Chapter 12
Paige
The apartment door creaked as Paige quietly entered, careful not to wake Irie. The glow of the television was the only light in the living room; the volume set to a faint whisper. Emily was wrapped in a blanket and sprawled across the love seat, her legs dangling over the armrest.
Emily woke with the sound of Paige's footsteps. She sat up and rubbed her groggy eyes. “Hey,” she said, her voice sleepy and confused. “What time is it?”
“Just past midnight.” Paige took a peek into her bedroom, where Irie was still peacefully asleep in her crib. “How was she?”
“Fine. She didn't wake once.”
“That's good.” Paige lowered herself to the floor and sat with her back resting against the love seat. The small sofa was the only furniture she owned. “Thanks again for staying with her, Em.”
“No prob.” Emily took a second to gather her thoughts and orient herself. At last, she spoke. “Man, you were gone for a while, weren't you?”
Paige let out a sardonic laugh. “Yeah. I was.”
“So, um, how'd it go? Did you find the guy you were looking for?”
Paige could tell by the way Emily asked the question that she didn't believe it was even a remote possibility that she'd find her hockey player … truth was, Paige still couldn't quite believe it either.
“I did, actually.”
Emily bolted upright, shaking off her groggy confusion in a split-second. “What? You did? Really?!”
“Yep.”
“And?!”
Paige bobbed her head. “It's him, alright. He's Irie's father.”
“We're talking about the Lance Couture, right? The hockey player? He's Irie's father?”
“The one and only.”
“Paige. Paige! Holy shit!” Emily grabbed Paige's shoulder and sank her claws into it. “Are you kidding me right now?! Because if you are, it's not funny.”
“I'm one-hundred-percent serious.”
Emily squealed. “You found him at Zickell's?”
“Yep. Apparently, he was looking for me, too. Imagine that.”
“Oh my Gawd!” Emily leaped off the sofa with the grace of a cat and landed in the center of the room. Trying not to wake Irie, Emily quietly did a dance—hips gyrating, index fingers stabbing at the air. But soon, she realized the cheer of her infectious dance wasn't exactly spreading, and her excitement began to fizzle. “Okay, wait. If it's really him, why do you seem so blasé about it? Is he … is he not willing to man up?”
Paige sighed. “I didn't—I didn't have a chance to tell him about Irie, actually.”
Emily's jaw dropped. She rushed over and shook Paige by the shoulders. “Are you mad? Why not?”
“I tried! I tried … but he was in such a rush to get out the door, damn it!”
Paige told her friend the story from the beginning: the whirlwind reunion at Zickell's, the crazy bar fight, the action-packed escape in a taxi cab. And then back at Lance's hotel room, where she tried to tell him about Irie while she patched up his busted eye, or at least she wanted to tell him, but she grew trigger-shy every time she had the chance. And then he kissed her, and um, one thing led to another, and then he was tearing her clothes off …
Emily gasped. “Paige McMillan, please tell me you did not fuck that hockey star again without telling him he has a daughter.”
Paige sighed. “No. I didn't fuck him. I would've slept with him, but … right when he put the condom on, his general manager started banging on his door.”
That, of course, was a whole other story on its own. How embarrassing it was to have that old man staring at her while she was naked under the bedsheets!
Once Emily was caught up on all the details, the two friends silently stared off into space.
“Okay,” Emily began shakily, “so you didn't tell him. But, er, maybe it's not the worst thing in the world?”
Paige gave a disbelieving laugh. “Oh really?”
“Well, sure,” Emily muttered. “I mean, he seems to like you, right?”
“Sure, he thinks I'm a great lay.” She rolled her eyes. “But does he feel anything about me beyond that? I doubt it. He's a pro athlete. Those guys are notorious for being dogs.”
“But look on the bright side! You finally know who Irie's father is. And he is a legit professional hockey player. You know, everything else aside, that is pretty freakin' cool.”
“Yeah. Irie's father is a pro hockey player. Too bad her mom's nothing to be proud of.”
Emily reared back. “Hey, where did that come from?”
Paige buried her face in her hands. “I'm so ashamed of myself, Em.”
Emily squeezed her with a tight hug. “Aw, Paige, why?”
“Why? Why? Because two years ago, I slept with a random guy from the bar and got pregnant. I was completely irresponsible—”
“Yeah, okay, you got pregnant. But he did wear a condom—it's not like you let a total stranger go raw-dog on you!”
“Raw-dog? Ew, Em!” Emily sure had a way with words sometimes.
“Were you unlucky? Yes. Irresponsible? I don't think so. Tons of one-night stands act far less responsibly than you did that night, lemme tell ya.”
Paige huffed. “Okay, sure, and maybe people would agree with you … but then, after two long years of looking for him, I finally meet him again. And what happens? Not only was I too much of a coward to tell him about his daughter, but I ended up right back in bed with him! Seriously, what's wrong with me? How depraved am I?”
Emily shrugged. “He's a stud, Paige. Not to mention a famous hockey star. If it were me, I would've done the same.”
“Really?”
“Probably! Might as well get a little more of that athlete dick before you drop the bomb on him, right?”
“It is a bomb, isn't it.” Paige curled into a ball with a whimper. “I fucked up. Ugh, I can't take it anymore.”
Paige whipped out her cell phone and started busily composing a message—before Emily caught on.
“Dude, what are you writing over there? A novel?”
“I'm texting him. I'm going to tell him about Irie right now.”
“Are you insane?! Don't do that! Not over a text message!” Emily tried to snatch the phone away, but Paige managed to fight her off.
“I can't keep this from him any longer, Em. He deserves to know. And Irie deserves to have a father.”
“Of course he does. And of course Irie deserves to have a father. But a text message? Really?”
“Do you have a better idea? Because I choked in person.”
“How about in a few days, when you take him up on that offer to go to Boston?”
Paige huffed and set the cell phone at her side. “You know I can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“There's so many reasons—where should I start? First and most importantly, if I went to Boston, what would I do with Irie?”
“Leave her with your parents. Aren't they always volunteering for more babysitting time?”
“That's so callous. Fly out to Boston to tell him he's got a daughter—a daughter I conveniently left at home in Tennessee? If he even believed me, instead of assuming that I was lying and trying to get his money, he'd think I was the world's most cruel-hearted bitch for keeping his daughter from him.”
“Eh. Good point.” Emily mulled it over some more. “But you can't bring her to Boston either, or you'd look crazy and desperate.”
“I'm glad you agree,” Paige said, picking up her cell phone and waving it in the air. “Which is why I'm ready to press send on this text message.”
“Don't! Not yet. Please wait. Let's just talk this through first. Let cooler heads prevail.”
Paige set her phone down again with a roll of her eyes. “Reason number two. Even if I managed to get my shifts at the Burger Stand covered on such short notice—which will never happen, by the way—I wouldn't be able to afford my bills after.”
But Emily was only half-listening. She tapped and swiped at the screen of her own cell phone, ferreting out information. “Whoa. Lance Couture just signed an eight-year contract last off-season worth eighty million dollars. This guy makes ten million bucks a year. You can forget about getting your shifts covered, because your Burger Stand days are over, sister.”
“It's not about his money,” Paige groaned. “Reason number three, I doubt he'll want anything to do with me once I tell him that I have a daughter, so why go to Boston to embarrass myself?”
“If that's the case? That's when you know for sure this guy is an immature dick-wad who is spooked by commitment and just wants to get laid. And then you file for a paternity test, and he'll have to bust open up that fat wallet and start paying all the child support payments he owes.”
Paige went silent. “I hope that's not the case,” she reflected after a long pause. “I think that's why I couldn't tell him tonight. I just have this crazy, irrational hope for us—that we were meant to be together. I know it's nuts, but I can't help but hope for it the same. And somehow, telling him about Irie would change everything before we even have a chance. Like you said, it's a bomb.” A wave of disgust swept over her. “Ugh. I'm being selfish. I'm not allowed to think like that because I'm a mother now. My first priority should be Irie, not whether a guy likes me or not.”
“You are watching out for Irie, Paige. Hoping things work out with her father is the furthest thing possible from selfish. Would you still be thinking about Lance if you hadn't gotten pregnant? If you never had Irie, would you care about Lance at all—even if you knew he was a pro hockey player?”
Paige had to stifle a laugh. She knew Emily was right. “Probably not, no.”
“Didn't think so.”
Paige thumbed the 'send' button on her cell phone. “I still don't know what to do. I want to tell him just to get this over with. So we can both move on with life and figure out what comes next.”
“It's late, Paige. You've got to work in the morning. I suggest you sleep on it and give it some time before you do anything.”
“Yeah … maybe you're right.”
Emily stepped into her shoes and slipped on her winter coat. “Speaking of sleep, I need some. I should get going.”
The two friends hugged. “Thanks again for staying with Irie. And talking me through my insanity.”
“Anytime.”
When Emily was gone, Paige went to the bedroom and watched Irie sleep in her crib.
Sorry I wasn't strong enough for you, baby girl.
The image she couldn't get out of her head was Irie at the hockey game, seeing her father for the very first time. It was such a moving scene. Too moving, really—it tugged at her motherly heart strings and hijacked her sense of reality. It filled her head with fantasies of the three of them together. Lance, Paige and Irie. A happy little sports family.
But deep down, she knew it was incredibly unrealistic. The most important thing was telling Lance as soon as possible.
But Emily was right. It was late, and instead of fretting over what to say to Lance and how exactly to say it, she should get her rest. She had a morning shift, after all.
Paige powered her phone off for the night, the text message unsent, and got ready for bed.