Page 15 of Something Reckless

EASTON

M y head is still reeling after Alba’s huge revelation this morning.

I’m a father.

Me.

Easton Raines.

Hockey player. Party boy. Confirmed bachelor.

Father ?!

Holy shit.

I thought I was home for the summer to relax and recover from my injury, not to have my entire world flipped on its head. Never in a million years did I expect that this was waiting for me here in Fairy Bush.

Messing around with Raya Anderson was a one-time thing. A drunken decision I was never proud of.

It happened on the night my classmates were throwing a going away bonfire in my honor. We were all up at the lookout at Marigold Peak, having a good time. Then Christopher—the douchebag Alba was dating at the time—got all up in my face about…something.

The next thing I remember, I had him pinned to the ground and I was sending flying fists through his smug face. My friends dragged me away from the party. The guys read me the riot act as they drove me home. Then they tossed me in bed to sleep off my drunken stupor, and they returned to the party.

That’s when Raya showed up.

She waltzed into my house and made it clear what she wanted from me. On many occasions, she’d let me know that she’d be down to hook up. But I’d never taken her up on that offer.

Raya Anderson was pretty and all—blonde hair, blue eyes, nice body—but I just always had a bad gut feeling about that girl.

However, I was in a crappy ass headspace that night. She kissed me, and a tidal wave of excuses flooded into my brain, giving me the okay to make this colossal mistake.

I was upset after my brawl with Christopher.

I had consumed way more alcohol than my 18-year-old system could handle.

I was days away from leaving Fairy Bush and I’d never see Raya—or this town—again.

So I just went for it.

The memories of what happened between us that night are fuzzy. But I remember that Raya crept out of the house right before my mom and brothers got home. My family moved away shortly after that. And I thought the whole thing was over and done with.

Little did I know that I left an entire baby behind. Well, he’s an eight-year-old now. An incredible eight-year-old who hasn’t had his mother or his father in his life. An innocent boy who deserves to have his dad in his corner .

I didn’t have a father. The pathetic excuse for a man who got my Mom pregnant—three fucking times—never stepped up to the plate.

He never paid a dime in child support. He never showed up to a hockey game.

He never taught me how to tie my shoelaces or how to ride a bike or how to be an upstanding human being.

My brothers and I had to figure everything out on our own, bickering and fighting the whole way.

My so-called father was nothing more than a name printed on my birth certificate. And from the time I was a little boy, I promised myself that I could never be anything like him.

Now that Jagger is in the picture, I’m more than ready to follow through on that promise I made to myself all those years ago.

“...Easton. Earth to Easton.”

“Huh?” My eyes shoot up to my physiotherapist, Thomas, who’s been calling my name.

“I asked how many reps you’ve done.”

“Oh, uh…” Shit, how many is that?

I’m flat on the floor, stretched out on a mat, running through light physiotherapy exercises.

It’s important to improve my strength and mobility after being non-weight bearing on this leg for too long.

I’ve got a band connected to my healing ankle, and I’m supposed to be doing these boring little leg lifts, but I’ve been distracted, to say the least.

My hockey team, of course, is making sure I get the best treatment possible to aid with my recovery.

Even though I’m laying low, out here in the middle of nowhere, team management has ensured that I’ll still be working with the best therapists and other professionals around.

Thomas is the best. He definitely has a stellar resumé to back him up. Yet, here I am, fucking around.

“I guess I lost track,” I admit, feeling like an idiot. “Maybe twenty? Thirty?”

My physiotherapist shakes his head, tossing a white towel at me. “More like seventy-five,” he grumbles.

I really need to keep my head in the game here. Too much is riding on my recovery. But yet my head has a mind of its own. It keeps drifting back to Jagger during my session.

That poor kid has been growing up without a father, all while I’ve been living my best life. And Alba—she’s sacrificed so damn much to take care of a child that’s not even her own.

Alba… I’m so fucking confused when it comes to how to feel about that woman.

The logical part of my brain is telling me that I should hate her. After all, she kept my son from me for eight damn years. Yes, I am pissed about that. But the feeling that completely trumps my anger is gratitude.

She made so many sacrifices. She tried to prioritize everyone’s needs above her own. Was she misguided in her decisions? Hell fucking yes. Totally. But I have no doubt that she had the best of intentions for everybody involved.

And as much as I regret how much time Jagger and I have lost—let’s be real—my career probably wouldn’t be where it is today if I had found out about him in my early days after going pro. Now, I’m in a solid financial position and I can give him the life he really deserves.

My brain is a mess over this whole thing.

Oliver had to go back to Chicago already. But Lincoln and Rocco are here with me at physio today. They’re huddled up in the corner of the room, deep in conversation at the moment. When they realize that my physiotherapist is chewing my head off, they casually stroll over.

Thomas fists his hands low on his hips. “Look, you seem a bit too distracted to make meaningful progress today. You’re going to get yourself hurt if you don’t follow the program to the T.”

“How about we end the session early and come back strong on Thursday?” Rocco suggests, his eyes on Thomas.

My physiotherapist nods. “I think that would be a good idea.”

I sigh, flexing my foot and feeling the pull of my achy muscles. Maybe they’re right. I climb to my feet, grateful to not have to deal with the crutches anymore but still moving gingerly. I was told my ankle is now considered to be in stage two of the healing process.Whatever that means.

“Sorry about today, man. My head will be in it a hundred percent on Thursday,” I promise Thomas. “And I’ll do that homework you mentioned, too,” I add, wanting to prove that I’m dedicated to this. I’m dedicated to my recovery process.

“Follow the reps,” Thomas says, his tone serious. “Nothing more.”

“Got it.”

After my brothers and I head out of the clinic, the guys decide they want to hit up the local bar for a late lunch. Although I’m sure a drink would help me temporarily forget about my problems, I don’t plan on drinking. Alcohol is what turned me into a ‘surprise dad’ in the first place.

If I want to put my all into this recovery, I need to stay away from the booze. Even still, I could use a big, juicy hamburger right about now. So I follow Rocco and Lincoln through the front doors of this old tavern called The Whiskey Barrel.

The three of us manage to find seats at the counter and put in our orders. The girl behind the bar squints her big brown eyes at us and her mouth drops open. “Wait. The Raines boys?”

She looks familiar.

“Chloe? Chloe Chapman? No freaking way!” Rocco stretches an arm across the counter, slapping his palm against hers.

“You remember me?” Her smile goes wider and wider.

Lincoln grunts. “Of course we remember you. Oliver followed you around like a lost puppy all throughout high school.”

A wave of embarrassment rushes to Chloe’s eyes. “It wasn’t like that,” she laughs softly, dropping her gaze and grabbing a dirty rag to wipe the sticky counter. “Oli and I were best friends, and nothing more.”

Oli … I snort.

Chloe was the only one who ever got away with calling our youngest brother ‘Oli’.

Her eyes dart past our heads to scan the rest of the room. “Where is he? Is Oli here?” she asks hopefully.

“Nah. He’s out in Chicago,” Lincoln says, and we watch the way Chloe’s expression falls.

“But he’ll definitely come back for a visit sometime over the summer,” Rocco adds. “Especially when he hears we ran into you. ”

I half-listen as Chloe catches my brothers up on some of the things we’ve missed over the years. A few people I remember from high school join the conversation. My old science teacher. A former teammate. Some kid from the church’s youth group who’s all grown up and legally allowed to drink now.

Sheesh. What a way to make me feel old .

The conversation continues around me. Apparently, my old classmate, Levi Brunson, is the sheriff in some neighboring town now.

Arrow Iverson moved to California and sold The Local Social, the social networking app he designed that we were all crazy over back in the day. Rumor has it he’s a billionaire now.

When I’m not pretending to be watching the baseball game that’s playing on the screens above us, I just throw in the occasional grunt and nod along.

But I’m not in the mood for small talk. So I pull my cap low over my eyes and let the people around me do most of the talking as my mind ruminates about Jagger and Alba.

By the time we’ve got our burgers and drinks, a group of random women have inserted themselves into the mix, shamelessly flirting with me and my brothers.

Nah. Not today.

Excusing myself, I grab my food and head to a free booth at the back.

Rocco seems to notice that I’m not myself. He follows me. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, settling across from me and chomping into a crunchy onion ring.

I try to shrug the question off. “Nothing,” I lie, focusing on my French fries.

Lincoln sets down his plate beside Rocco and leans across the table to inspect my face. “You’ve been a million miles away all afternoon. Barely said a word since we left the clinic.”