One Baby Daddy

I have this perfect woman who’s interested in me, who’s taking it slow because I asked, who’s cheering me on in the goddamn stands at an exhibition game, and I can’t seem to get one girl out of my mind.

  I should be excited. I should be over the moon right now.

  We just had our first pre-season game. I slayed it on the ice, and I had Noely and her family cheering for me in the stands. I’m having celebratory drinks with a beautiful woman and yet . . . I’m unhappy.

  Trying to give Noely the attention she deserves, I ask, “Did you have fun tonight?” I got her and her hockey-fan family tickets to the game tonight. I also scored them jerseys. I’m making the effort but my heart isn’t in it.

  “I did, thank you so much for inviting us. And before you even ask, I had the nachos, extra jalapenos.”

  “My kind of girl.” I tilt my beer in her direction and take a pull, my lips pressed against the bottle. Come on, Hayden, make an effort.

  I must not do a good job because after she takes a sip of her drink, she flatly asks, “Do you like me?”

  Fuck.

  “What?” I chuckle, trying to play it off. “Do I like you? That’s an odd question to ask. Of course I like you, or else I wouldn’t be here with you. Why do you ask?” Smooth, good job.

  “I don’t know. I know you wanted to take things slow, but it almost feels like we’re more like friends than a new couple. You’ve been to my place twice now, at night, and not even a little kiss.”

  It’s because I can’t get myself to kiss another woman.

  I run a hand over my face. I might as well call a spade a spade. I can’t keep dragging her along, because it’s not fair to her. “It’s not you—”

  “Oh God, the classic it’s not you, it’s me line.” Her face falls flat and I instantly regret what I’m about to say.

  “I don’t mean for it to sound cliché.”

  “I know you don’t, but man, it still stings.” She takes a large gulp of her martini and sticks the olives in her mouth, chomping down, looking anywhere but at me.

  I fucking hate this so much. “Let me explain, Noely, before you get upset, or get drunk. I mean, I do like drunk Noely, but I’d rather you be present for this conversation.”

  Even though I asked her to be present, I can tell she’s already checked out, and that’s on me.

  Sitting back, olive spear still in hand, she says, “What’s going on, Hayden?”

  It’s now or never. I suck in a deep breath and lay it all out on the table. “During the off-season, I spent the last couple months on the East Coast in my hometown. I spent a lot of time with my good friend who introduced me to this girl.”

  “You don’t need to say anything else. I get it.”

  Leaning across the table, I place my hand on Noely’s. “Please let me talk.”

  Her features soften as she gently nods her head. So goddamn understanding. “I’m sorry, go ahead.”

  “I met this girl, and she was different. A little outlandish, spoke what was on her mind, and she kind of captured me. She was different than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “She sounds lovely,” she grits out. Ehh, maybe I shouldn’t talk about how great of a girl Adalyn is in front of Noely. She doesn’t seem to care too much for it. I don’t blame her.

  “She was. We spent almost every waking hour with each other when she wasn’t working or I wasn’t training. And then I was traded.” I shake my head. “She walked away easily, a reaction I wasn’t prepared for. I was kind of hoping, after our time together, maybe she’d consider moving to LA.”

  “But she didn’t . . .” Noely finishes for me, a sense of sadness falling between us.

  “She didn’t. I told myself it was okay, what we had was just a fling, as she so delicately said. But I know deep down, the feelings I had for her were going to take a long time to shed.”

  “Is that why you joined the Going in Blind program? To get over her?”

  “That and to meet new people, to maybe find someone to take my mind off her.” I sigh. “And then I met you. It’s going to sound lame, but I didn’t think going out with someone else was going to be so much fun. I really enjoy your company, Noely.”

  She winces and I realize my mistake. No girl wants to hear their company is enjoyed, not when they want to be romantically involved with you. But fuck, I can’t lie to her, and I don’t want her doubting herself. It’s so fucking true when I say it’s me, not her. Maybe if I was in a different place, a healthier mental state, I would be more apt to asking her out again and giving this a real shot.

  But I’m not there.

  “I really enjoy your company too, Hayden.” The words sound like she’s trying to speak them past razor blades in her throat. It’s strained. “But . . .”

  A heavy breath escapes me. “Fuck, I don’t know, Noely. I want to move on, I want to start something up with you, because you make me happy. You make me laugh, and we have so much in common, plus you’re fucking hot. I couldn’t have asked for a better match when it comes to the Going in Blind program. But I don’t know, there is something stopping me. Rather, someone, I should say.”

  Her face falls flat. “I get it, Hayden. I really do. I like you a lot, but I’m not going to come in second to someone who’s still on your mind, you know? It’s not fair to me.”

  “I know. It isn’t at all. Shit, I feel like a total dick.” I run my fingers through my hair, hating myself, hating Adalyn . . . No, I can’t fucking hate her, no matter how hard I try. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go. I thought I could push through, but I think I need some closure.” Fuck, I so need closure.

  “Closure is helpful.” Noely twists the stem of her martini glass with her delicate fingers.

  “Yeah, I guess. I need to make a phone call.”

  “Sounds like it. For what it’s worth, I really appreciate you being honest, because being strung along when your heart and mind are somewhere else is not something I like to participate in.”

  “I thought I owed you that much.” Taking a second, I lock eyes with her and say, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “If I can . . . you know, find closure, do you think it’s possible you’d be open to trying this again?”

  “You mean try dating again?”

  Try this again . . .

  It’s something I say out of pure desperation to not make her feel so fucking awful, but do I really mean it? If I’m honest, not really, and what kind of a dick does that make me?

  A massive one.

  But fuck, I was her third date in this program. Third date. I know this is going to be a blow to her self-confidence, and I don’t want that to happen. She’s such an amazing woman, and I don’t want my inability to get over Adalyn to be a setback for her. She’s looking for love, and she deserves it.

  “I’m not sure, Hayden . . .”

  At least she’s smart enough to read the hollowness in my question. It’s why she’s going to succeed, why she’s going to find someone to love. While I lose again.

  Once again, I open the door to an empty apartment, toss my keys on the side table in the entryway, and click the door locked behind me. What a long fucking night.

  I spend ten minutes getting ready for bed running through my routine, stretching my achy muscles and putting some Deep Blue on the sore spots.

  Flopping onto my mattress, I pull the sheets over my lower naked half and scroll through my phone, checking out highlights from the game, listening to commentators, studying some of the videos, and responding to some texts. One from my dad congratulating me on the game, wishing he was there. Tell me about it. A few from my brothers complimenting my “wicked” slap shot, one from my mom telling me she loves me, and one from Calder telling me I looked fat on the ice tonight.

  I chuckle from his text, missing his friendship.

  There are a few guys I’ve started to get to know on the team, but I still feel new, like I’m imposing on their territory. It doesn’t help that the media is blowi
ng up my trade, making it seem like a godsend to the Quakes, that I’m going to “save” the organization.

  Think about it.

  If you were on a team and this newbie comes around surrounded by hype, putting down your previous seasons, wouldn’t you be a little resentful? Fuck, I would be. Because these guys work hard, they work incredibly hard, and it almost seems like the media is forgetting that.

  Opening my email, I take a few seconds to scroll through the messages, not bothering to open any from my publicist or agent. I’m about to close out when one of the subject lines catches my attention.

  Hayden, this is Adalyn’s friend, Emma.

  Emma? What the hell is she doing emailing me?

  Wait . . . is Adalyn okay?

  My body fires up, heating with concern. I open the email immediately.

  If this isn’t Hayden Holmes, I’m sorry. If this goes straight to Hayden’s publicist, I beg for you to send it to him. Don’t be a dick like you were to Adalyn in NYC.

  My jaw clenches. Fucking James. Why didn’t Adalyn say anything about that?

  Hayden, I’m sorry to bother you, but I felt the need to email you. First of all, everything is okay, no need to freak out. I wanted to let you know that I looked up your schedule, and you’re going to be in NYC for a game against the Stallions in a couple of weeks. I know it’s a bit of a drive and I have no idea what your free time is like, but if you could spare some time, you really should visit Adalyn.

  I’m not going to go into detail, but I HIGHLY suggest you come visit. If anything, just to say hey.

  I hope you get this. I hope it’s okay that I emailed you. And just to reiterate, everything is okay, just a short visit would be totally cool. Okay, I’m going to go.

  Good luck with the season and I hope you’re doing well.

  Emma

  Could she be any more evasive? I read the email a few more times, trying to read past the lack of information, looking for any clue as to what she might be talking about.

  Why would she want me to visit Adalyn? Especially if nothing is wrong?

  There has to be something wrong or else Emma never would have emailed me. Maybe there is something wrong, but it’s nothing urgent.

  Does Adalyn need help? Did she have another run-in with Logan? I swear to God if this has to deal with Logan, I’m going to lose my fucking shit.

  I’m tempted to write back to Emma, to ask her what’s going on, but I stop myself. She said to pay Adalyn a visit, but can I even make that happen?

  I pull up my schedule for when I’m in New York City. It would be almost a four-hour drive to Binghamton from the city, but a quick flight. I can probably get a private jet to take me there. I have time after an afternoon game, and then I can take a different flight than the team to Chicago after that.

  Mulling over my decision, I try to consider if it’s worth it? At this point, I don’t think I have a choice because I need closure. She doesn’t want me, and I need to let her go. If I don’t visit Adalyn, I don’t think I’ll ever get the balance back in my life.

  And fuck do I need my balance, because I feel like my sanity is hanging on by a thread.

  Looks like I’ll be making another trip to Binghamton.

  What a fucking shitty loss.

  It’s been two hours since I left the ice, took a shower, and jetted to Binghamton. Coach wasn’t too thrilled about me taking a separate flight, but I lied and said it was a family matter. At this point, I feel pretty comfortable with the fact that the Quakes aren’t about to ship me to another team.

  Although after the game today, they might have a good case.

  My head was not in the game. It’s been hard to focus while on the ice, ever since Emma emailed me, but I’ve pushed through. Today was a different story though, because knowing I was hours away from seeing Adalyn, I was distracted. I couldn’t remember plays, I was missing shot after shot, and my focus wasn’t sharp like it normally is. What a fucking disaster.

  The Uber driver turns onto Adalyn’s street, the quaint neighborhood barely lit by the yellow street lamps lined along the sidewalk. Five houses to go.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two . . .

  “This it?” the driver asks.

  Glancing out the window at the small, white one-story home, I say, “Yup, this is it. Thanks, man.”

  “Not a problem. Have a good evening.”

  I step out of the car, my duffle bag in hand and survey her house. The living room light is on, blinds shut, but no sign of movement. Her car is in the driveway indicating she’s home, sending me into a fit of nerves.

  Fuck. I shouldn’t be shaking over walking up to her house, but I am. I’m apprehensive about Emma’s reasoning for asking me to visit.

  I guess there is only one way to find out.

  With my heart pounding in my chest, my veins shaking, and my mind going a mile a minute, I walk up and knock on the front door. I plant the hand that’s not holding my duffel bag in my pocket and rock back on my heels, my breathing non-existent as my chest tightens.

  The telltale sound of locks being unlocked echo through the silent night air right before the door opens. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, but when they do, I’m greeted with a very shocked Adalyn at the door. Her hair is piled on top of her head, knotted in a messy bun, her face devoid of all makeup. Eyes wide, mouth parted in shock, she steps forward, partially closing the door behind her.

  “Hayden, wh-what are you doing here?”

  What am I doing here? Hell if I know at this point.

  “Uh . . .”

  “Who is it?” comes a male voice from inside the house, sending my head snapping to see past the door. I catch a quick cringe from Adalyn before the door is opened all the way up and reveals Logan standing protectively behind Adalyn.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me. Is this what Emma wanted me to see? Was she trying to make me jealous? Did Adalyn set up this whole thing with Emma to throw her new relationship in my face? Why the fuck would Emma do that to me?

  “Hayden, what are you doing here?” Logan asks, wrapping his arm around Adalyn, his hand resting on her hip.

  Blood boiling in my veins, my eyes narrow in on the formfitting shirt Adalyn is wearing, the one Logan is stroking with his thumb, the one that . . .

  Wh . . . what?

  Is the light really that bad here or am I seeing things?

  Peering at Adalyn, I watch her squeeze her eyes shut tightly and turn into Logan who pulls her into his chest.

  My eyes go back to Adalyn’s stomach, wondering why she is holding it so . . . protectively.

  Brow creased, head tilted, a light sheen of sweat glazing my skin, I keep my eyes fixed on her torso. When I speak, my voice cracks. “Adalyn, are you okay?”

  Adalyn shakes in Logan’s arms. He soothingly rubs her back and whispers into her ear, but thanks to the quiet night, I can hear everything he says.

  “Just breathe or you’re going to make yourself sick again. Take deep breaths, Addie.”

  Sick? Again?

  “Excuse me.” Adalyn takes off running into her house, leaving me alone with Captain Shithead.

  We stand there, silently staring at each other, Logan with his hands on his hips, me clenching my fist at my side ready to plow it through his cocky-as-fuck grin.

  “You should probably leave. You being here isn’t good for her.”

  “You can fuck off.” I push toward the door, but Logan blocks me.

  Grunting while he speaks, he says, “You can’t just show up when it’s convenient. This is going to destroy her.”

  “I’m going to destroy your pathetic ass if you don’t let me through this fucking door. As a reminder, I take men down for a goddamn job, so I suggest you don’t fuck with me.” Pushing him to the side, I make my way into Adalyn’s house and go to her bathroom. The door is partially cracked, the light on, the sound of her throwing up on the other side.

  Without a second thought, I drop my bag, push through t
he door, and fall to my knees next to her. Head in the toilet, hands on the seat, she heaves while I rub her back, my heart aching.

  Letting out a long breath, her body slumps as she rests her forehead on the toilet seat. “What are you doing here, Hayden?”

  I don’t answer her, instead I ask, “How long have you been sick like this?”

  Taking her in, I notice how pale her skin is and how much thinner she is besides what looks like a baby bump. And now that I think about it, her eyes looked sunken when I opened the door, tired and weary.

  “Since I’ve been four weeks pregnant.”

  My teeth grind together, the tension in my body starting to grow stronger with each passing breath. “How far along are you now?”

  “Twelve weeks.”

  I hold her gaze for a moment before looking away without saying a word. I stand from the position on the bathroom floor and walk out to the living room where Logan is sitting on the couch. When he sees me round the corner, he stands and puffs his chest out. What a fucking douche.

  Growing serious, I say, “You need to leave. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Stepping in closer, I try to hold back the anger pouring out of me, but I fail miserably. Taking him by the shirt, I speak inches from his face. “I need time alone with her to work this out, and I don’t need you hovering over us. You can either gather your things and leave with your dignity still intact or I can escort you myself, but I will guarantee you won’t like it.”

  Not flinching, not even disturbed by my threats, he says, “I’ve been the one who’s taken her to her doctor’s appointments, the one who’s been making her dinner, making sure she’s getting some sort of food in her body. I’ve been the one shuttling her around when she’s been too sick or too tired to drive herself, and I’ve been the one who’s been there to scoop her up off the bathroom floor when she’s far too exhausted to make it to her room.” Pushing against my chest, dislodging my hand from his shirt, he straightens up. “I suggest you respect the fact that I’ve been taking care of your problem.” Bending down, he picks up his keys from the coffee table and leaves, slamming the door behind him.