“Can you explain again why I agreed to this?” Trent said, grunting under the weight of the desk.

Confused?

Let me rewind for a moment. A few weeks ago, I came home from my road trip to a surprise. No, not the one where Holly was in nothing but my favorite black lacy bra and matching panties—although she had been wearing them at the time.

This surprise was six-foot tall, one hundred ninety pounds of muscle, with an Aussie accent. That’s correct. Wilfred the fucking Third had shown up in San Francisco, and Holly had agreed to get together with him for dinner while I was in Vancouver next week.

Before you think I was an idiot, let me first clarify something about men. Even when we aren’t jealous—we’re jealous. It’s part of the caveman gene you can thank our ancestors for. So even though I knew nothing was going on between Holly and Drew, that didn’t stop the jealous streak from body-checking me.

What did this all have to do with Trent and the desk? Well, I’m getting to that.

A few weekends ago, Holly and I had gone baby-furniture shopping. We didn’t buy anything in the end because she wanted to paint the room first.

So while the girls were enjoying a relaxing weekend of spa treatments (all arranged by me…and maybe Trent helped a little), Trent, Travis, and I were moving the furniture from the spare room, cramming it into Holly’s storage locker, and painting the room.

And not just painting the room a solid color.

This was where Travis came in. While flipping through the baby magazines Erin had lent her, Holly had come across a design perfect for Noah’s room. The walls had been painted gray with two small eucalyptus trees on either side of the crib, leaning toward each other. Near the top of each tree was a cute koala bear. Neither Trent nor I could paint the design—but Travis could.

Now, some guys might go all caveman when they believe another man’s encroaching on their woman—even if he isn’t. Remember what I said about the jealousy gene? And maybe another time I would have done that too, but I also knew that wouldn’t impress Holly.

If anything, it would piss her off.

So instead of being an asshole caveman, I’d decided to surprise her with the early Christmas present of the spa weekend and her dream baby room. The white furniture was sitting in the living room, still in its boxes, waiting for it to be assembled. Which was exactly what Trent and I would be doing while Travis painted the trees and koalas.

Impressed? I thought so.

“You agreed to help me because you’re a great guy that way—and you know I’m right. Kelsey will think you’re the best boyfriend ever for giving her this weekend, and you’ll get the best sex of your life tomorrow night.”

Here’s some free advice, ladies. Men will do anything for great sex. Want me to repeat that in case you missed it the first time? Nothing motived a guy more than the promise of sex so awe-fucking-inspiring, he would be seeing stars for a week.

“Hey,” Travis said, “I don’t get any sex out of this deal.”

I raised an eyebrow, partly because of his comment—and partly because while Trent and I were carrying the heavy desk, he was carrying a box containing the contents of said desk. “It’s not like you have any issues getting laid,” I huffed.

He smiled an evil grin. “Are you saying you two men, who have girlfriends, have issues getting action between the sheets?”

“I don’t have issues getting laid,” Trent grumbled as we squeezed the desk through the doorway. “And sex with Kelsey is already great.”

“Then you’re doing this because Holly is your friend, and you want to make your friend happy,” I pointed out—swooping in for the overtime win.

Several hours later, the furniture in the spare room had been relocated, and the two coats of paint had been applied.

I surveyed the result, making sure there was nothing that needed fixing or redoing. The three of us were standing in the room, beer in hand. Pizza was on the way. Even though Holly wasn’t here, I planned to spend the night in her apartment, to get an early start on the decorating.

“So, what exactly is the deal between you and Holly anyway?” Travis asked.

“She’s the mother of my unborn child and my girlfriend.” No new revelation there.

“I get that. But you two will be parents soon, and you’re still living on the other side of the city, with no interest in giving up your apartment.”

As Holly had mentioned a few weeks ago—although a lot more subtly than Travis. He was more like the bull in the china shop. The bull who’d had his nuts kicked.

“I happen to like my apartment.” Even if I didn’t spend much of my time there these days.

Truth? Knowing I still had my apartment was a safety net. A way to keep my heart safe. I’d already been let down by two people who were supposed to love and protect me, and they had walked away. At least this way I had a place to go if that ever happened again—just replace my parents with Holly.

“I agree. It’s a great apartment. But that’s not my point.”

“What is your point?”

He exchanged looks with Trent as if to say, “Hey man, you’re the one with the girlfriend. You explain the problem.”

“What are your plans for the future?” Trent asked. “Your contract ends in July and then you’re a free agent. What does that mean for you and Holly and Noah?”

And there you had it. Trent stating the piece of reality I’d been trying to ignore for the past few months. I wish I had a crystal ball to know what would happen come summer. Hell, I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me what would happen come trade deadlines at the end of February…the same time Noah was due.

Did players get traded near the end of their contracts? Definitely. Especially if the team’s star players’ contracts were also up for renewal. Especially if the team’s organization no longer saw a place for the player on the team.

I’d already been there once before, prior to signing with the Rock.

All a player could do was suck it up. Be a man. And move to the team that did want him—at least for the time being.

Which meant I had no idea what the future held for me when it came to my hockey career, Holly, and Noah. I had no idea where I could end up if I was traded. Would Holly even want to join me if it happened? She had a career here that she loved.

These were all questions the two of us had avoided discussing, always focused on the here and now.

“You do know she’s not a permanent U.S. resident, right?” Trent said. “She can only work here because of her job with Bristol Mathews. If she leaves it, then her work visa will be revoked, as will her green-card application. And if either of those things happens, she can’t work or stay in the country.”

The first night Holly and I had fucked, she mentioned she didn’t have a green card and could be deported at any time. But as far as I knew, only criminals got kicked out of the country, and Holly wasn’t a criminal.

“And if she can’t stay in the country…” Trent left that hanging, but I knew what he meant. If she couldn’t stay in the country, it meant losing my son.

It meant losing her.

Just the thought of that was like being the bull who’d had his balls kicked in the china shop.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” Travis said. “You have to marry her.”

I stared at him, unblinking. I cared a lot for Holly, but I wasn’t the marrying kind. Hell, I wasn’t even the commitment kind of man.

What if I fucked it all up like my old man?

And what if she goes back to Australia and marries Wilfred the Third?

A part of me, the selfish part, figured it was a great idea. I didn’t need a kid. I’d never wanted to be a father to begin with.

But another part of me, the larger part, didn’t want to lose my son.

“Shit,” was all I could say.

“I think it’s time you and Holly talk about what you plan to do,” Trent said. “You’re both my friends and I don’t want to see either of you hurt. But if you continue living in denial, someone will get hurt.”

And when it came down to it, he would whip my ass if I ended up hurting her.

Christ, if that happened, I’d whip my own ass.

“You’re right,” I said on a sigh.

“Right about which part?” Travis asked. “That I get to be your ring bearer—or you two need to talk?”

The corner of my mouth quirked up to one side. “I was thinking you’d do a better job as a flower girl.”

“Well as long as I’m the flower girl and not the groom. Not that there’s anything wrong with Holly, mind you. She’s gorgeous as sin, even with your love child in her belly.”

“You better believe she’s gorgeous as sin. And my son only makes her that much more gorgeous. My seed is that powerful.”

Trent snorted. “You better not let that secret out. Or else you’ll have lines of women outside your door, begging for some of that powerful seed. And Holly might not appreciate it.”

He was right about that.

Trent and I tidied up the paint cans while Travis sketched the mural on the wall.

“At least once your hockey career is over,” I said, grinning at the defenseman, “you’ve got a new career painting murals in kids’ rooms.” Which was a shitload more than I could say about my own post-hockey career options.

Here’s the thing about pro athletes. Most of our childhood was spent dreaming of one day going pro—like the players we idolized. Some of us went to college to get a degree, but even then, we weren’t thinking about a future beyond hockey. Even in college, I had been more focused on playing and impressing the scouts than thinking about what my degree would mean for my future.

What was my degree? History—with a specialty in European history and a minor in marketing.

Not exactly a degree high in demand, but I’d always loved history.

What did I plan to do once I eventually retired?

Not a single fucking clue.

My phone pinged and I checked the text.

Holly: Miss me? :)

I did—but that was nothing new. I’d gotten used to sleeping with her when I wasn’t away on road trips. But this was different. I missed just being with her and talking to her and touching her.

Only I didn’t mean in the I-want-to-have-sex-with-you-now kind of way.

I meant in the I-can’t-believe-you’re-having-my-baby kind of way. The miracle-of-life kind of way.

But this wasn’t what I told her.

Me: Definitely. Hanging out with Trent isn’t the same thing as hanging out with you. For one, he doesn’t look as hot in a black lacy bra and panties.

Me: And in case you’re wondering, he doesn’t look hot in the red ones either.

Me: But don’t tell Kelsey or else she’ll want to dump his sorry ass.

Holly: Ha! I’m positive Kelsey already knows he isn’t hot in anything but his underwear.

Holly: I mean other than when he’s out of them ;)

Did her saying that bother me—in that jealous caveman way? A little. But don’t blame me. Blame our caveman ancestors. On the other hand, I knew nothing had ever happened between Holly and Trent. Trent would never have crossed that professional line.

Me: How is girls’ weekend going?

Holly: I now have pretty toenails. And every single part of me is in happy heaven. I think I’m in love

My breath stalled in my chest at the last part. Did she mean with me?

And more importantly, if she meant me…how did I feel about it?

Before I could further examine this unsettling—yet not completely unsettling—thought, another text came through.

Holly: Sorry, dropped my phone. I think I’m in love with my massage therapist. In the most platonic sense, mind you.

Me: Remind me to give you massages ;)

Holly: I will! Thank you so much for this! XOX

Me: You’re welcome. Enjoy! See you tomorrow.

“How does this look?” Travis said, standing next to the stepladder. On the wall was an outline, drawn in pencil, of the design that looked like the one from the magazine.

“It’s perfect.” And it was.

An excited thrill skated through me at how much Holly would love it.

Maybe more than she loved the massage therapist.

Two points for me.

And zero points for Wilfred the Third.