Dean

For our first matchup against the Capitals, I have the pleasure of playing against Duke Baldwin. He’s a bruiser, a big guy, and the one player on the ice you don’t want to mess with unless you have a death wish. Known by everyone in the NHL as a Baldwin Beatdown, Duke has made a reputation for himself for his highlight reel knockouts. As the enforcer for his team, fighting is Duke’s specialty.

Some of the guys on my team were going over their strategy for playing against Duke. I should be concerned. But I’m not.

After our defenseman intercepts the puck, he passes it to me, and I take off down the ice. Well aware of Duke and his proximity, I skate faster, glancing over my shoulder when I reach center ice. I switch the puck to my weak side, keeping it away from Duke’s blade. But he’s good at getting me to do what he wants because my failed attempts to dodge Duke send us crashing into the boards.

Instead of reaching for the puck, he pulls the gloves from his hands and throws them on the ice along with his stick. His actions take me by surprise, removing me from my element.

Does he want to fight me?

Before I have time to prepare myself, Duke grabs me by the collar of my jersey. “You are mine, asshole” he breathes against my cheek.

I attempt to skate away, still in possession of the puck, before one of his teammates come up from the side and steals it from between my legs. Those in attendance at the Capital One Arena come to a standing, waiting for Duke’s next move. He has the appeal of a wrestler putting on a show. I wriggle free from his grasp, but only for a few seconds. Duke slams me into the Plexiglas, as if I weigh nothing, causing me to lose my balance.

With a firm grip on my collar, Duke tugs hard enough that I fall backward and into his chest. I give him a shit-eating grin that he returns with his jaw clenched in anger.

“This is for Kat and Noah,” he growls into my ear. “You fucking scumbag.”

“Who’s Noah?” I choke out, my face twisted in anger.

“Your son.”

My son?

“What are you talking about?”

“You knew. Don’t fucking lie.”

My jersey slides up my back, as Duke slams my face harder into the Plexiglas. I spin around, still struggling to break free from his grasp, when Duke hits me with a right hook to the jaw, followed by a jab that forces me to the ground. But he doesn’t loosen his grip, not even for a second.

“Kat is pregnant with your kid. Don’t act like you didn’t know.” Bending over me, Duke lands a few more punches that bloody the ice, before two linesmen grab him by the arms.

In shock, I sink to the ice, in pain from the hits I took from Duke and numb from the news about Kat. Is she pregnant? And with my son? I don’t know what hurts worse—my jaw or Kat’s betrayal.

The cheers from the crowd grow louder, as Duke fights the linesmen off with an elbow, and when I least expect it, he knees me in the face. The blow to my face causes my body to go limp as I fall backward and onto the ice. Before my eyes close, I watch Duke throw his hands up in victory, about to turn and face the fans, when his fist collides with the jaw of the linesman behind him.

The team doctor comes over to check my vitals and shine a light in my eyes. Some of my teammates are circling us, hoping to get a clean shot at Duke. His teammates skate around them to block the other players, even though he doesn’t need them to shield him. The last player who hit a linesman lost months worth of pay and earned a hefty suspension.

I hope fucking up my face was worth it, asshole.

As the officials escort Duke off the ice, I get help from the doctor and my teammates, who pull me up from the ground. What a low blow for my first year in the league. That fight will be on every highlight reel for weeks to come. What concerns me most is what he said about Kat…and our son.

How could she hide something like that from me, of all people? We share everything with each other. I want to believe that Duke misunderstood and that he’s delusional. Kat owes me an explanation for my face, this fight, and our baby.

* * *

After the swelling went down over my eye and I could see enough to drive, the team doctor had given me the okay to leave the building. I dialed Kat’s number several times, each time getting her voicemail. I left her a handful of angry messages that she still hasn’t returned.

Why is she avoiding me? There must be some truth to Duke’s words. I bet she even watched the fight on TV. She never misses my games.

When I walk into the hotel, the doorman stares at my face and taps me on the shoulder. “Good game, son. Better luck next time.”

I wish I had something clever to say like, You should see the other guy, but I never had a chance against Duke. He took me by surprise and stunned me with his words. My lack of reaction is the reason my face feels like Duke rearranged it into tiny pieces.

I nod and flash a closed-mouth smile. It hurts too much to make any sudden movements.

Once I’m inside the elevator, I suck in a deep breath and let it out. The ride up to my floor intensifies the spinning in my head, forcing me to hold onto the wall until the doors open. I stagger toward the end of the hall and dig the plastic room key from my pocket.

A few seconds later, I push open the door to my suite and drag myself into the bathroom. Tiled from floor to ceiling in white marble, hotels like this are becoming the norm for me, even though I am out of my element. When I was a kid, my mom almost never had money to take us on vacation. The closest we had to a trip was a two-hour car ride to the beach.

Now, I’m staying in places that have anything I could ever dream of right at my fingertips. I remove a washcloth from the basket in the center of the double sinks and run it under cold water. My cheek has a few cuts, the skin already starting to darken.

How could Kat do this to me? I trusted her with my life. And she betrayed me.

Why won’t she answer her fucking phone?

Staring into the mirror, I lean my palms on the edge of the sink and take a good look at my face. I never liked Duke. Now, I have a real reason to hate him. He was always right about Kat and me.

I drop the towel on the counter and check my cell phone one more time. Nothing. Four years of friendship should entitle me to at least a courtesy call. I strip off my clothes and turn on the shower, allowing the steam to envelop around my head before I get inside the oversized stall. The water causes me to wince every time it hits certain bruises on my face, the pain a constant reminder of tonight. So, I turn around and allow it to pour down my back.

I doubt I will even sleep after everything that happened on the ice. We have another game tomorrow night. All it would take is an accidental tap to reopen my cuts. The doctor refused to let me leave until he got the bleeding down to what he considered a reasonable amount.

“I’m a hockey player,” I told him, “I’ll just rub some Vaseline on it and get back on the ice.” The doctor wasn’t too thrilled about that response. It hurt like a bitch when I laughed. My coach didn’t agree with me either. So, I had to sit out for the rest of the game, all because of Duke fucking Baldwin.

After I fill the entire bathroom with steam, I turn off the water and get out, wrapping a towel around my waist. A bell rings, the sound echoing throughout the suite.

What kind of hotel room has a doorbell?

I laugh to myself on the way to answer the door, but even that fucking kills. The slightest movements in my jaw send a tremor up to my ears.

I grip the handle and swing the door open, forgetting that I’m still in a towel, but not giving a fuck.

“Hey,” Kat says, biting her bottom lip. She has her hands resting on her stomach.

My mouth drops open in shock, causing me to reach up to cup my face from the pain. I shake my head at her in disbelief. “It’s true.” I can hardly get out the words. “How could you?”

“Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“I can’t…” I take a few steps back, the room spinning around me.

“Please, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

“For what? Sending Mike Tyson after me or for hiding our child from me.” I try to shut the door in her face, and Kat pushes her way into the room.

“I never meant for any of this to happen.”

I turn my back to her and walk into the living room. “Get out, Kat. I can’t do this tonight.”

“But I’m your best friend.”

I spin around to face her, my teeth clenched in anger. “Don’t use that line on me. We’re not…we’re nothing.” My chest hurts from all the pressure building up inside. The lack of oxygen to my head forces me to hold onto the arm of the couch.

“Dean, c’mon.” Kat inches toward me. “Don’t act like this. I messed up big time. I know that.”

Instead of staring at her face, all I can focus on is the massive baby bump. My baby. As my skin grows hotter, the tension in my chest intensifies, knocking me on my ass. I sink into the soft fabric and grip the cushion for dear life. I lean forward, hoping it will help me catch my breath. “Call the doctor,” I tell her, staring down at the floor.

She comes up next to me and clutches my bicep with her tiny hand. “You’re having a panic attack. Control your breathing. Everything will be okay.” Kat sinks to the floor in front of me, holding my arm with one hand and her stomach with the other.

Duke was telling the truth. The more I think about Kat, the baby, and all of her lies, the harder it is for me to listen to her voice, as she tells me to take a deep breath.