Chapter 2 Noah
TWO
NOAH
I’m pregnant, but I don’t expect anything from you.
Jen’s words echo in my head once again as I step onto the plane.
Honestly, they’ve haunted me since she uttered them a month ago.
She’s having my baby four weeks from now.
Meaning she waited until she was seven months along to tell me.
Why? Because she and her boyfriend, Ted, got back together and she didn’t know how to tell him that the baby isn’t his.
Now they’re getting married. He’s all-in. He works a steady nine-to-five. He doesn’t spend more days on the road than at home ten months out of the year. They love each other and he’s ready for fatherhood.
The implication there? I’m not.
She’s not wrong. I’m at the height of my career. In a month, when my baby enters this world, I’ll be starting my eighth season in the NHL. Jen is from Boston, and she’s mentioned wanting to raise the baby there. Her future husband is from Minnesota, thank fuck, so for now, they’re staying put.
If one day the idea of moving comes around again, will I even have a say?
That’s my kid. The reply was immediate, forceful. My mom died when I was young, but my father is the best damn single dad that ever existed. With a role model like that, I know I can do it. How, I haven’t worked out yet.
“You can’t just flit in and out of his life when it suits you,” she’d said. That’s when I found out I was having a son.
There’s no chance in hell I’ll miss out on his life.
War: I can’t believe you’re going to the Bahamas without me.
War: And in July.
War: Who the fuck goes to the Bahamas in July?
With a chuckle, I slide my phone into my pocket. Then I check the ticket in my hand against the numbers listed on the aisles.
4B. And so far, 4A is open.
I scan the mostly full first-class cabin, my attention snagging on a woman seated in the row behind me. The second our eyes meet, she drops her gaze.
A fan? Maybe. Based on the reaction, she’s not one that’ll pester me during the flight.
I dig Hannah’s debut novel from my carry-on as well as my glasses case and then settle into the aisle seat.
Hannah is actually the reason I’m headed to the Bahamas in July.
I was in Boston for the offseason when Jen called, and after I had a full-on freak out, my stepsister told me I needed to have a day.
She came up with the concept when she was a kid.
When a friend or loved one is going through a breakup or having a major crisis like I am, she sends them on a trip.
In the middle of summer, flights to the Bahamas are cheap.
Accommodations too. If they hadn’t been, I never would have allowed her to pay.
She booked the flight, and I was more than happy with sitting in coach until I realized just how uncomfortable I’d be in a middle seat at the back of the plane.
While I’m not the biggest guy in the NHL, four hours stuck between two people in those little seats would be pure torture.
Since this is supposed to be my last big hurrah, I upgraded.
I take out my phone and type out a response to my best friend.
Me: I can’t believe you left me to play for Boston. Without your miserable ass on the ice by my side, who the fuck is going to make me look good?
War: Ha ha. Come to Boston, brother. The weather’s slightly warmer.
Me: You know I can’t.
War: Yeah, yeah. I just hope all those zeros that contract gave you will keep you warm on those cold, lonely nights.
Doubtful. After Jen’s news, all those zeros feel like a noose. If she moves back to Boston, I’ll have to find a way to get out of my contract.
I haven’t told War about the baby. In fact, Hannah and my dad are the only people I’ve told.
Jen and Ted’s friends and family probably know by now, but I have a feeling that most of them think the baby is Ted’s.
Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose and will the headache that’s formed to abate. My head pounds every time I think of all of this.
I promised Hannah I’d give myself this long weekend. I’d take this break and put aside the things I can’t control. Because in a month, I’ll be a parent. In a month, I’ll be spending all the evenings I’m not traveling or playing raising a child.
There will be little time for a break for the next ten to eighteen-ish years.
“Nervous flier?” The question comes from a silky-soft voice.
I open my eyes, expecting to come face to face with a concerned flight attendant. Instead, I find myself struck stupid, unable to talk. The woman before me is stunning. Drop-dead gorgeous. The type of beauty that leaves a man tongue-tied.
Her hair is dark and pulled back from her face by the oversized black sunglasses perched on the top of her head.
Her lashes are long and thick, emphasizing the most dazzling green eyes I’ve ever seen.
The eyes that were locked on me only moments ago.
I glance over my seat back and find the row occupied by two people who look nothing like the woman now hovering over me.
So I was either hallucinating before, or I’ve conjured her now.
“Are you okay?” she asks slowly, her brow furrowed with concern.
I blink up at her, my attention snagging on the beauty mark to one side of her cupid’s bow lips. Lips that are covered in fuck-me red lipstick.
Fuck me is right.
She’s dressed in all black, the dark fabric only emphasizing the large diamonds in her ears and the thick gold chain around her neck.
One look is all it takes to know that she comes from money. A lot of it.
“S-sorry.” I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Just have a bit of a headache. Is this your seat?” I point to the window seat beside me.
She nods once. “The couple behind us are on their honeymoon, but they didn’t have seats together. I offered to swap.”
“Do you need help with your carry-on?” I unbuckle and step out into the aisle, trying my best not to brush up against her.
She’s tiny, probably a foot shorter than I am, with high cheekbones and creamy skin. Everything about her screams out of my league.
I’m just stupid enough to take a shot anyway.
She holds up her glass of champagne and shrugs. “This is all I have. Bag’s already up top.”
“Right. Of course.” I hold out a hand, motioning for her to sit first. I follow, keeping my focus fixed ahead, suddenly at a loss for how to behave.
Do people normally introduce themselves on planes?
Should I? And if so, what the fuck do I say?
I can’t really start with hello because, well, we’ve already said that.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. I dig it out, and as I read the text, I’m reminded that I no longer have the freedom to just flirt with a girl.
Jen: Just left the doctor’s office. The baby’s measurements are on track with my due date. Just keeping you in the loop like you wanted. Here’s a picture.
As I tap on the sonogram image, everything around me falls away. That’s my son.