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CHAPTER EIGHT

I was prepared for screaming, for him to rush in and tear me up one side and down the other, but instead, he’s calm. Thatcher’s emotions play across his face. I can see every single one, but he is choosing his words carefully.

And I don’t know how to handle it.

Seeing him, watching his fists ball up and tears flood his eyes, leaves me feeling like we’re going round for round. He leaves me black and blue with each flicker of pain along his face. Like I knew I would, all I want is for him to never leave. It’s so frustrating, so damn confusing, and I truly don’t know what to do here.

He hurt me. Yet I’m sitting here wishing he were still mine? How does that make sense? He makes me crazy.

His voice is low, tortured as he says, “I said all that out of anger and pain.”

“That doesn’t change what you said,” I throw back at him as I get up to reach for my phone, hoping the doctor has gotten back to me.

No luck.

“You’re right, but I wish you had given me a chance to right my wrongs.”

“Why? You were right,” I say, tossing my phone aside and sitting up. “I was the team whore.”

I wasn’t. I only slept with Dart once, which was a mistake, and then with Thatcher, which was a need. So really, two out of thirty guys doesn’t make me a whore. It’s only .06%. I’m not even on the whore radar, and it took years for me to realize that. But at the time, when I believed his words, when I saw anger in his eyes because I’d hurt him, well, that took up 100% of my heart and broke me.

“That’s not true. Nothing I said was true. I was in so much pain,” he tries, but I only shake my head. “I worked my knee in ways that were not approved by the doctor the night before, and then I had PT that morning. I came in hot and exploded on you, Audrina.”

I ignore the memory. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, but both of us know that’s not the truth. If it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have hidden for more than three years.

“You didn’t have to leave like that, though,” he says softly, his words pleading.

“Maybe not, but I couldn’t face you—or anyone, for that matter,” I admit. “Everyone was there. Everyone heard what you said. You humiliated me.”

Silence stretches between us, the only sound Arwen’s soft breathing. Her little face is so red, and I hate seeing her sick. Especially when I know he’s right. If she had good ear gear, better care than the backwoods of Virginia can provide me with, she’d be better off. It’s been getting worse lately. I have been calling different health care providers all over the state, but it’s so hard to find a good specialist who takes self-pay.

I need to have a plan because Thatcher won’t walk away without knowing I have one. Hell, I’m not even sure he’d walk away if I did have one. I always knew if I told him about Arwen, he’d force himself into my life. And fuck, as much as I love looking at him, love loving him, it hurts to be in the same room with him. For so long, I thought he cared for me, but the things he said just shattered me.

“Audrina.” It’s only my name, but the way he says it carries a heavy plea. My eyes burn as I shrug and reach for one of Arwen’s Bluey blankets and place it between her little hands. She likes to hold something as she sleeps. I lean down, pressing my lips to her temple. Her fever isn’t as bad as it was when I first came up here, and I’m thankful for that. I reach up, careful as I pull off her ear gear. She whimpers, and my stomach clenches at the sound.

“Audrina,” Thatcher groans, coming toward the bed. His presence is huge, taking up the whole space around us as he hovers over us. “That has to hurt.”

“Which is why I’m taking it off,” I snap at him, and to my surprise, he sits on the side of the bed with such a look of helplessness. I hate seeing him like that, and that confuses me even more. I don’t know how to navigate this. It’s why I ran the way I did, why I stayed gone as soon as I learned I was pregnant. His opinion of me used to mean so much to me, and I hate that it still does.

What the hell did the time apart do?

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

But hurt all of us even more.

I watch as he reaches out but then pulls back. I’m about to encourage him to touch her, but Thatcher Orlov doesn’t need encouragement. He follows his gut feeling. His brows pull together as he slowly runs his fingers along Arwen’s spine. His touch is gentle, his hand shaking as he trails his fingertips over the rolls of her back. Even though it’s hard, I look up to watch as his brows unfurrow, his lips tip up, and tears flood his brown gaze. Burning shame suffocates me, and I don’t know how to handle the overwhelming feelings that threaten to snuff out every ember inside me.

My sweet Arwen settles almost immediately, and I don’t allow myself to sob the way I want. I have pictured this moment since I had her—Thatcher holding his daughter, caring for her—but before I could make it a reality, I was reminded of how angry he got. How deeply he cut me with his words and degraded me in front of the whole team.

I expected this reunion to be round two of that behavior, but it hasn’t been.

I expected him to lose his cool, start blaming me for ruining his life and demanding proof that Arwen was his. It was my biggest fear about seeing him again, about introducing him to Arwen, but he proved me wrong. He is known for running his damn mouth on the ice, and it carries off the ice, too. He is one of those guys who has to have the last word and can verbally stab anyone in ways they’d never expect. I had never been on the receiving end of his cutthroat words, but the moment I was, I ran.

And then I stayed away.

In his eyes, I was the puck bunny who was running through the roster. But in reality, I was just a girl who got knocked up by the MVP of her heart.

“She’s stunning,” he whispers, trailing his fingers along her skin, and it’s too much. I look away, my stomach turning in on itself. I swallow hard, willing myself not to melt into a puddle of sobs and beg him to forgive me for hiding her. “When is her birthday?”

My lips tremble as I whisper, “January 3rd.”

“So, she’s turning two soon?”

“Three,” I correct, giving him a look. “Still suck at math, I see.”

He shrugs, a grin pulling at his lips. “I can count how many goals I score, so I’m good.” I roll my eyes, but before I can call him a dumb jock, he adds, “And I can teach her to count to ten.”

My heart squeezes. “Hopefully.”

He scoffs, his eyes only on her. “When did you know she was hard of hearing?”

“When she was born,” I answer, tracing her fingers with mine. “They did a hearing test, and she didn’t respond, and I knew.”

A tear rolls down his face as he nods, and once more, I have to look away. I have never seen Thatcher cry, and his tears are tearing me apart worse than his words did. It hurts too much, and knowing I’m the reason for his pain is downright sickening to me. With his other hand, he drags out his phone and lets out a long sigh before tucking it back into his pocket.

“Did you tell my parents?”

He slowly shakes his head, looking up at me. “Not yet.”

“That’s surprising,” I muse, and he shrugs. “Figured you’d call in reinforcements.”

“Do I need them?” he asks, his eyes burning into mine. “’Cause the way I see it, you’re living in a box, working a job you don’t want, and our daughter is suffering.”

“She isn’t suffering,” I protest, but he isn’t convinced.

“She is sick.”

“Kids get sick, Thatcher.”

“I know, but if she had top-of-the-line earwear and was seen by the best doctors, there would be less of a chance of her getting sick like this.” I know he’s right, but I refuse to acknowledge that. “Has the doctor called back yet?”

I check my phone. “Not yet.”

“She seems really warm.”

I nod. “She’s better than she was,” I reassure, and he sits back up, getting his phone once more.

With a groan, he looks over at me. “How do you see this going?”

I pull at the threads of Arwen’s blanket. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he says, moving his hand between us.

“There is no this,” I say, mirroring his motion.

His brows pull in tighter, and annoyance starts to burn in his eyes. “There is a this,” he corrects with conviction. “And the faster you realize that, the easier this will go.”

I scoff, holding his gaze. “I told you, you aren’t going to march in here and start demanding things.”

“No, you’re right,” he says, catching me off guard. “I’m going to ask, fucking beg, for you to come home, because I can’t move here and be in my child’s life.” Another tear rolls down his face as his eyes plead with mine, leaving me breathless. His voice is rough as he says, “I don’t want to bring our parents into this yet. I want this to be handled between the two of us, because I know I fucked up, Audrina. I know I’m the reason you ran, but you have fucked up too.”

“You think I don’t know that? That’s why I’ve stayed gone.”

“How does that make sense?”

“I couldn’t face you and be rejected again. That’s what your words did to me. They humiliated me and rejected me. I…” My words fall off as I swallow. “I couldn’t do it again.”

He’s silent for a moment as he watches me. “I understand,” he says softly, his eyes breathtaking and catching me so off guard, I feel like I’m losing my footing. “Which is why I’m trying not to lose my temper with you. But I need to know what you’re willing to do here. I have missed enough of her life, and we both know I’m not the kind of man to be an absent parent. I can’t fix us at this moment, but I can be a father. So, how would you like to proceed?”

I had fully prepared to be on the defensive when I finally faced Thatcher after these three years, but that’s not what he’s forcing me to do.

He’s giving us a level playing field, yet I feel like I’m the underdog.

Especially when my heart is still singing for him and his fingers trail along our daughter’s back.