entire life.

“Hey, Dad.” My voice sounded unnaturally bright, even to my own ears. “Come on in.”

He walked past me into the apartment. “Hope you don’t mind that I grabbed some munchies on the way. That loss was brutal, so I figured you might need some.”

“Gee, thanks. But, yeah, it really was.” I followed him to the kitchen, where he began unpacking the bag that had fancy crackers, cheese, and chocolate-covered almonds. All of my favorites.

Dad moved to put the wine in my refrigerator, pausing when he opened the door. His eyebrows lifted as he surveyed the interior. Specifically, the three shelves stacked with cups of Jell-O in various flavors.

“Planning to wrestle?” His voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but.

Heat crawled up my neck. “I’ve been craving it lately.”

“Interesting.” He placed the wine in the door, then turned to look at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Your mother craved Jell-O when she was pregnant with you and Josie. Lime, specifically. She used to eat it at three in the morning.”

My heart stuttered. “I didn’t know that.”

“You’re also standing differently.” He gestured vaguely at my posture. “Weight on your heels instead of the balls of your feet. Just like she did.”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck .

I’d planned on telling him tonight, but not thirty seconds after he walked in the door.

“I, uh...” Words failed me. “How about we sit down?”

He nodded, his face softening in that way it did when he was about to impart some fatherly wisdom. “Whatever you want, kiddo.”

Kiddo? He hadn’t called me that since I was a literal kid. The word hit me with a rush of nostalgia and a jolt of terror. It was like I was twelve again, falling on the ice and hearing his voice as he told me to get back up and try again.

Here I was, almost twenty-nine years old, pregnant, and suddenly reduced to being someone’s little girl again. The irony that I was about to tell him I was going to have a little one of my own wasn’t lost on me.

We moved to the living room, and I perched on the edge of the couch while Dad settled into the armchair opposite me. The silence stretched between us, heavy with things unsaid.

How was I going to do this?

I nearly face-palmed as I remembered the present I was saving for Christmas when I’d originally planned on telling him. “I got you an early Christmas present.” I stood up abruptly, nearly knocking a throw pillow off the couch in my haste. “Let me grab it.”

In my bedroom, I pulled the small, wrapped package from a shelf in my closet. I’d debated for weeks about how to tell him, finally settling on a tiny baby-sized Pacific Storm jersey with his old number and name on the back.

Did I cry when it came in the mail? Why, yes, yes, I did, because my tear ducts now seemed to be permanently switched on.

My hand trembled as I returned to the living room and held out the package. “Here.”

Dad took it with an amused smile. “Christmas isn’t for another week.”

“I know, but it felt right for tonight.” I sat back down on the couch, pulling a pillow into my lap for comfort.

He unwrapped the package methodically, the way he always did, carefully unsealing the tape rather than tearing the paper. When he opened the box and pulled out the tiny jersey, his hands went completely still.

I waited for the lecture. The disappointment. The barrage of questions about my life choices.

Instead, he stared at the miniature jersey, running his thumb over the embroidered number. When he finally looked up at me, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“Your mom would’ve been over the moon,” he said softly.

Something cracked open inside me, a dam I hadn’t realized I’d been holding together. Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. “I wish she was here. I don’t know what I’m doing, Dad.” The words caught in my throat.

“None of us do.” He set the jersey carefully on the coffee table and moved to sit beside me on the couch, pulling me into a hug. “That’s the secret no one tells you about parenthood. We’re all making it up as we go.”

Wasn’t that the truth. “You aren’t mad?” My voice came out small and uncertain.

He pulled back, his expression very serious, those familiar creases appearing between his brows the way they always did when he was giving something his full attention. “Why would I be mad?”

“I hadn’t planned on this.” I bit my lip.

My dad had always been protective of both me and Josie when it came to dating. Telling him I was having a baby with someone from my team? That was a whole new level of complicated.

“It’s Collins’s, isn’t it? I’ve seen the headlines.” He didn’t look the least bit surprised or angry about the fact, which put an even bigger stone of dread in my stomach since Miles wasn’t the father.

I froze, panic flooding my system. “Headlines?”

“I have a Google alert set up with your name. It was on a hockey forum about the love lives of players.” He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me.

There was a blurry photo of Miles and me, his arm protectively around my shoulders. I didn’t even bother to read the caption or the few visible comments. I did not need whatever negativity was there in my life.

My mouth opened and closed a few times, no sound coming out. This was it, the moment of truth. Literally.

I couldn’t lie to my dad about the father, no matter how much easier it would be. Eventually, the truth would come out, which was a whole other issue I was going to have to deal with. “It’s not Miles’s baby.”

Dad’s brow furrowed, and there was a beat of silence while he waited for me.

“It’s Dominic Wilson’s.”

The words hung in the air between us like a live grenade. I watched emotions flicker across my dad’s face: shock, confusion, and finally, something that looked unnervingly like resignation.

“Dad, say something.” He was making me nervous, and of all people, I needed him to be calm.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging slightly. “How did this even happen, Nora?”

“Well, when two people have sex, sometimes the protection doesn’t work.” The snark in my voice did nothing to hide my hurt. I sounded like a petulant teenager instead of a grown woman, but old habits die hard when it came to your parents.

He sighed and took my hand, his grip gentle but firm. “I want what’s best for you, and I don’t trust him. Not with his history, and certainly not with who his father is.” The mention of Dominic’s father made my shoulders tense.

I hated that it always came back to that man. Even Dominic defaulted to letting his father dictate his perception of himself. “That’s not fair. You don’t even know him.”

“I’ve seen how he operates on the ice with all flash, no foundation. And that father of his...” He shook his head. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I pulled my hand away, crossing my arms over my chest. The gesture felt childish, but I couldn’t help it. Everyone had opinions about Dominic, but none of them knew how he’d looked at the first ultrasound or how he’d started sending me daily dad jokes on top of the treats and gifts he’d already been sending.

“That’s not always true.” The defense felt hollow even to me. Hadn’t I harbored the same doubts? “He’s been... trying. Since finding out.” He was still like a startled pit bull, but we’d been making progress.

My dad studied my face. “And Miles? Where does he fit into this picture? Because that photo looked pretty convincing.”

I sank deeper into the couch, hugging my pillow. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be.” He settled back, crossing one leg over the other.

So, I told him everything.

The yacht in very vague terms that made us both uncomfortable, the surprise pregnancy, the fake relationship with Miles to protect my job and reputation, and Carter becoming part owner of the team.

By the end, Dad was pinching the bridge of his nose like he did when his team blew a power play opportunity. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess. What does Wilson really want? Beyond keeping this quiet?”

“He wants to be involved.” I shrugged, trying to seem more nonchalant than I felt. “He came to the ultrasound. He’s calling the baby Gummy Bear. He’s checking in on me and sending me treats. That’s something, right?”

“It is, but letting other men step in?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What are you going to do? Have three men and a baby?”

I laughed, which quickly turned into a choked-sounding cry. “I don’t know.”

My dad pulled me back into a hug, and I melted into the embrace, suddenly exhausted from the weight of pretending my life was normal.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered into my hair, “you’ve got me. Always.”

The simple declaration broke what remained of my composure. I buried my face against his shoulder and cried quiet, overwhelmed tears that seemed to come from some deep, uncertain place inside me.

Somehow, I had three men orbiting my life like planets around a very confused, hormonal sun. I’d woven an increasingly tangled web that seemed to double in complexity with every passing day.

* * *

I’d just managed to achieve the perfect temperature equilibrium with fuzzy socks pulled up to my legging-covered calves, an oversized UCLA sweatshirt, and a chenille throw blanket wrapped around my legs like a burrito. On the TV, some baking competition played with contestants making gravity-defying chocolate sculptures that should’ve interested me but barely registered as I stared through rather than at the screen.

The emotional hangover from my dad’s visit lingered like a persistent headache. Every time I thought about the subtle look of disappointment mixed with concern on his face when I’d told him about Dominic, my stomach clenched.

My phone buzzed from somewhere within my blanket cocoon. I ignored it.

A few minutes later, three rapid knocks on my door jolted me from my semi-conscious state. It was nearly eleven, too late for deliveries, too early for murder. Probably.

I reluctantly untangled myself from my blanket sanctuary and went to the door, peeking through the peephole.

Dominic.

My heart did that irritating little flip it always did when I saw him, even through a door. I smoothed my hair, realized what I was doing, then immediately stopped and scowled at myself.

Since the ultrasound, nothing had changed between us besides him being a little less grumpy. Then again, the team had been away for four of the days and then busy preparing for the game against the Pacific Storm.

When I pulled open the door, the sight of him nearly made me step back. He looked like he’d been dragged backward through a hedge and then hit with an unexpected weather event. His hair was mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly, dark circles were under his eyes, and his jaw was tight. Even his normally perfect posture seemed to have taken a hit.

“Are you okay?” It was a ridiculous question when clearly he wasn’t.

His eyes flicked up to mine, then away. “Can I come in?”

I stepped aside, suddenly aware of my fuzzy-sock, messy-bun situation. Dominic moved past me, and I closed the door behind him. The apartment suddenly felt ten sizes smaller.

“Want something to drink?” I watched as he prowled around my living room like a caged tiger. “I’ve got water, tea, or if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s that green juice Miles likes that tastes like blended grass.”

He didn’t laugh or even crack a smile. He just kept pacing, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans.

I tried again, this time with what was most likely the reason for his mood. “Tough loss tonight. You guys played hard, though. That save you made in the second period was?—”

“Don’t.” He stopped abruptly, turning toward me. “Don’t pretend that you care.”

The accusation hit like a slap. “Excuse me?”

“Your dad is the head coach of the team that just destroyed us,” Dominic spat. “Am I supposed to believe you weren’t feeding him information on our team?”

My mouth fell open. “Are you serious right now?” The sheer audacity of this man had no bounds.

For a split second, I wanted to pinch myself to make sure this wasn’t some bizarre fever dream brought on by too much late-night reality TV. Was he really accusing me of what amounted to corporate espionage against my own team?

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His laugh was bitter. “It’s pretty convenient, isn’t it? And even worse is that not a damn thing will happen because you have the team captain playing bodyguard and one of the owners wrapped around your finger.”

His accusations were so wildly unfair that for a moment I couldn’t even formulate a response. Heat flooded my cheeks as anger rushed in to fill the void where my shock had been.

“You don’t get to do this.” I stepped toward him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to twist this around and make me the villain when I have spent weeks trying to protect you, protect our baby, and save my professional reputation.”

He flinched as if I’d physically struck him.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t plan to get pregnant. I didn’t scheme to have Miles pretend to be my boyfriend. I didn’t force Carter to buy part of the team. And I sure as hell didn’t conspire with my dad to tank your game tonight. That’s all on you.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened. He turned and strode toward the door, his hand already reaching for the knob.

I wasn’t about to let him walk away so easily. Not when it was clear to me that his father had yet again gotten into his head. I might not have known exactly what was in the texts and calls he received, but I’d heard and seen enough of his attitude after games to know it wasn’t anything positive. “He put this nonsense in your head, didn’t he?”

His entire body went rigid, his hand stilling on the doorknob.

“After each game, he calls you or texts you to tell you everything you did wrong, whether you win or lose. But then tonight, he brought me into it, didn’t he? And you believed it because it’s easier than admitting your father is a piece of shit.”

I held my ground as he pivoted back toward me with deliberate slowness. The intensity in his eyes could have melted steel, but beneath that anger, I caught a flicker of pain, maybe even shame.

His silence filled the room with a weight that pressed against my skin, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. Someone needed to call out his toxic relationship with his father. Part of me wanted to soften the blow, to take back the harsh truth I’d hurled at him, but I couldn’t. Not when he was throwing around wild accusations about my integrity. And not when I was bringing his child into this world.

“What’s he going to say when he finds out about the baby, Dom? What’s he going to say to your son or daughter?” My voice hitched, and I took a calming breath. This was necessary. My job now was to protect another human being. “I don’t know if I can allow someone like that near our child.”

He stared at me like I’d ripped open his chest. His voice, when it came, was ragged. “You think I want him near our kid? You think I don’t lie awake every damn night terrified that I’m going to turn into him?”

“Then why come over here repeating his ridiculous bullshit? Do you not realize you just hurt me as much as he hurts you?” I wiped at a traitorous tear that had escaped.

The look that crossed his face was a devastating mixture of fury, hurt, and something that looked almost like fear. For a moment, I thought he might truly leave. Instead, he crossed the room in three long strides, his hands coming up to frame my face.

“I’m sorry.”

And then his mouth was on mine, desperate and hungry. There was nothing gentle or tentative about the kiss. It was pure unleashed anger, need, and frustration all tangled together. His fingers threaded through my hair, cradling my head as he backed me against a wall.

I should have pushed him away. Should have demanded we talk this through more. Instead, I kissed him back just as fiercely, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer.