Ice Cold Hearts: A Single Mom, Hockey, Reverse Harem Romance (Forbidden Fantasies)

29. Emily

My self-imposed two-week deadline has come and gone with nothing to show for it. Today marks exactly one month after I resolved to tell them the truth, and yet here I sit with the secret still festering like a septic infection inside me.

Four weeks. I”ve had four weeks to come clean. Four weeks is plenty of time to tell a hard truth. That”s thirty days, seven hundred thirty hours, or forty-three-thousand, eight hundred minutes, and not once during that time was I able to muster a single moment of bravery.

I don”t know what”s wrong with me. Every morning, I woke up determined to tell them. I planned out every miniscule detail from the precise time and location to every word I planned to use. At this point, I could recite the speech by heart, but the only person who’s heard it is my reflection in the mirror. Everything is fine until the moment comes where I actually have to tell them. I’m all confidence and poise until I try to actually bring it up, and then I melt into a puddle of nerves and do anything and everything I can to avoid having to tell them.

All I”ve been doing lately is avoiding. Avoiding the increasingly feral media, avoiding my mother, and avoiding the truth. The only thing going for me right now is that the press still hasn’t found where I live.

I never thought having too much student debt to qualify for a mortgage would have an upside, but here we are. It had felt pathetic when my parents let me move into one of their rental properties. I’d had this grand plan of paying off my debt while still living at home and saving up to buy something, but Audrey had changed all that. I was determined to give her stability. She deserved a mom who had her shit together and wasn’t still living with her own parents, so I started looking for places to rent.

When my parents found out, they’d insisted I take the townhouse they owned down the street. They were just going to give it to me, but I insisted on renting it until I could afford to buy it from them. I needed to feel some semblance of independence, even if it was false. Did they allow me to pay market-value rent? No. Did it soothe my pride to pay them something? Embarrassingly, yes.

Even though it was a blow to my ego at the time, having no publicly accessible paperwork tying me to this address has been a blessing. Between that and Hank’s driving skills, I’ve been able to maintain privacy at my home. Well, privacy from the press, anyway.

My mother, unfortunately, has decided I’ve had quite enough privacy. So instead of getting to watch my men play their away game on TV or taking advantage of my Audrey-free time with a long soak in the tub, I’m here sitting at her kitchen table. I sigh and trace the rim of my coffee cup with my finger.

“Maybe we should check in on Dad and Audrey,” I suggest.

She sighs deeply. “They only left five minutes ago. I’m sure they’re fine”

“Well, what if they forgot a change of clothes or don’t have enough snacks?” I ask.

“There are two full outfits, three extra pairs of underwear, and enough snacks to feed the two of them for a month in her bag. They’re all set,” Mom replies.

“But what if they get there and they don’t have enough sunscreen? There’s only about a quarter of a bottle left,” I fret.

“I’m sure there will be a shop or something nearby. In the unlikely event they run out, your father can buy some,” she says flatly.

“But what if—” I start.

“Emily Matilda Hayes, you are stalling,” Mom says, cutting me off. “Your father is perfectly capable of caring for a child by himself, and you know that. You’re just trying to hide from this conversation and I’m not having it. I gave you plenty of space and time to come and talk to me on your own, and you didn’t. If you were handling it, I wouldn’t have even brought it up, but it’s clear you’re avoiding me, and you have been since the first hockey game those nice boys brought us to.” She narrows her eyes. “You haven’t said anything to them, either, have you?”

“Mom, it’s not that simple,” I protest feebly.

“It is that simple. So, no more stalling. No more, ‘sorry, Mom, I’ve got to run.’ No more ‘we’ll talk later.’ We need to talk, and we need to talk now,” she says sternly.

“You’re right,” I say glumly. “I”ve been being a shitty daughter. I”m sorry.”

“Sweetheart, that”s not even close to being true. You are a wonderful daughter, but you”re a little too stubborn for your own good sometimes.”

“Gee, I wonder where I got that,” I tease.

“Oh I know exactly where.” She flashes a brief smile.

The mood quickly returns to serious. I stare down at the table and fiddle with my fingers aimlessly. I sip at my coffee and try not to drown in the awkward silence. I’m not sure that I even know where to start. I know what she wants me to tell her, and I desperately want to talk to someone I can trust about it. There’s no one I need more than my mom right now, but the words feel stuck in my throat.

Mom clears her throat, and I drag my eyes off the table to meet hers. I must look as panicked and pathetic as I feel because her firm expression melts into something softer.

“I think I know the answer, but I’m going to ask anyway. Is he her father?” Mom asks gently.

I don’t need any clarification to know who “he” is. I rub my temples and fight the urge to pick at my cuticles.

Why does she always have to be so direct? Would it kill her to pull a punch or two?

There”s no sense in lying or trying to change the subject. She’s already figured it out, and it”s clear she”s not going to let this go.

I take a steadying breath and answer, “Yes, he”s her father.”

“So the Oliver you met that night is Oliver McKenna. The same Oliver McKenna who plays for the Cold Hearts?” she asks.

“That’s right.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It was around five years ago. Is it possible that you had him mixed up with someone else?”

I smile wryly. “He’s not someone you can easily forget.”

“No, he”s definitely not, but sweetheart, what happened? Let me help you if I can. I’m here.”

I spill out the entire pathetic story to her at the table, from the lakeside party to being humiliated in Liza’s office, all the way up to the first time Alexei and I were ambushed in the parking lot at work. Mom doesn’t interrupt. She actively listens and quietly nods at appropriate times, but the expressions that cross her face speak volumes. Just the sight of the feelings crossing her face makes me feel less alone. The pressure behind my temples lessens and makes me wish I hadn’t waited so long to talk to her.

“Is she why you refused to give the hospital his name for the birth certificate?” she asks.

I nod. “She had all these resources at her disposal, and I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to make my life a living hell, and if it was just me, maybe I would have fought harder, but I just couldn’t put Audrey through all that.”

“And this piece of trash is still working for him?” she demands.

“Yes, and I don’t know what to do. I know she’s figured it out based on the visit to her office that I talked about that day,” I confess.

“Oh, Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Mom reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

“She hasn’t come forward with it yet, but every time I’ve seen her since, she makes comments and holds it over my head like a cat playing with a mouse. It’s only a matter of time before she gets tired of tormenting me privately and feeds it to the media, and that’s not the only thing she’s doing, either. Whenever Liza knows we’re spending time together, she always calls with an emergency, and if she can’t get him to come in, which she usually can’t, she ties him up on the phone for hours. It’s to the point where even Ian and Alexei are annoyed by it and saying it’s not normal. Most of the time, when I call the office to leave a message for him, she ‘forgets’ to pass it on or won’t tell me whether he’s there or not. Lately, I’ve been just asking Ian to call her office whenever we can’t reach Oliver because she won’t ever give me a straight answer.” I slap my hand on the table in frustration.

“I know you haven’t talked to him about… about Audrey, but have you talked to him about this?” Mom asks.

“I’ve tried. We’ve all tried,” I say, letting out a frustrated growl. “Whenever we start to say anything remotely negative, we always get something like ‘she has some boundary issues, but…’ or ‘she can be overprotective, but…’ and always ends with him saying how good of an agent she’s been to him. I just don’t know how any of us are going to be able to get through to him.”

“Maybe he feels like he owes her since she got him his big break?” she suggests.

“I think that’s a lot of it, yeah,” I answer.

“Is this why you haven’t told them?” she asks. “Are you worried that if you tell him what she did, he won’t take your side?”

If she ever gets tired of retirement, she could be a fighter pilot. Her ability to identify and hit a target is terrifyingly accurate.

“It’s scary that you’re able to do that,” I admit.

“I can’t do it with everyone.” She laughs softly. “I’m just an Emily expert.”

“It’s not just that, though,” I say. “The longer I wait, the harder it gets to tell him, which makes me more anxious to bring it up because I know he’s going to be angry that I didn’t tell him sooner, and then I don’t want to tell him because I’m afraid he’s going to hate me and never want to see me again.”

“It’s a vicious cycle.” Mom nods understandingly.

“What am I going to do?” I say, dropping my head into my hands.

She takes a deep breath. “I know you won’t like the answer, but you’re just going to have to rip that Band-Aid off. You’re miserable. You’re pretty good at hiding it, but your eyes and your cuticles don’t lie. This is eating at you, and it’s not sustainable, Emily. There’s a very real chance Oliver’s going to be upset. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee it. That’s a big thing you’ve kept from him, but that doesn’t mean things are going to end between you. I’m not going to pretend I understand how things work in a relationship where four people are involved, but there’s a chance that Alexei and Ian will be upset by this too. It might be a lot for you all to deal with for a while, but that doesn’t mean certain doom. Your father and I had our problems. Different problems, sure, but we still had them. And you know what? Sometimes, it sucked. I mean, I don’t know anyone who likes fighting with their spouse, but we got through it together. We talked it out. We worked on it. We even saw a couples’ therapist sometimes, but we never lost sight of how much we loved each other and wanted to be together.”

I peek through my fingers at her.

“Emily, I’ve seen the way they look at you. When they told you they loved you, that wasn’t just empty words. Anyone with eyes can see how deeply they care for you. And Audrey?” She snorts. “Don’t even get me started on Audrey. She’s got them wrapped around her little fingers. They’ll spoil her rotten if you’re not careful.”

I swipe the tears from my eyes then grip my coffee cup like it’s a rescue buoy. “You mean that?”

“I do.” She nods. “But there is a chance that it won’t be enough. It may not end happily, and you need to be ready for that, but wouldn’t you rather be the one to take control of the situation instead of letting that pile of garbage, Liza, or the press do it for you? And honestly, if he can’t see how toxic she is, then he’s not worth your time, and you’d be far better off knowing sooner or later.”

“But what if I can’t do it?” I mutter to my coffee cup.

“Do you love them?” Mom asks.

“I haven’t told them I loved them,” I say.

“That’s not the question. Do you love them?”

I nod meekly.

“Is all this trouble with the press worth it? Do you even want to be with them?” She presses.

“I…” my voice cracks. “I’ve never been happier. I don’t… I don’t want to lose them.”

“Then you need to take the risk and tell them everything, including how you feel about them,” she says.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

“I know.” Mom reaches out and squeezes my hands. “But you owe it to yourself to tell the truth. You are so smart and so resilient. I know you can do this, and your dad and I will be here for you no matter what happens. As soon as they get back from this series of games, you have to tell them.”

“Okay.” I nod. “I will.”