CHAPTER 9
Bodie
“Olson manages to get a stick on the puck, kicks it out, and Fabritis pulls it free. Across to Samuelson and… he scores! Garrett Samuelson over the right shoulder of Bertrand to put the Cold Fury up four to two.”
“Goal,” Cage yells, throwing his hands up in victory as the hockey players on TV are all hugs and backslaps. “That fucking Stanley Cup is ours again this year.”
I laugh and shake my head. Cage is from North Carolina and sort of psycho for his Carolina Cold Fury. He went to every game of the Stanley Cup finals last year where they won. I expect he’ll do the same this year if they make it past this round of the playoffs.
As for hockey, not my thing. Growing up in the Midwest, it was all about football. Cornhusker football to be exact. One of the things I miss most about my dad is watching college football on Saturday’s together. I expect if I head home with a baby that tradition will be in place once again, which is a good thing.
“Another beer, Bodie?” the bartender asks, and I nod.
“Me too,” Cage says before he picks up his pint glass and drains the rest. I’d gladly said yes when he invited me out for a late lunch and some beers while he watched the hockey game on TV. We’re at our favorite sports bar in Vegas, and we’re well known here.
The bartender snags our empties and discards them into a sink behind the bar. She grabs two more chilled glasses from a cooler and pours our drafts.
The hockey game cuts away to a commercial for a sports drink, and our fresh beers are slid in front of us. Just as I pick mine up to take a sip, Cage says, “So Hart’s pregnant, huh?”
My glass freezes halfway to my mouth for just a second before I regain my senses. I take a large mouthful and then set the pint glass on the counter, carefully calculating my response. Clearly her meltdown in the locker room has made the gossip rounds.
“Yeah,” I say, turning to look at him. “She was just having a rough day, I guess.”
“That’s wild,” Cage says thoughtfully. “Thinking about Hart being pregnant, that is. I can’t think of a woman who is less motherly than her.”
It shouldn’t bother me… those words.
But they do.
They bother me because he’s right. Rachel has made it clear she doesn’t want to be a mom at this point in her life. But he’s also wrong. She’s also wrong.
I can see the potential within her.
“I wonder if Kynan knocked her up,” he muses before taking a sip of his beer.
“Why would you say that?” I ask. It comes out a little too aggressively.
Cage turns his head to look me in the eye. “Oh, come on. They’ve got a past. Fuck buddies and all that.”
My abdomen contracts painfully, like I’d been kicked right in the gut. The news is jarring.
“They’re fuck buddies?” I ask, my throat dry. I’m not sure why it bothers me, because what she did in her past shouldn’t matter.
Not really.
I’ve watched her fuck random men at The Wicked Horse, and that’s never bothered me. Still doesn’t, as a matter of fact, because I know it was meaningless.
Just like the women I’ve fucked there were meaningless.
But Kynan?
That’s not meaningless. They’ve known each other a long fucking time. Since before The Jameson Group.
“How do you know they’re fuck buddies?” I ask, trying to appear casual about my inquiry.
Cage shrugs. “Well, it’s just rumor really. Some of the original members like Sal and Tank were talking about it in the locker room earlier today. Said they were an item back in the day.”
After Rachel had her public meltdown and then jetted out of there. It took no more than a few minutes before all the guys were gossiping like a bunch of clucking hens.
And what the fuck does “back in the day” even mean?
I pick up my beer and start chugging. I’d like Rachel to clear up those matters for me. Otherwise, I’ll drive myself batty wondering about it. Right now, she’s fucking me exclusively, but I need to know if she’s got feelings for Kynan. I respect the dude, and I respect Rachel. I don’t want to stand in the way of something.
I also don’t want to have these nasty-ass feelings I’ve got going on right now, which are ranging from jealousy to anger.
“It’s got to be Kynan, right?” Cage chatters on. I continue swallowing large mouthfuls of beer. “I mean… they’ve got a history, and Hart’s not the type to have unprotected sex. If it happened, it was planned is the way I’m thinking. Kynan’s got to be the dad for sure—”
“It’s mine,” I croak after swallowing the last of my beer, sucking air through my teeth. I slam my glass on the bar, and turn to lock my eyes to Cage’s.
His eyes go round, his mouth dropping wide open. “Yours?”
“Mine,” I say proprietarily, and I wonder if that’s for the baby, Rachel, or both. I wait for a flash of guilt to hit me that I’ve divulged our secret. Rachel most certainly didn’t want anyone to know she’s pregnant just yet. She didn’t want to be treated differently by the guys, but that cat is out of the bag thanks to her hormonal rant earlier today.
She also doesn’t want anyone to know we’re involved, and I get that, too. It’s an unspoken rule, and it will make things awkward. Since I’ve been with Jameson, there’s never been a romantic or sexual relationship between members. Or at least not out in the open anyway.
But Cage is my best friend, and I wanted him to stop talking about Kynan and her being together. It was getting on my nerves.
“What the fuck?” Cage growls in a low voice. “You and Hart? Together?”
“Well, we’re not together-together,” I hedge as I push my empty glass to the edge. The bartender starts my way, but I shake my head, indicating I don’t want another. “But things got carried away between us in Paphos, and she got pregnant.”
“What… break a condom?”
“Didn’t use a condom,” I mutter.
“You fucking idiot,” Cage says. I couldn’t agree with him more, but what’s done is done. Now we have to accept the consequences. “But what do you mean you’re not together-together? That means you’re together in some way?”
“We’re fucking.” My words are pointed and clear. They shouldn’t invite other questions, but I still add, “Exclusively.”
“Lucky son of a bitch.” Cage shakes his head disbelievingly. “She’s pretty much every man’s fantasy.”
“Yeah, well stop thinking about her that way.” I cringe over the possessive snarl in my tone, but it’s better than peeing in a circle around Rachel. That would just be embarrassing.
As if it just hits Cage with the implications of everything he’s learned, he leans toward me and asks in a low, hesitant voice. “Are y’all going to get married or something?”
That makes me smile, because it just never crosses Cage’s mind to ask if we’re keeping the baby. He’s my closest friend in the world, the bond forged tight by the many hair-raising adventures we’ve shared in the Navy and with the Jameson Group. He knows I would never consider not having this kid.
I also know I need to tell him the truth because I can’t lie to him. But I also trust him to keep this confidential.
Leaning against the back of the barstool, I scrub my hands over my face. When I look back at him, my words start on an exhale. “Rachel doesn’t want the baby, but I do. She’s agreed to carry it, and I’m going to raise it.”
Cage just stares at me, blinking a few times as he reconciles the fucked-up dichotomy of my relationship with Rachel. The total reversal of stereotyped roles where the mother doesn’t want the baby, but the father does.
“How?” Cage demands angrily. “How are you going to raise a kid on your own?”
“You know how,” I say softly, acknowledging the heaviness in my heart that I’ll be giving up a career I love in exchange. “The baby has to be my first priority. Over everything.”
“You’ll go home to Nebraska,” Cage says in realization, his voice as heavy sounding as my heart is feeling. “Estelle and Geo will go crazy over another grandkid.”
That’s the truth. Cage knows my parents well since he’s been a guest at the Wright household many times over the years. He has no family of his own, so my mom and dad have unofficially adopted him.
“You know I can’t have this career and handle a kid on my own. There’s just no way.”
“And no chance Hart will change her mind?” he asks. “The two of you could do it together.”
“I have no clue,” I tell my best friend, and then look over to the bartender. I lift my hand and point to the empty, indicating I’ve changed my mind about the beer. There’s still two more periods to the hockey game, and while I really don’t care to finish watching it, Cage will. I might as well get a good buzz going as that might make things at least feel a little better.
The bartender nabs my empty, dumps it in the sink, and pours me a fresh beer.
“You care for her,” Cage says out of the blue when I pick the beer up for a sip. His tone is a mix of accusation and wonder. “I watched you run out of the gym after her this morning. You were hugging her in the locker room—according to the reports I heard. More importantly, Hart was letting you comfort her, and we all know that’s very anti-Hart. You two care for each other.”
My head is shaking in denial before he can even finish. “It’s not like that.”
“Bullshit,” he declares.
“Okay, yes… I care about her,” I admit. “I mean, man… she’s giving up part of her life for me. I’m asking her to put her body through hell to give birth to a baby. For me. I’m asking her to do something monumental for me, so yes… I care about her. How could I not?”
“She cares about you, too,” Cage proclaims with a sharp nod of his head.
“As a teammate,” I finish his thought. “She’s doing this because of team loyalty and respect. Nothing more.”
Cage nods, not necessarily in agreement, but more so that the depth or origin of her care is probably irrelevant. She’s committed to carrying the baby, and that speaks volumes either way.
“Listen, buddy…” Cage picks his beer up and holds it up to me in a toast. “I know this isn’t how you envisioned becoming a father would happen. I know you thought your family would be built in a more traditional way. But congrats. You’re going to make a fucking awesome dad, and I’m thoroughly depressed you’re going to be leaving me.”
I laugh and pick up my beer. After I tap it against his, we drink deeply. I fucking don’t want to leave, but I see no other option at this point.
Cage sets his beer down, his eyes drifting to the TV mounted on the wall behind the bar. His attention isn’t fully focused on it, because he still has questions about Rachel. “I assume all this is on the down low?”
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes on the hockey game, too, my fingers playing mindlessly in the condensation on the pint glass. “Obviously the pregnancy is out in the open, but no one knows it’s mine.”
“Lips are sealed,” he says, but he doesn’t need to do that. I know they are.
“Appreciate it.”
“And if you need to talk, I’m here.”
“I know,” I say softly. I can envision plenty of beers with Cage before all this is said and done, because as we advance through the months, it’s only going to get tougher.
At some point, it will come out that I’m the daddy. At some point, I’ll need to tell my parents. And at some point, I’ll need to make plans to leave Jameson.
At some point.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I’m drinking beer with my buddy, and I’m thinking I ought to just get shit faced. It’s been a while since I’ve done it. What better reason to do so than the fact my life is getting ready to be turned upside down?
My phone gives off a short vibration, indicating an incoming text. I pull it out and see it’s from Rachel.
Meet me at The Wicked Horse at 11pm.
I stare at the message for what seems like forever. So long that Cage leans over to see what I’m looking at, but I turn the screen away from him.
Our one encounter in The Wicked Horse was impulsive and dangerous. If we want to keep our sexual relationship a secret, there can’t be any fucking around there.
Still, I type my response back without worrying about repercussions. Ok. CU then.
That’s still several hours away, and I’ve got some beers still to drink. But I won’t drink too many. I want to keep my wits about me when dealing with Rachel.