8. Jeremy
Trudging up the stairs to the apartment, I slowly pulled out my keys. Nate hadn’t exactly been angry with me, but I could see his disappointment and fear clear as day when I told him about Daisy. Not that I blamed him; what Jilly’s death put him through was rough.
Once inside, I didn’t even get a chance to take off my shoes before there was a knock on the door. Without even looking to see who it was, my face broke out into a smile. There was reasonably only one person it could be.
Daisy stood in my doorway, panting slightly, a big grin on her face.
“Raincheck cookies!” she declared as she thrust another Tupperware in my direction. “I had a craving and decided to—What the hell happened to your face?” she cried, eyes roaming over me as she noticed the bruises on my face.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said, opening the tub and inhaling deeply. It was floral. I didn’t know that cookies could be floral. Hopefully, this was one of those nice cravings, and I wasn’t about to eat a cookie that tasted like grass clippings.
“That is most certainly not nothing! Jeremy, you have a cut on your eyebrow!”
“It’s a light scrape.” I did my best to keep my voice soothing.
“It’s still bleeding!” Her face reddened, and I paused. The last thing I wanted was for her to stress herself out. That wouldn’t be good for the baby.
“Oh, crap, it must have reopened?—”
I was cut off by a tiny pair of hands shoving me in the chest, pushing me back inside the apartment.
“Sit your ass down. I’m going to clean that mess and then you can tell me how you managed to royally mess up your face.” Daisy growled—she actually growled—and I had to resist the urge to coo at her because it was so damn cute.
“Daisy—”
“Down!” She jabbed her finger in the direction of the dining chair, a scowl firmly on her face. “Where is your first aid kit?” she asked.
“Under the sink. But let me get it, you shouldn’t be?—”
“Sit your fucking ass down, Jeremy,” she snarled.
My eyes widened as my ass plopped down on the chair. She was so pissed at me she was actually cursing. Daisy disappeared behind the counter, muttering under her breath as she rummaged through my cabinet for a few minutes before resurfacing, first aid kit in hand. Stomping over to me, she started going through the kit, pulling out an antiseptic wipe and ripping it open with a grumble.
“You should sit down. Stress isn’t good for the baby,” I tried to reason.
A sharp, stinging sensation exploded across the back of my skull as Daisy clipped me round the back of the head in an almost skillful move. “Shut up. Let me fix this. Don’t you dare comment on my stress levels, or I’ll just get more stressed!” Her voice took on a shrill tone.
“Okay,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender.
Grabbing my chin with one hand, she delicately dabbed at my eyebrow. It stung—antiseptic always did—but I kept my face calm and even. When her hand reached for a butterfly bandage, I resisted the urge to tell her she was overreacting.I had a distinct feeling that wouldn’t work out for me.
“How did this happen?” she asked, pulling back to inspect her work.
“It’s nothing,” I insisted, gently grabbing her wrist that was reached out to me. Her skin was so soft; I wanted to taste it, but it hardly seemed like an ideal moment.
“Why won’t you tell me? Are you a criminal?” Her face paled. “Jeremy, if you’re into some iffy stuff, I can’t be spending time with you. I’m about to have a baby! I refuse to bring a baby around that stuff!” Her breathing was increasing, and she tried to take a step back, but I was still holding on to her wrist.
Panic gripped me. I couldn’t let her leave—she was mine, whether she realized it or not. She was retreating, and I couldn’t have that. Fear and panic weren’t good for her or the baby. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to make the situation right, to soothe the omega.
“Hey.” Standing up, I pulled her closer to me, my hands gently gripping her upper arms. “I’m not a criminal, okay? I’m a hockey player,”
Daisy stilled, looking up at me with wide eyes. “A-a hockey player?” she asked, confused.
“Yeah. There was a little scuffle during the game. It’s normal.”
Her brows were pinched. Did she believe me? I wasn’t going to let her think I was a criminal—no way in hell. I would happily explain every little part of my life to her if it made her feel better.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”
“I’m, uh... I’m quite well known. I hate it. I hate the sport, but I’m good at it, so I do it for my pack. I’m in the NHL.”
Daisy bit her lip. “I can’t say I know much about hockey, but even I know what the NHL is. Are you even a contractor?”
“I am!” I nodded eagerly. “It’s only part time, but it’s what I want to do full time more than anything.” She swayed slightly as I spoke. “How about you sit down while we talk? I’ve got spicy peanut noodles I can make.”
“It’s nearly midnight,” Daisy said, confused. “Do you really eat at this time?”
I shrugged. “I eat when I’m hungry. Have you managed to eat anything today?” I asked pointedly. I could see clearly from the pale color of her face that she hadn’t. Daisy’s face was so expressive—it was one of the things I adored about her. “I’ll make you some. Spicy Asian food seems to be all your stomach can cope with right now.”
“You can’t keep feeding me,” Daisy grumbled.
“Watch me,” I said, leading her towards the kitchen. She headed for the breakfast bar, but I’d decided a few days ago that the bar stools weren’t good enough for her. She deserved to be comfy and refused to wait on the sofa while I cooked. She insisted on being with me, and I loved the company, so I was inclined to agree.
So, the only solution had been to buy one of those big, overly stuffed armchairs and place it in the corner of my kitchen. It had been delivered just yesterday, and Daisy hadn’t seen it yet. It was a deep emerald green—I had picked that color because, thanks to her glorious red hair, she looked stunning in green. She looked lovely all the time, but green just hit differently. I had also taken the liberty of adding a throw pillow and a cream blanket that was stupidly soft.
It was a throne for a queen.
“What is that?” Daisy asked with a frown when I turned her to look at it.
“You’re heavily pregnant, so there’s no way in hell I’m letting you sit on those bar stools—they’ll destroy your back. This is your seat while I’m cooking.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and my heart stuttered. Had I fucked up? Oh no. Shit.
“You got me an armchair so I would be comfy?” she asked in a broken voice.
“Yeah.” I nodded, watching her with wide eyes. “If you don’t like it, I can return it! I be—oomph!” I was cut off by a petite, pregnant omega throwing herself at me. Her bump was so big, she couldn’t fully get her arms around me.
“I love it,” she sobbed.
Looking down at her with panic, I gently brushed her hair out of her face. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? I can get a different color if you want?”
“No! I’m crying because it’s perfect. Stupid pregnancy hormones. You got me a chair!” She pulled back and furiously wiped at the tears. Even with a blotchy, tear-stained face, she was beautiful. “This isn’t getting you out of explaining what the hell is going on,” she grumbled, padding towards the chair and sitting down with a moan. “Oh, this is lovely,” she admitted, running her hands up and down her arms.
A wave of pride and joy washed over me. She liked the gift I had gotten her! She wiggled her ass deeper into the seat, a smile breaking out across her face. Now she could be near me while I cooked for her—it was perfect.
Keeping her in my eyeline, I went to the fridge, pulling out all the necessary vegetables to make the spicy noodle dish that I knew was likely to be a hit, if her recent palate was anything to go by.
“What do you want to know?” I asked as I started chopping up the various ingredients.
“So, you play hockey professionally?” she asked.
“Yes, I have for four years now.”
“But you want to be a contractor full time? That seems like a major career jump. How did you get into hockey? What does your pack think of it?”
“I played in high school and was recruited during college for the Chargers. I like the game well enough, but it isn’t what excites me. The benefits couldn’t be ignored, though. My pack loves that I play hockey.”
“But do you love it? From the sounds of it, you’re not a fan. You always talk about building things with such excitement, yet you’ve never mentioned hockey to me.” She blushed. “Then again, I don’t want to assume you talk to me about everything. We aren’t exactly close?—”
“Daisy.” I said her name firmly, stopping her rambling. “I talk to you more than I talk to my own packmates. Whatever this is”—I waved my spatula between the two of us—“is important to me, okay?”
She bit her lip as her blush deepened. “Okay,” she said as a small smile broke out on her face.
I sighed deeply. The last thing I wanted to do was to lie to Daisy. She deserved the truth. “As a player in the NHL, all of my packmates are entitled to my health insurance, and one of my packmates is sick, so I have to keep playing.”
Daisy’s face dropped. “Oh no, are they okay?”
I grimaced. “Yes and no. Nate has severing sickness.”
“Oh shit,” Daisy cursed, and if not for the severity of the situation, I would have laughed. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had just said. “Shoot! I meant shoot!” She looked down at her belly, talking to her unborn baby. “I’m going to give this baby a potty mouth, aren’t I?” She groaned.
I laughed. “I’m sure the little squirt will survive.”
“Severing sickness?” she asked. “How? Isn’t that super rare and super fatal?”
“The survival rate is something stupid, like seven percent, but somehow, Nate pulled through. He hadn’t been bonded to his mate Jilly for even a full twenty-four hours when she died in a nasty car crash. The resulting sickness for Nate has been...intense, to say the least. With regular medication, he’s practically back to normal.”
“A broken heart never truly heals, though,” Daisy murmured.
She was right there; Nate had never really been the same.
“Anyway, the meds that keep him normal are expensive...”
“So, you’re doing a job you hate to pay for his healthcare?” Daisy asked, mouth agape. “Are your packmates really okay with that?”
“They don’t know,” I admitted. “As far as they’re concerned, I love hockey. Nate would insist I quit if he knew, health be damned. I love the belligerent ass too much to let that happen.” I dished up a large bowl of the noodles, adding a set of chopsticks and passing them to Daisy, who took them with a hungry look. Making a mental note to meal prep her some easy spicy foods, I dished up my own plate. She had mentioned she wasn’t cooking for herself because the smell of raw ingredients didn’t agree with her—but I had my theory that it was because she was struggling financially.
One way or another, I had to help her.