by Toni Aleo
“No, I can’t. I was going to tell you tonight, that we had to break this off. For good.”
Drawing in a breath through her nose, she shook her head. “Wow.”
“Yeah. So listen,” he said, walking around her and to his desk, but she didn’t move as the tears gathered in her eyes. “Go get an abortion. It’s for the best. Here, this should cover it.”
When she opened her eyes, he was filling out a check before holding it out to her. Shaking her head hard, she muttered, “I don’t want your money.”
“Take it, Wren. Please. I can’t have this fuck up what I’ve got going for me. I’ll have more stock in this firm once I marry her.”
Her lip started to tremble. “But I’m having your baby.”
“I don’t want it,” he said simply. “I don’t want any of it. She will get pissed. She’s already so jealous and thinks I’m fucking around.”
“You are!”
“I know, but not anymore. So, please, get rid of it.”
“I can’t.”
“Wren, come on!”
“You can’t do this. We’ve known each other our whole life.”
“I understand that. So please do it.”
“No.”
“Don’t be stupid, because I’ll deny it. You fuck around. Everyone knows it, and I’ll deny the kid is mine. You’ll have to take me to court to prove it. But by the time that happens, you’ll already have it before your thirtieth birthday, so you’ll be fucked anyway. Just do the right thing. Get rid of it, Wren.”
She wouldn’t let her tears fall. Not for this fucking douche. “I thought I knew you, you selfish asshole.”
The words didn’t even faze him. He glared at her. “I thought I knew you. How could you let this happen? We were never serious. We were just fucking.”
Looking down at the ground, she bit into her lip to keep the tears from falling. Yeah, he was right, but she thought she’d meant more to him than just a fuck. “Just fucking, huh?”
“Yeah, it isn’t like we love each other. I mean, come on. You’re not even my type.”
“Your type?”
“Wren, come on,” he said simply, holding his hands out. “You’re not trophy wife material.”
She was going to deck him. “I can’t believe this.”
“Just take the check.”
He held it out once more, and her eyes landed on it through her tears. She should take it. It really was the only option, yet she knew she couldn’t.
Meeting his gaze, she swallowed hard as she shook her head slowly from side to side. “No.”
“Wren, don’t be an idiot.”
“No.”
“You’re being fucking stupid—”
Standing erect, she stepped over to him, her eyes burning into his and completely cutting off his words. She was sure her eyes were full of heat, full of rage because his words shook her. To the core. She wasn’t sure who this man was, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be the father of her child. Over her dead fucking body. “Fuck you, Bradley. I don’t need your money or even you. So. Fuck. You.”
And with that, she walked away.
With no clue what she was going to do now.
Except for the certainty that she wasn’t killing her baby.
Jensen Monroe’s heart was in his throat.
And it had been there throughout the whole series thus far.
Standing between the pipes on the other end of the ice, he watched as the Assassins trickled shots at the opponent’s goal. His heart was pounding, almost choking him as he watched the Capitals take possession of the puck before starting toward him. Dropping into his stance, his eye on the puck, he watched as a player passed it back to the defensemen, who took the shot. But Jensen saw it completely, batting it away. Unfortunately, it didn’t go to one of his players, instead to another Capital, but Jensen was there, blocking each shot as it came in.
He had to be.
He had to help his team win.
The whole series up to this point in the Cup run hadn’t been easy. Everyone thought it was, though. The Nashville Assassins were being called a shoo-in, the sure winner because of how much they had dominated, but no one knew the truth. That Lucas Brooks was on one bad hip but still giving his heart. That Jayden Sinclair sat up night after night watching tapes of the other team just to make sure he could give the team the best direction. That Vaughn Johansson barely slept because his nerves were eating him alive. That Coach hardly went home because he wanted to make sure everything was right for the following day. Everyone was working, everyone was full of nerves, but they all had one goal.
The Cup.
And boy, did Jensen want it. With Tate being out, Jensen worked day and night, making sure he was prepared for every game. He was doing well. He could do better, though, even though everyone said he was better than great. He was his own worst critic, and because of that, he pushed himself harder to be the best. All that was in the past now; all that mattered was this game right at the moment. The game that could win the Assassins the Cup if they could beat the Capitals, and boy, did he want to. The Caps were up by one after a shitty goal that went off his back, but it counted, which meant the Assassins had to score to tie it.
With only three minutes.
He could do this.
They could do this.
The Capitals had been relentless. Being down three games to one would do that to a team. They were desperate. They wanted to take the series back to Washington, they wanted to prolong this, but that wasn’t going to happen.
Jensen wanted the Cup.
His team wanted the Cup.
It was their time.
The Cup was meant to be in Nashville.
He watched King bank the puck up the boards to a waiting Sinclair before he got off the ice, Reeves taking his spot. When he threw the puck to the net, it was batted away just as Mason came, sending it back to the blue line. But Reeves’s shot was blocked, and when the defense tried to clear it for fresh bodies, Sinclair flung himself to the ice, keeping it in before passing it, from his knees, to Johansson. Jensen held his breath as Johansson shot with his wicked wrister, right over the goalie’s shoulder in a picture-perfect moment.
Throwing his hands in the air, Jensen looked up at the ceiling as the Luther Arena went insane. It was so loud Jensen swore he wouldn’t hear for the next three days. Which was more of a reason why they needed to win, now. The period ran down in almost a blur. No shots on goal since everyone was battling against the boards and then lots of turnovers Jensen was sure Coach would be livid about.
And he was right.
When they got into the locker room, Coach reamed the team out for them. Jensen was leaned back in his locker, an ice-cold towel over his face as he inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly, almost in a meditative state. Everyone knew not to talk to him. He was busy. In his mind, he was watching the always-moving puck. He was trying to see through the bodies that almost always clouded his brain on game day, and he was trying to stay ahead of the game. It was a mental game, being a goalie, but it was a game Jensen lived for.
Ever since he was old enough to remember, he’d never wanted anything else but to be a goalie. He could still see himself in his father’s way-too-big gear. Waddling around the house as his parents laughed. He had dreams, goals, and when the time came for him to come to the States from Canada and live those dreams, his parents didn’t even bat an eye. They found the best family to take him in and sent him off to Colorado. Their only son. But thankfully, the family they sent him to was amazing, and soon they became a part of Jensen’s family. A part of his life. He met his two best friends there, he fell in love there, and above all, he became the goalie he was right now, there.
Because of that, he was going to win.
For all of them.
The fifteen-minute break was gone in a blink of an eye. Again, he was between the pipes, staring down the ice at the Capitals’ goalie, who seemed to be staring back at him. He didn’t know the guy, nor did he wan
t to at that moment. This was war, and their goalie was the enemy. All that mattered was winning, and as the puck dropped, Jensen begged his heart to be somewhat controlled as he watched the puck and the two teams start to battle.
Because the next goal would win the game.
For the next five minutes, Jensen felt like the kid from The Mighty Ducks, waiting for the puck to come his way. But it never did. They either stayed in the Capitals’ zone, or they battled in the middle before the Capitals turned it over. The Assassins weren’t playing for fun, they were out for blood, and Jensen guessed the ass-reaming from coach had been a doozy. Not that he could recall a bit of it.
Leaning on his legs, he watched as the puck snuck out to the defense at the blue line. Karson King shot hard as Brooks screened, but it went wide. Anderson was there, sending the puck back to the point where Jordie Thomas shot. Like had been happening the whole series, Brooks was hit. The guy was taking a beating, but he never went down. Somehow the goalie blocked it, but then the rebound was right there. Jensen heard himself scream or something, he wasn’t sure. But before he could even finish whatever he was saying, Brooks top shelved it over the goalie with ease.
Jensen swore time stood still.
Gloves, sticks, and screams filled the air as he threw his stuff off before sprinting toward his brothers on the other side of the ice, who were all lying on Lucas Brooks. Jumping on the top of the pile, he heard Lucas groan, but he didn’t think anyone cared as they all hollered out in excitement. Tears and confetti started to fall within seconds as the Assassins chant filled the arena. Before he knew it, Jensen’s eyes had fallen shut, tears leaking out the sides as he squeezed someone.
They had won.
The Assassins had won the Stanley Cup.
When he stood to his feet, Vaughn Johansson, his best friend for as long as he could remember, attacked him from the left, wrapping his body around him like a koala just as Jensen did the same, both of them falling to the ice as they cried out.
The noise was deafening in the arena, but he could still hear as his best friend said, “You did it.”
“We did it,” he reiterated as they hugged tightly once more.
“Can you believe it?”
“No.” He laughed.
“This is better than sex!” Jensen really laughed at that. “No, that’s a lie.”
“I figured!”
“Oh my God, we won!”
“We won!” Jensen yelled back as they both shook each other like two schoolboys. But then, that’s what moments like these were made of. Men turned back into boys because they had achieved their dreams. Since Jensen was a small boy, he had wanted the Cup. Skating on the frozen pond back in British Columbia, Jensen used to act like he was defending the goal for the Cup. Now that dream was a reality.
The next few moments, Jensen was convinced would be a hazy memory for the rest of his life. All he would remember would be the tears and the smiles on all his brothers’ faces. How Jayden rushed to the other side of the ice where his wife stood with their little boy behind the glass. How Lucas waved to his family in the boxes. He watched as Vaughn rushed to his fiancée, kissing her hard on the lips, though she tried to get away since she was working. How everyone was screaming to their loved ones as Jensen just stood there.
But he had no one.
His parents couldn’t make it because his dad’s diabetes had gotten so bad that his legs were giving him issues. The doctors had gotten it under control, but his mom wouldn’t leave his side, which was understandable. Thankfully, he knew they were watching. Though, he did miss them more than he could ever put into words. He knew he would see them in a few weeks.
With his Cup.
Jensen’s throat was tight as he looked around the arena, all the fans going nuts, the guys clinging to each other as Jayden took pictures with the commissioner and the Cup. It was so much shinier in person. Jensen had seen it on the internet and even at events, but he had never been this close to it. Soon, he would touch it.
As the crowd roared, Jayden picked it up to do his victory lap, but to Jensen’s surprise, he carried it over to Lucas Brooks before yelling, “For the last time, brother. This is all you, Brooksie, you earned it.” The team all yelled out for the veteran forward before he took the Cup, holding it above his head and kissing it. Jensen clapped along with his team, their fans, and their families as Lucas did his lap, tears gushing down his face. When he came back to the team, Jensen assumed Lucas would give it back to Jayden. But instead, he paused in front of Jensen.
“We couldn’t have done this without you, Monroe. Take your lap.”
Jensen reached out, taking the Cup before looking back at the guy who was Tate Odder’s biggest fan. He’d felt like Lucas held a bit of animosity toward him since Jensen had taken Tate’s spot after he went out with an injury. But looking into Lucas’s eyes, all Jensen saw was love and admiration. Bringing the Cup up, he shook it wildly before kissing it and doing his lap. It was all such a blur, like it wasn’t even happening, and then it was over. It almost felt as if he hadn’t even done it.
But he knew he had.
Handing the cup off to Jayden, Jensen felt a grin grow on his face before someone called out, “Monroe, media.”
He was watching as Jayden was skating with the Cup, tears welling up in his eyes as he stopped in front of his wife and son.
Shit. Jensen was going to cry.
Swallowing hard, Jensen skated to where Brie Soledad was standing, tears in his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He couldn’t; Vaughn would give him shit for days if he cried on camera. Before she could ask anything, though, they embraced. She had become a pillar in his life the last six months. Engaged to his best friend, newly pregnant, Brie was just as much a sister as Vaughn was a brother. Jensen was vying for the baby to be named after him, though, Vaughn had said no way in hell. Jensen was pretty sure he could change that. He had his ways.
Kissing his cheek, she backed up, a grin on her face as she yelled into the mic, “Jensen Monroe, congratulations.”
Holy shit, he still couldn’t believe it.
They had won.
“Thank you, Brie.”
“Your goals against average is only .940, setting a new record. You saved 1,033 shots this run, almost beating the record of Tim Thomas. They say the Vezina Trophy is yours. Tell me, can life get any better?”
As he looked up, meeting Brie’s happy and excited gaze, he said, “No, it can’t.”
He actually paused, waiting for God to strike him down for lying.
Because even in that moment, with all the confetti, the undying love from the fans, his boys cheering him on, and the tears in Brie’s eyes, Jensen knew things could be a lot better.
Yeah, he had just won the Cup. Had made records, and might win the Vezina Trophy, but at the end of the day, unlike everyone else in the arena, he had no one to share it with.
Because of that, the moment was almost ruined.
Almost.
“Well, crap.”
Wren turned side to side in her full-length mirror, staring at her reflection.
Or better yet, her ever-growing belly.
Biting her lip, Wren furrowed her brow as she ran her hand down her stomach. “Really? I bought this to hide you, kiddo.”
She wasn’t sure what she expected, for her belly to talk back or what, but one thing was for sure, the many tunics she had bought to hide her stomach were not working any longer. She had done so well the last six months, hiding the fact that she was very much pregnant. Today, though…today, her little baby had decided it was time to make its debut.
And that wasn’t good.
Because she still wasn’t married.
Letting her head fall back, she looked up at the ceiling because if she didn’t, she’d look at the counter where her brother’s wedding invitation sat. A wedding invite that showed a date a month from today, and her presence would be expected. She thought about trying to get out of it, but she was pretty sure Wells would ki
ll her dead if she didn’t show. So would her parents, but she just couldn’t face them. Any of them.
Closing her eyes, she could see her trust fund slipping away since there was no way she could keep this a secret when she went home. She had always been a thick girl, but she didn’t look fat any longer. She looked pregnant. And since she was, that made sense, but that was beside the point. She couldn’t believe this was how her life had played out. She didn’t know what she thought would happen when she walked out of Bradley’s office, but a part of her had thought he’d call her back.
But he hadn’t.
He married his partner’s daughter three months ago, and boy, did that sting.
It was like she meant nothing to him. By now, she wouldn’t think it would still hurt so bad, but it did. It hurt terribly, and she hated him. Oh, did she hate him. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. But then, what did she expect? He never committed to her. Only wanted sex. Just like everyone else. She wasn’t trophy wife material. No one wanted the fat girl long term. They just wanted to bury themselves in her fluff and keep it moving.
Fuckers.
Pursing her lips, she looked back at her reflection. She wanted to see the fat girl everyone else saw, but she didn’t. She never had. Even in school when people called her fat, she’d find herself so confused. She thought she looked normal. Did she love food? Hell yeah, but she wasn’t huge by any means. Nor was she skin and bones either, and with her curves, she was beautiful. Dark as night hair, big, green eyes that had flecks of darkness in them. Darkness that leaked from her soul, probably. Her face was round with bright pink cheeks, but even with the loveliness of her face, her eyes fell down to her protruding stomach.
“That’s a problem.” She pressed her lips together as her little nugget kicked hard on her bladder. “Not you, kid, but the fact that you’re showing.”
She had a session with Tate Odder in a little over an hour, and since no one at work knew about the baby, she really didn’t want to go to work with her child on full display. But as she took herself in, she was discovering she might not have a choice. Which was bad. She couldn’t let it get back to her family that she was pregnant without a husband. She knew she should just let the trust fund go, but she couldn’t. She had so much debt, and she couldn’t let Wells down. As much as he said he didn’t need the money, she knew he did. Their parents hadn’t paid for college because they knew the money would get to the kids. So instead, they stuck them with debt and told them they’d pay for the books. Wells made decent money as a hockey player, but he wanted a family too, and the money would help.