Page 3 of Slashed By You (Chicago Steel #5)
Chapter 3
Josh
A month and a half later, when the team is back in Chi-Town for an upcoming series against Florida, I get a surprise. As I walk out of the arena after our Thursday morning practice, I notice a scuffle in the parking lot. It draws my attention, and I see it involves a petite woman and our security guard, Stan. It’s not uncommon for fans to make drop-in appearances following our practice. But usually, the security guards don’t have to worry about them getting out of control.
Just as I’m about to unlock my Tesla, I hear my name. Spinning around, I lock eyes with the girl I hooked up with on New Year’s Eve. She made a lasting impression. In fact, I haven’t been out since. Something about the way she reacted that night made me a bit gun-shy for future hookups. Attracting a crazy puck bunny was not my intention, and considering what I’m looking at, I hope I haven’t.
Wanting to avoid making a scene for the rest of my teammates to hoot and holler about, I jog over to where Stan stands with the scorned woman. A scowling face with wide eyes stares at me, giving me chills. Her loud voice is disjointed and her movements are fidgety. It’s not normal. She alternates between stomping and pacing. Basically, she looks crazed and ready to maim. Shit! What was her name again? Slowing my steps, I search the recesses of my brain. I know it starts with a K. I’m sure of that. Kim, Katie, Krista, Kaylie… Kayla. Her name is Kayla.
“Kayla. Hi,” I say on approach, and Stan’s head whips around as if a demon spirit possesses him. Mortified, I avoid eye contact with him.
Frowning, her eyes in thin slits, her response is snarly. “You do remember.”
Slightly scared, I gape at her. There she stands, apparently a force to be reckoned with. Petite, like I remember, huddled in a long winter coat with a bright scarf tied around her neck. Her cheeks are rosy, her nose is pink, and her eyes look wet, which I assume is from the harsh wind Chicago’s known for. Taking in the rest of her appearance, I shudder. Kayla’s arms are folded firmly across her chest. My mom does the same thing. It is her you know what you did stance. To be honest, it’s as fucking terrifying on Kayla as it is on Mom. Even though I don’t know her well—or at all—I’m still nervous.
Stan steps back to let us have a conversation. Like a good guard, he remains close enough that he can intervene if necessary. Scratching my head, wondering why she is here, I draw a blank. “Kayla, it’s been a while since I saw you last. Why are you here?” Instantly, she scoffs at me, as if she’s displeased with me and my question. Then she looks around, taking in all the people still milling around the arena. I look too. It’s mostly players and some reporters waiting to get a plug for the upcoming games.
Kayla steps closer, and in my peripheral view, I see Stan shift his stance too. Always at the ready. He knows how to spot a threat, and something about Kayla has set him off. His body remains rigid, which is uncommon for him. Normally, he’s pretty relaxed and at ease. But today, right now, he stands there, deathly quiet, wearing an intimidating scowl across his face. It doesn’t even seem to faze Kayla and her mission to get me alone.
“We need to talk,” she informs me, and it takes everything in me not to reply with a snarky remark. There’s no way in hell she’s telling me what to do .
Making sure I don’t roll my eyes, I ask, “Oh yeah? What do we need to talk about?”
Without missing a beat, she raises her voice, getting the attention of the nearby reporters, and says, “I’m pregnant and it’s yours.”My mind scrambles to find meaning in what she’s just said. I go to say something, but it’s as if the air has been sucked from my lungs. Panic sets in and everything feels sluggish. I can’t get a breath.
Stuttering, I whisper. “W-what? H-how? We used a condom and only hooked up once. How the fuck could this have happened?” You had sex, moron. Pregnancy is still a risk . Shut up, brain.
Standing there, frozen in place,my mouth hangs open. I feel Stan step next to me. “Josh, maybe you want to take this conversation somewhere more private. Prying eyes are on you.” Nodding my understanding, I look at Kayla and ask, “Can we get out of here and go somewhere to talk about this?”
Before answering, Kayla looks around. Would she rather have our conversation witnessed by the swarm of reporters whose job it is to report the highlights and shortcomings of the team? Yes, I bet she would.“Please,” I beg.
When she finally responds, it’s with an off-putting smile that makes me nervous. “I guess that’s fine. Where should we go? Your place?” Flashbacks to the night we hooked up remind me she wanted to go back to my place then too. My house is my sanctuary. I don’t invite strangers over. Is that what she is? A stranger? I guess I can’t call her that anymore, not if she’s having my baby. I’ll have to let her in eventually. It’s not like we’d meet up at local gas stations to do child handoffs.
Nervous, I step closer, so I’m not overheard. “How about Cool Beans? It’s a few blocks over.”
Her lips twitch like she is about to snarl, but at the last second, she pulls them into a tight smile and nods. Obviously, she isn’t happy about my suggestion, but I’m not ready to let just anyone into my space. She’s not just anyone anymore. She’s the mother of your unborn child .
Stepping back, I look at Stan, who wears a pained look on his face. Giving him a chin lift, he understands what I’m trying to do. He’d been close enough to hear our entire conversation. Stan lifts the barrier and lets Kayla through.
We walk to Cool Beans and, after ordering our drinks, we make our way to a somewhat private table at the back of the near-empty coffee shop. My stomach churns as we settle into our wooden chairs, and my mind races with questions.
Since she’s going to be the mother of my baby, I should try to get to know her, right?It’s a good place to start. “So. What is it you do for work?”
Sitting up tall, she takes off her coat, revealing an extremely low-cut top. Her boobs are practically falling out of it. Leaning forward, she flashes me her excessive cleavage and tells me she’s an influencer on social media. What the fuck does that mean? “That sounds interesting. Do you like it?”
Primping her hair before she flips it over her shoulder, she answers, “I really do. It’s the best job.”
Still confused, I ask for more. “What’s your favorite part about it?” Maybe her answer will help me understand what she actually does.
Giggling, she bats her eyes at me. “Josh, you’re silly.” Okay. Remaining quiet, I wait for her to explain.
“I get paid to post online about all my favorite beauty products and clothing lines,” she gushes, obviously impressed with herself.
Dumbfounded by her explanation, my words leave my mouth before my brain is onboard. “Really? That’s what you do for a living? You tell other people what to wear?”
A horrified gasp fills the air between us. Knowing I’ve said something wrong, I panic. Did the temperature just shoot up in here? It’s suddenly stifling. I’m sitting in the depths of hell, roasting alive. “Josh… Kayla,” the barista calls out. Lucky break for me .
“Uh, I’ll grab them,” I offer before jumping up from my chair like it’s on fire. Glance back over my shoulder, Kayla looks murderous. Her arms are crossed firmly against her heaving chest. And her scowl? It could frighten even the scariest monster. As I head toward the pickup counter, I feel her heated stare burn into the back of me. Taking extra time to add cream and sugar to my coffee, I hope she’ll calm down before I turn back. Holy shit. Apparently, she’s got a hair trigger. She’s scary. I guess in the future, I’ll have to remember to tread carefully. Blowing out a couple of breaths, I head back to our table. Hopefully, the second half of our conversation goes better than the first.
Nervously smiling on my approach, I see Kayla isn’t as agitated, and I try to relax my body. Sitting down, I apologize. “I’m sorry about my comments. They weren’t meant to sound critical or judgmental. I just really didn’t understand what your job entailed. Honestly, I didn’t think before I spoke.” Rolling my shoulders, I try my best to prepare myself for her reaction. I’m not sure what to expect. The moment passes and the silence between us is uncomfortable.
“It’s okay, Josh. I understand. I’m sorry I was so reactive. It must be all the pregnancy hormones. Or it’s because there are plenty of trolls on social media who do their best at making fun of and being critical of influencers like me.” She stares at me, looking like she’s holding back a few tears. Reaching over, I pat her hand. She grasps at it, forcing our fingers to interweave. Holding her hand makes me incredibly uncomfortable, but I’m afraid of her reaction if I pull away.With all she’s said, doubt still clouds my mind.
“Kayla, I don’t mean to be an asshole, but are you one hundred percent sure the baby is mine?”
Kayla draws back, ripping her hand from mine, and snarls, “What are you saying, Josh? Are you calling me a slut? Do you think I got pregnant on purpose?” Before I can even jump in with damage control, she hits me again. “What kind of man doesn’t want to take care of his responsibilities?” My head drops. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you or imply anything. You just caught me off guard and I’m still reeling. And to answer your question, I won’t ignore my responsibilities.”
As the afternoon winds down, our conversation becomes more pleasant, less antagonistic. But we’ve yet to make a concrete plan for the future. I didn’t expect we’d hammer all the details out now, but I’d like to have a tentative idea since the baby is due in October. Needing to know and at her mercy, I ask, “How do you see this playing out, Kayla?”
Looking up at me through her lashes, she launches into a well-prepared, and obviously practiced, speech. “I know we aren’t dating, but our hookup left us with a permanent reminder. I’m Catholic, so I don’t believe in abortion. I think we should do this together.”
Shocked and overwhelmed, I wring my hands. “Together?” My question comes out as a squeak, like I’ve sucked too much helium. I wish I could float away like a balloon right now . This isn’t really happening to me, right?
“Yes, together,” Kayla repeats in a firm, confident tone. There’s no doubt she’s serious. Then she gives me a cheery smile and giggles. I’m confused. What part of this is exciting or funny? Why isn’t Kayla freaking out and sobbing? This is fucking terrifying.
Needing clarification, I pointedly question, “What does ‘together’ mean to you?”
Kayla bats her lashes at me, and I’m instantly filled with dread. She’s going to say it. My stomach sours and I feel like I’m about to be sick. I swipe my hand against my clammy forehead and it covers my fingers in perspiration. Where’s the bathroom? I’m going to throw up. Please. Please. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to .
Assured, Kayla answers, “We really need to be together for our child. But I don’t mean just co-parenting. We both need to be a hundred percent invested. Don’t you think?”
Her answer puts me on the defensive, and I growl my response. “I’ll be there a hundred percent for my kid, but I want to know what your idea of ‘together’ means.”
She squeezes the hand I’ve forgotten she’s holding again. How did I not notice? My mind’s preoccupied, scattered. I can’t seem to focus on anything.
“Josh… Josh… Josh.” Someone keeps saying my name, but it sounds far away. Another squeeze of my hand brings me back. Looking up, Kayla is staring at me, annoyed. Forcing a smile that probably resembles a grimace, I encourage her to answer. “Well, I think we need to date and eventually move in together. Do you know how difficult it would be shuffling a baby between two houses all the time?”
Date? Move in together? Excuse me? All of her answers irritate me. I don’t want any of what she’s suggesting. A mass the size of Alaska lodges in my throat. I’m so stunned, I realize I’ve forced my body to remain glued to my chair, even though I desperately want to flee. From her. From this. Maybe this is a nightmare and I just need to wake up to make it stop. I pinch myself. “Ouch,” I mutter. Not a dream.
“Live together?” I rasp. Kayla smiles widely and nods excitedly. What the fuck am I going to do? What if we move in together and we end up hating each other? I’ve never lived with anyone by choice, and now I’m looking at playing house? With someone I don’t even know? This has to be a joke. Or a prank, perhaps. Where’s the hidden camera? Who’s punking me?
Looking around in a panic, I’m hopeful I’ll spot a camera, or Rocco, the team’s jokester, hiding behind a chair, poised and ready to jump out and tell me it’s all a joke. But there is nothing. My mind is frantic with paralyzing thoughts. Sweat trickles down my back, and my heart thuds in my chest.
“Josh, are you okay? You don’t look so good,” Kayla prods while looking at me with concern. Nodding and swallowing hard, I answer in a strained voice, “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a lot to take in and wrap my mind around.”
“It’ll be fun. You’ll see,” she exclaims. Fun? This isn’t a sleepover with your best friend.
Clearing my throat, I murmur, “Kayla, this situation we find ourselves in is tricky. I’ll always support you and the baby, but I need to take things slow. I’m not prepared to jump into living with someone I barely know. We should spend some time together first and see where it goes. Hell, you might decide I’m a grumpy asshole and the last person you want to live with. Or we might decide that we like each other and our next step is living together. Who knows? But because of the baby, I want to be there for you as much as I can financially, emotionally, and physically. Being a hockey player who’s gone a lot of the year, I hope you’ll include me in the entire pregnancy. I want to be a part of both of your lives. And in a few months, we can reevaluate our situation. Does that sound okay?”
Kayla’s sad eyes beg me to reconsider, but I’m steadfast in my decision. I want to date my baby momma before we take anything further. Exchanging numbers and confirming an upcoming first date, we walk back to the arena to a nearly empty parking lot. Pointing out my car, I say, “I’m there. Where are you parked?”
Kayla pulls her long winter jacket tighter to her slender waist, and I can’t help but fixate on her stomach. My child. The realization of that hits me harder than I thought, and I pull her into a hug, suddenly desiring to be close. But despite the closeness I’m craving, I recognize it isn’t sexual. Instead, it feels protective. Makes sense as she’s carrying my child.
Instead of hugging back, Kayla clings to me like a capuchin monkey. I don’t understand why. Is she afraid I’ll leave and not return? Overwhelmed for the hundredth time today, I realize I need space. I tip her head up to me and ask, “Where are you parked? Let me walk you to your car.”
“Okay,” she softly replies before she nuzzles her head back into my chest. Pulling back, her head falls away from me and I see another pout on her lips. Internalizing my frustration, I question what I’ve gotten myself involved in. It’s not like when we hooked up I ever considered a future with Kayla. But it looks like that’s now what I have to do. At least for the next eighteen years, we’ll be connected.