Back in the Game

by Meghan Quinn

  Calder: He did, but don’t worry, I’ll get him next time.

  Rachel: THERE WILL BE NO NEXT TIME! No more fighting.

  Calder: You’re cute.

  Rachel: Question.

  Calder: Possible answer, depends on what the question is.

  Rachel: Now I don’t want you to get upset that I’m asking you this through text, but I’m nervous, and you know what happens when I’m nervous, I clam up, and if I don’t get this off my chest soon, I might combust.

  Calder: Oh shit, now I’m nervous. What’s up?

  Rachel: Well, we’ve been dating for two months now.

  Calder: Yeah, best fucking two months of my life.

  Rachel: You’re sweet, but I kind of want to know something.

  Calder: If you don’t spit it out I’m going to call you.

  Rachel: Fine, why haven’t you introduced me to your daughter yet?

  I pause, staring down at my phone, my heart rate picking up, my eyes reading her words on repetition. She wants to meet Shea? I knew this time was going to come, that they were going to have to meet at some point, but I never prepared myself for it.

  There are so many factors that go into introducing your child to your significant other. She is so young, so impressionable, what if Rachel and I don’t work out and Shea has already fallen in love with her? Then what?

  And I know that would happen, that Shea would immediately take a liking to Rachel, it’s hard not to—she has a contagious personality that puts you in a better mood no matter the circumstances. Shea would love Rachel right off the bat, and it terrifies me to wonder what I would do if Rachel and I break up. Shea already lost her mom, I couldn’t stand for her to lose Rachel too.

  Fuck, I can’t stand to lose Rachel.

  But meeting Shea? I don’t know if I’m ready for that, I don’t know if I’m ready for the impact Rachel would have on my daughter, the kind of love Rachel so easily exudes.

  I can’t risk it.

  Biting my cheek, I read Rachel’s question over again, trying to figure out what to say, how to break the news. Conflicted, I start to type out a response but erase it, several times. After the fourth time, I give up and pocket my phone, my stomach flipping on itself. Shea is not ready, I don’t want to disappoint her again . . .

  Chapter Ten

  RACHEL

  “Jace, I don’t know what to do,” I say, talking to one of my best friends on the phone. I finally got in touch with him after playing phone tag. He plays shortstop for the Colorado Boulders and he’s in the beginning of his season, making it almost impossible to touch base with him given all of the media, practices, and games he has to attend.

  “He hasn’t responded to you yet?” I’ve updated Jace briefly through text about my dating life, but this is the first time I’ve gotten to talk to him on the phone, and it’s really nice to hear a friendly voice, since I haven’t heard Calder’s in two days.

  “No, nothing. He’s gone radio silent on me. I knew I shouldn’t have pressured him. I should have let him introduce me to his daughter at his own pace.”

  “No, don’t do that, Rachel. Don’t make excuses for him. If he wasn’t comfortable with you meeting his daughter, then he should have respectfully told you that.”

  Jace is right, if Calder was the kind of man I thought he was, he would have just been open and honest about his feelings, instead of running away, which really doesn’t seem like him.

  It makes me wonder . . .

  “What if something happened to him? What if he got hurt and I can’t get—”

  “Pretty sure the dickhead is fine, at least he looks fine on TV, skating around the rink, warming up.”

  Oh, right.

  “Then he’s just an asshole.”

  “Seems like it.”

  I sigh, leaning back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Ugh, what do I do, Jace?”

  “Let me ask you this, do you like the guy, or do you really like him?”

  Knowing this is the God’s honest truth, I answer, “I really, really like him, borderline L-word status.”

  “Oh shit.” Jace pauses and asks, “Are you okay, Rachel? I didn’t know you liked him that much.”

  I bite on my lip, willing the tears away. Don’t cry, DO NOT cry, it only makes Jace feel awkward and it will solve nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, I answer, “I’ve been . . . better.”

  “Are you going to cry?”

  “Maybe.” I sniff.

  “It’s official, I’m going to kick his ass.”

  “He’s bigger than you, Jace, if that’s possible, and he fights other big guys for a living, when he’s not pushing a puck around on the ice.”

  “But I have the best-friend rage.”

  “True.” I laugh, letting silence fall between us.

  Finally, Jace chimes in. “Just confront him. What will you lose? It’s not like he’s talking to you now. At least if you confront him, he’ll have to give you a direct answer.”

  “But that’s scary.”

  “Yeah, it is, but it’s better than sitting around wondering. You deserve better than to be pushed to the side. Take what you want and go ask him in person. Be the assertive girl I know.”

  “And if he breaks up with me?”

  “Then he’s the biggest moron on the planet.”

  I really hope he’s not the biggest moron on the planet, because I’m not sure my heart will be able to take it.

  Shea should be at Calder’s brother’s house, she always is when Calder has a late game. After his game ended in a loss—good timing on my part—I waited two hours before heading over to his place, giving him time to settle in, and giving myself a little more time to gain some courage.

  I’m not nervous to confront him, but I am worried about how he’s going to react when he sees me on his doorstep. I don’t want him to break up with me.

  Please don’t let him break up with me.

  Taking one last deep breath, I knock on his grand door and shift on my feet while I wait for him to open it. It takes a few seconds before the locks are shifted and the door opens. Calder is wearing a pair of pajama pants and that’s it, showing off his well-defined chest, muscular arms, and cut stomach, where I could count each and every ab with my tongue.

  I’ve missed him so damn much, from his buzzed hair, to his soulful eyes, to the warmth of his arms. Seeing him like this, not feeling comfortable enough to dive into his embrace, makes me feel not only awkward, but also incredibly sad.

  “Rachel,” he says with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  Twisting my hands together, I try to steady my voice, not wanting to show how much he affects me. “I . . . I came to confront you.” Not the most eloquent or the best way to ease into the topic, but there’s something to be said for getting to the point.

  He grips the door, his muscles straining under the tension I just laid in front of him. “Rachel—”

  “No,” I cut him off. “Please, don’t lie to me, okay? Please don’t give me some spiel about how you’ve been so busy, because that was never the case with us, you always made time for me. So the least you can do is tell me the truth.”

  Lowering his head, he stares at his feet for a few seconds before opening the door wider and welcoming me in. That’s right . . . you jerk!

  I take in my surroundings, his house feeling so much like home it hurts. When he turns toward me, door shut behind him, there is regret written all over his face, regret and pain. And even though I’m mad at him for shutting me out, I can’t help but be drawn toward him.

  Pressing my hand against his chest, his heat encompassing me, I ask, “What happened, Calder? Do you really not want me to meet your daughter that much? I can wait, I really can, but I just don’t want to lose you.”

  He presses his hand against mine and twines our fingers together right before he pulls me into a hug, his chin resting on my head. I melt into his embrace, my eyes welling up with tears. It’s been two days, two days of not talki
ng to him, of wondering where we stand, of not being able to get lost in this man, and it’s been torture.

  I try to hold back the tears, I really do, but when he squeezes me, as if he never wants to let go, the floodgates open.

  “Shh,” he coos into my ear, hearing the silent sobs coming from me. “I’m so sorry, baby. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  In the entryway, we hold each other, my heart slowly healing with each kiss he presses against my head and with every sorry he mutters under his breath, his voice filled with self-hatred.

  He’s regretful, it’s evident in the way he’s holding me. This gives me hope, just a glimmer of hope, but hope, nonetheless.

  When my crying subsides and I gather myself, Calder brings me to his couch, where he pulls me onto his lap and holds onto me tightly.

  “Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry. There really is no excuse, other than I was scared.” He takes a deep breath, so I place my hand on his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. “Shea asks about her mom almost once a week, and it kills me having to tell her why her mom is no longer in her life, that she’s never coming back. I fucking hate that her mom just up and left and I can’t do anything about it. It’s the reason why I’ve been super selective when it comes to bringing people into Shea’s life, it’s the reason why I went on a dating hiatus for so long—I didn’t want to fall for someone and introduce them to Shea, just to have them leave her too.

  My heart aches for Calder and Shea, and the pain they have to face on a daily basis because of someone’s selfish needs.

  “Calder, I had no idea, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, there is no need for you to. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Things just got really intense with us really quickly. I’ve never . . .” he holds his breath and then he says, “I’ve never truly loved someone like I’ve fallen in love with you, and that terrifies me, because what if you don’t love me back? What if you don’t get along with Shea? What if you decide to leave us, not only breaking my heart, but my little girl’s heart, too? I don’t think—”

  “Stop.” I gently place a kiss on his lips, lingering for a few seconds. “Calder, I love you. And every day we’re together, I fall deeper in love with you.” I tilt his chin so he’s forced to look me in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I have plans to stick with you for as long as you want me. And as for your daughter, as for Shea, I know that she’s your world, and I will do anything to not only gain her love and respect, but to keep her safe.”

  Calder shakes his head in disbelief and squeezes me tightly against his chest. “Fuck, I love you so much. Thank you, baby.”

  “No need to thank me, just don’t shut me out. You about destroyed me, Calder. I’m kind of addicted to you. I need you like I need air to breathe. I’m sticking around, I think it’s time you get used to it.”

  Laughing, he answers, “That’s a pretty easy thing to get used to.”

  “Why am I so nervous? She’s five. I work with five-year-olds day in and day out. I shouldn’t be this nervous.”

  Calder laughs next to me, the rumble from his chest easing me slightly. “Trust me, babe, she’s going to adore you.”

  “I hope so.” I adjust my shirt and watch as Calder’s brother pulls up in the driveway of Calder’s house. It takes all of a minute for Shea to pop out of the car and sprint to the house, right into her dad’s arms.

  And oh boy, is she the cutest little thing. She shares Calder’s eyes, but everything else about her must be her mom. Wearing pink leggings, a pink sweater, and her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head, she is everything I expected.

  “Daddy, you didn’t win last night.”

  “I know, love bug, that’s okay though.”

  “You’ll get the next game.” She gives her dad a little fist bump and it melts my heart. “Do you like my hair, daddy? Carissa helped me style it this morning. Don’t I look so cool?”

  Chuckling while Shea tosses her head from side to side, he says, “The absolute coolest.” Standing tall, he continues to hold Shea’s hand when he says, “Hey, I have someone I want you to meet.”

  Reaching out, Calder clasps my hand and says, “Shea, I want you to meet Rachel, my girlfriend.”

  My stomach flips as Shea looks me up and down, her once-over making me more nervous than any job interview I’ve ever had.

  “Girlfriend?” Shea crinkles her nose. “Like, you guys kiss?”

  Pressing his lips together for a second, holding back his laugh, Calder says, “Yes, love bug, we kiss.”

  “Huh.” Leaning closer to me, Shea asks, “Is daddy a good kisser?”

  I nearly lose it as I throw my head back and laugh, way too hard, letting all my nerves fly out of me.

  Kneeling to her height, I look Shea in the eyes and say, “Your dad is a very good kisser.”

  Looking up at Calder, Shea gives him a tap to his flat stomach and says, “Good job, daddy.” Then she turns toward me and holds out her hand, which I take without pause. “Do you want to see my stuffed animal collection? It’s huge!”

  Smiling, I answer, “I would love to.”

  And that right there, that’s the moment I fell for not only Calder Weiss, but also his darling little girl. Calder was so worried about me going somewhere, but he has absolutely nothing to fear. There is no possible way I could leave, not with this little girl’s hand gripping mine so tightly, and the look of absolute adoration beaming from Calder.

  Nope, I’m here for good.

  THE END

  One Baby Daddy

  Meghan Quinn

  Chapter One

  HAYDEN

  “Do you have any regrets about getting into that fight with Marcus Miller?”

  “No.”

  Flashes of light repeatedly go off, the clicks a sound I’ve become accustomed to.

  A sound I hate.

  Sip my water.

  Look around the room.

  Cameras point in my direction, stage lights blare from above, the bill of my hat being the only protection from the onslaught of light. I adjust it, curving down the sides as reporters raise their hands for the next question.

  I know what they want to prove, what they want to get at, but I’m not taking the blame.

  “So you don’t think the fight cost you the advancement in the playoffs?”

  Of course the squirrel-faced guy would ask that question.

  Bob I think his name is.

  He’s a dick. He makes it his mission to turn any story into something completely fabricated for more reads on his news site. I’ll never understand why the Brawlers still let him in the media room.

  “The shots O’Reilly deflected cost us our advancement. He played a hell of a game and shut down our offense.”

  “But you were tied heading into the last five minutes of the game, right before you were sent to the penalty box, leaving your team short a man. You don’t think that has anything to do with the loss?”

  I place the cap on my bottle of water and clear my throat. Pinching the microphone with my fingers, I lean in and look directly at the smarmy reporter with yellow teeth, sporting a brown suit and a cue ball of a head. “Tell me, Bob, if someone came up to you and slapped a hockey stick across the back of your legs, would you bend over and ask for another? Or would you have retaliated?” He’s about to answer, but I cut him off. “From the look of it,” I eye him up and down, “you would have bent over, but that’s not how I handle things. Miller deserved to be brought down to the ice and I won’t apologize for my actions.” I grip the table’s edge and look around, ready to stand. “Unless you have any other questions about the actual game, I’m done for the night.”

  Questions fly but I don’t listen, I zone out and stand from the table, taking my water with me.

  Gripping the curve in the bill of my hat, I walk down the steps of the podium and head out of the media room, my publicist hot on my heels.

  “You could have handled that better.” he says, trotting next to me to keep up with m
y pace.

  “Well, we just lost our chance at fighting for the cup, so excuse me for being fucking pissed.”

  “Steinman is not going to be happy about that comment.”

  Greg Steinman is the owner of the Philadelphia Brawlers and the controlling nitwit sure as hell won’t be happy with that comment but he can deal with the repercussions. I’m allowed to be pissed. I answered their questions, I played the media game but I don’t deal well with being blamed for the loss. There are a lot of factors that went into that game resulting in us being knocked out of the playoffs.

  Do I regret cracking Marcus Miller’s jaw with one solid punch to his face? Fuck no. That dickhead has been on my ass the whole series taking cheap shots with his stick, this was the only time when I lost my cool, which is hard for me to do. It takes a lot for me to shuck my gloves and fight on the ice.

  And maybe the Renegades will be going to the championship, but Marcus won’t be playing, that’s for damn sure. I made sure of it when my fists connected with him over and over.

  I squeeze my hand, pain searing through my bruised and swollen knuckles.

  “I’ll deal with Steinman,” I huff out. I turn the corner to the locker room, the space silent, my teammates either quietly packing up or already gone after coach’s speech.

  Next year, we will train harder. We will study harder. That cup will be ours.

  It’s the same damn thing you hear after every hockey season. I might be a rookie in the NHL but I’ve heard my fair share of end of the year speeches and this one is no exception. Did I think we would win the championship my rookie season? No, but fuck it would have been awesome.

  “Are we not meeting?” James asks, looking so goddamn put together that it’s pissing me off. One hair out of place would have been nice, one button undone, one showing of how upsetting our loss was would be fucking comforting right about now.

  “Does it look like I want to meet with you right now?” I toss my water bottle into my locker and shift around my gear, pulling my wallet and keys from my lock box. My phone is already in my pocket and the suit I’m supposed to be wearing is hanging from the coat hook. Fuck that shit, I’m walking out of here in a t-shirt and athletic pants. “Can’t you tell now is not a good time?”