Chapter Twenty-One
ARCHER
Tonight is one thousand percent a date.
I’m wearing my favorite gray button-down shirt and black dress pants, and I made sure to apply what I know is her favorite cologne—the spicy one Darcy inhales whenever she’s near me.
And I want her close to me all the fucking time. Twenty-four/seven.
When people start filtering out from the address for the chess club Darcy gave me last night, excitement thrums through me as I wait to catch a glimpse of the girl I haven’t seen in nearly a week.
Away series used to be one of my favorite times, but not anymore.
Now I’m in the same camp as most of my teammates—wishing time away so I can get back to my girl in Brooklyn.
I can’t get enough of her smile, bright clothes, and addictive personality.
She bleeds into me like osmosis, and I soak every last drop of her up, hungry and desperate and never feeling fully satisfied.
Life before Darcy Thompson is a blur to me.
I’ve got the images in my phone to prove I was alive back then, that my lungs were working and my heart was beating.
Only I wasn’t really living; I was existing, waiting for Darcy to walk into my life and give me purpose aside from securing shutouts on the ice.
That isn’t the kind of feeling you can let go of.
Even if I wanted to forget about her, I’m not sure it would be possible.
I feel grounded when I’m around her, locked in on whatever she’s saying, eager to know what she’s thinking and will say next.
Perhaps my initial fascination was sparked because she didn’t fall at my feet like other women had, and I saw it as a challenge. But whatever it was that drew me in, there’s no going back now.
On the flight home, I found myself researching sudoku so I could sit on the couch and play alongside her in the evenings. That’s how far removed I feel from my previous life, and I’m not mad about it at all. Not one bit.
Every time she swoons at my thigh tattoo, I get a hit that feeds my addiction to her.
Not because she runs her soft palm over it each time we’re naked together, more because it reminds me that despite the ink serving as evidence of the passion I hold for hockey, nothing is as profound as the feelings I have for her.
Darcy Thompson is the deepest tattoo I’ve ever gotten; she just can’t see it yet.
The ringtone I set for my mom spears through my daydream, and I hit Accept on the car steering wheel, automatically connecting the call to Bluetooth.
It’s been a couple of weeks since I last spoke to her, which is the typical amount of time we go.
However, with my parents’ divorce recently being finalized, I’ve been trying to check in a bit more often since she’s taken the split worse than Dad.
“Hey,” I say in my softest voice, eyes still pinned on the doors I expect Darcy to walk through at any second.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
I can tell she’s been upset. Mom and Dad freely admit that going their separate ways was the right thing, but I think the reality of what that looks like is finally hitting Mom, especially since Dad has already moved on with someone else.
My heart drops an inch in my chest. She’s a good mom and a kind person, and she deserves to live a happy life.
“I’m sorry I haven’t driven over more often to see you. Preseason has been crazy, and the regular season starts tomorrow, but?—”
“It’s fine, Archer. Honestly. You’re living your life, and I get it.” Mom blows a soft breath down the phone. “I should come and watch one of your afternoon games, and maybe we can go out for dinner afterward.”
I smile at that. I love spending time with Mom. “Yeah, why not? One of our first games is against the Scorpions.” I chuckle right as Darcy emerges, and my entire body trips out.
Fuck . How can someone make tight blue jeans, an oversize pink sweater, and a casual braid look so stunning?
“Would you be able to do that for me?”
“Hmm?” I reply to Mom, reentering the conversation.
She huffs out a soft laugh. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah,” I say right as a dude who has to be at least ten years older than Darcy steps up behind her. He must be another member of the chess club.
Rage builds when he sets a hand on her shoulder, and she spins around to face him.
“Want to talk about whatever’s going on?” Mom asks.
How is it that from two hours down the road and with no hint whatsoever, my mom just knows when something’s up?
I tear my eyes away from Darcy and stare out of the windshield. “It’s nothing.”
“Who is she?”
A single burst of laughter leaves me. “Should I even bother to ask how you guessed it had to do with a girl?”
Mom releases a long sigh. “Archer, sweetheart, I carried you for nine months and birthed you and your sister into this world. I know what my lovesick son sounds like, even if he’s never had a girlfriend before.” I hear her shift, probably her getting more comfortable. “Now, spill.”
On another laugh that eases the tightness in my chest, I shake my head. “Yeah, it’s a girl. Although I can’t talk about it right now, because I’m picking her up.”
“I see. Are you dating?” Her voice takes on a breezy tone, sounding like she’s excited on my behalf.
I don’t want to be the one to let her down and tell her the truth that all we are is fuck buddies. I might be good at fooling myself into believing this is a date, but I’m not about to lie to my mom. I’ve spread enough bullshit lately.
As Darcy continues talking with the random guy, who I want to punch square in the face for even looking at her, I focus back on my call with Mom.
“Not exactly.” I wince, pushing my head back into the rest. “It’s more like I want to get serious, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t share the same feelings.
” I close my eyes, rolling my tongue across the roof of my mouth.
“So, I’m doing what any down-bad guy would do, and I’m chasing her like a fucking idiot. ”
She chuckles softly. I’m happy my misery can bring her some relief.
“And you don’t think you’ve broken a few hearts along the way?
The other day, I opened a magazine while I was waiting for my pedicure to set, and there, across two pages, was a picture of my son on a night out with two beautiful girls, one hanging off each arm.
The title of the article read, ‘Shots Fired: The NHL’s Leading Goal Scorer Off the Ice. ’”
Despite myself, I can’t suppress a smile as it tugs at my lips. “What did the article say?”
“I don’t know,” she quickly answers. “I immediately closed the magazine and moved to Horse it is what I want.
“I gotta go, Mom. Just keep this all close to the vest, okay? It’s complicated, and I’ll explain why another time,” I rush out when Darcy starts crossing the road, walking toward my car.
“Okay, sweetheart.”
“I’ll get you tickets to a game, and we can do dinner afterward.”
“Yes, that’s what I was asking when you zoned out on me earlier. Anyway, let me leave you to your girl. Love you. Bye.”
Mom disconnects the call just as I unlock my door and Darcy climbs in.
If I wasn’t sitting down, I’d be bouncing on the balls of my feet over the chance to take my girl out and spoil her.
“Hey, Doll,” I greet her, leaning over the center section and planting a soft kiss against her collarbone, her oversize sweater granting my lips the access they need.
Her skin reacts, pebbling with excitement. Except Darcy’s face doesn’t hold the same enthusiasm. Her usually bright and sparkling blue eyes shine, but with a gloss I never want to see again.
Worried as hell, I cup the right side of her face in my palm. She doesn’t look away, although I can tell she wants to.
“Talk to me, Darcy,” I say, coaxing her to explain what the fuck has got her feeling this way. I nod my head toward where she was talking to the guy a few minutes earlier. “Was it him? Did he say something to hurt you?”
A single tear falls from her left eye, and, fuck, I’m going to murder the son of a bitch.
I’m opening my driver’s door before she can say anything, ready to hunt the fucker down and bury him.
Chess-playing prick.
“Wait, no.” Her warm palm wraps around my shirtsleeve, sending a shot of comfort through my veins.
I turn back to my girl, reaching out to wipe a second tear with my thumb. “I need you to talk to me, because I’m around ten seconds away from committing a felony.”
Her head shakes, followed by her shoulders, and I slide my chair back. Next, I wrap an arm around her waist, asking her to straddle me.
“Come here and tell me what’s going on. No one can see us through my tinted windows.”
On a final sniffle, she clears her throat, trying to get herself in check.
As she climbs into my lap, my fingers find the end of her braid, playing with her soft hair.
“I’ve told you before, but I’ll tell you a million more times: you don’t need to hide your feelings from me, Darcy. It’s an honor to witness every part of you, even if I hate seeing you this way.”
A wry smile pulls at the corner of her mouth, and it alleviates the pain tearing through me on her behalf, just for a moment. I’ve seen Darcy deflated before, but never like this. She’s always been the girl lighting up a room, pulling grins and laughter from everyone else.
She exhales softly. “I don’t even know where to begin.” She rubs at her temple. “I’m sorry. I have the worst headache.”
“Are you sick again? Baby, this can’t be normal.”
She shakes her head again. “No, no. Well, not exactly.”
Instantly, my hands frame her face, and I can’t hide the panic as it rises, acidity burning my throat. “Darcy, what the fuck?!”
Her watery eyes soften in response as she senses my distress, and she covers my hands with hers.
My shoulders drop, and I rest my forehead against her sternum. The rhythmic beat of her heart calms my erratic pulse. Even though my real feelings are on display, I’m powerless to hide them as worry races through me, along with the foreign feeling of rejection.
She’s going to tell me that she can’t hook up anymore.
Darcy shudders out a breath. “Archer … I …”
I lift my gaze to look up at her as she hovers over me. This girl is effortless, yet the hold she has on me is vise strong.
“If you aren’t sick, then are you trying to tell me you want to stop?” I whisper. “Do you want this to be over?” I never thought words could taste so rancid.
She drops her hands, twisting them in her lap. I keep mine on either side of her face. Waiting, hoping, praying.
“Archer.” She tries to speak again, and suddenly, I’m not so sure this is about me and her or our arrangement.
The knot forming in my stomach contorts further.
“I’m …” The tears start to flow more freely down her cheeks.
“I need you to know I haven’t told a soul about this, and I wasn’t planning to tell you tonight.
But since I can’t seem to control my emotions”—she puffs out a disbelieving breath—“or my hormones …” She chews on the inside of her cheek, brows creased together as she examines my face for a beat.
“I’m pregnant, Archer.”
The silence surrounding us is deafening.
Darcy’s last two words play on repeat in my brain. “I’m pregnant.”
I drop my eyes to her flat stomach. “Y-you’re …”
She nods, taking my hand in one of hers. Pulling it into her lap, she interlaces our fingers. “I’m just over four weeks pregnant.”
I do the math. I know zero about gestational periods, but that timeline stacks up … to be mine.
Darcy cocks her head to one side, studying me. “Why are you smiling?”
I roll my lips together. “I didn’t even realize I was,” I say, reaching up and brushing my mouth over her tear-soaked lips. “But I guess my subconscious tracks because, wow. Incredible. Tell me you’re having my baby. Say the words and make my fucking life.”