Chapter Twenty-Three
ARCHER
We didn’t make it to the restaurant.
Instead, we switched up the seafood for Taco Bell. Cheesy bean and rice burritos were all my girl could think about, repeating her need for them as I drove us to the nearest drive-through.
After she inhaled three—the first in less than four bites—she asked me to take her home. But that was where the compromises stopped for me. I might’ve missed out on my unofficial date with her, but I wasn’t about to let her sleep anywhere else but in my bed.
And that’s where she passed out, straight after I carried her in my arms from the elevator to my bedroom, helping her exhausted body get undressed.
I didn’t miss it when she said she hadn’t planned on telling me about the pregnancy right away, but, fuck me, am I relieved she did.
By the time I pulled the duvet over her body and grabbed her toothbrush—yes, I’d made sure she would have everything she needed when she stayed over at my place—Darcy was fully asleep, her soft snorts filling my bedroom.
It’s amazing how the presence of one person—no, two people—can turn an otherwise empty and cold penthouse into the home you never knew you were searching for.
When I wrapped myself around her warm body, resting my splayed palm against her lower belly, I felt her melt into me, a gentle sigh leaving her lips.
We haven’t had much chance to talk, and it’s fucking killing me to know what’s going through her head right now as I drive the short journey to the practice rink for morning skate.
All I have to keep her from leaving is the hope that she’ll sleep through until I get home, along with a note I left on the nightstand, confirming I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Did I consider skipping skate in favor of staying curled around her warm, pregnant body, waiting until she woke up so I could repeat the same assurances I had given her last night in my car? Best fucking believe I did.
When Darcy had told me she expected to be figuring out life as a single mom the moment she broke the news to me, the only comfort I could find in her words was the realization that she was planning to keep the pregnancy.
Ultimately, this is her body and decision, but I want our child in the same way that I’m desperate to have this girl in my life.
Permanently. Irrevocably. There isn’t a flicker of doubt in my mind that her birth control not working for whatever reason was the greatest failure in the history of forever.
Because now … now I get my shot to prove how goddamn serious I am about her.
As I pull into the rink parking lot, I turn the volume down on Aerosmith’s “Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” and flash my ID at the security guard.
But the second I round the corner and see Jack’s black truck parked next to Sawyer’s, I’m hit with the heavy thud of reality.
It’s not lost on me that the fuck-buddy arrangement I had with Darcy has morphed from risky to a full-blown atomic bomb, waiting to blow one half of my life to pieces in the wake of the other half finally gaining some traction.
Jack Morgan is going to fucking murder me.
At one time, when we were joking around about my crush on his baby sister—well, pretending we were joking—he told me if I touched her, he’d put my balls in a vise. And I knew he meant every fucking word.
I put my Mercedes into park and check my cell for messages from Darcy—none.
When he finds out I’ve not only been fucking his sister, but now have her knocked up and that she has a newfound addiction to Taco Bell, I’m pretty certain my balls and their fate will be the least of my worries.
Because let’s not forget that the girl lying in my bed, carrying my baby, is also, for all intents and purposes, my coach’s stepdaughter.
You. Could. Not. Write. This. Shit.
Unless you’re Archer Moore and you have a habit of getting yourself into binds with women you can’t resist.
A knock on my car roof interrupts thoughts of which method Jack and Coach will use to castrate me, and I peer out of my driver’s window to find my captain waiting.
With one hand in the pocket of his gray sweats, he motions for me to get moving since I’m already pushing time, and if there’s one thing that pisses Coach off, it’s delinquency.
Although right now, I might hazard a guess at something else that could really fuck up his day.
I lower my window, offering an easy smile. “Fucking roads, man.”
He lifts a brow. “At six a.m.? Did you detour via London?”
Opening my driver’s door, I step out as Sawyer backs away, and I head for the trunk, pulling out my gear. “You’re getting cocky these days—you know that?” I tell him, closing the lid and locking my car.
He smirks but doesn’t respond, knowing I’m not far from the truth.
Turning toward the building, we both head for the entrance, the automatic doors opening as we step into the reception area.
Sawyer grabs two towels from the dispenser and throws one to me. I catch it against my chest right as one of the physiotherapists pushes through the swing doors.
Fuck.
Amelia—if I remember her name correctly—throws me a sweet smile, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear as she heads for the water cooler.
“You hooked up with her, didn’t you?” Sawyer whispers beneath his breath, tipping his head toward Amelia as she stands with her back to us.
I swipe a hand through my hair, but really, all I want to do is pull it out at the roots.
It was years ago, and we weren’t breaking any rules since Amelia worked for the leisure facility attached to the training rink and not for the team itself.
We got into it on her massage table, and I regret fucking around, even if it was before Darcy.
He chuckles; not judging or berating me, but my frustration grows all the same.
“I’ll take your silence as my answer,” Sawyer says as we walk through the doors toward the locker room.
I pull up in the empty hallway, and my friend grinds to a halt alongside me.
There’s so much I could say, and in so many ways, I want to tell him.
“What is it?” he asks, speaking before I can find the right words.
I know I can trust him with anything, even something as big as Darcy’s pregnancy. But I know it’s not what my girl would want. Hell, I don’t even know what she wants at this point. This is why I shouldn’t be here but back home instead, in our bed, giving her everything and anything she needs.
Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I check again for messages. Still none. Hopefully, she’s sleeping and not freaking the fuck out over last night.
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I look up at my captain.
“That night, at the meal for the GMs, you left with Darcy, didn’t you?”
My eyes dart around the still-empty hallway. “I don’t think this is the best time.”
He puffs out a despondent breath, and I meet his green eyes. My cocky friend has disappeared. Now only my captain stares back at me.
“No.” I lie on Darcy’s behalf.
He releases another despondent breath. “Am I going to need to pry this from you as your captain and the guy who has a responsibility to look out for team dynamics, or are you going to wise up and offer me the truth?”
I look off to the side as my fist tightens around the strap of my bag. “I left with her.”
As much as I don’t want to see it, I center my attention back on his face, checking for a reaction.
He just nods, dropping his head to the floor as he scuffs it lightly with his sneaker. “Jesus, Archer. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I have no fucking idea.
“I do,” I reply confidently. “And it was the best night of my life.” Other than admitting I left with Darcy, it’s the first truth I’ve told him during this conversation. It feels good.
Sawyer’s eyes soften, and he opens his mouth to say something right as the locker room door swings inward.
Coach Morgan stands in the threshold, Blades cap pulled low and a folder tucked under his arm. He looks between us both, confused. “Sorry, did I just interrupt a women’s weekly meeting, or are we actually planning on doing some work around here?”
A couple of snorts sound from behind him.
I thumb toward my captain, my mask of the expected Archer Moore slipping back into place with ease. “Cap forgot his cup and asked me if he could borrow one. Turns out, they’re all way too big.”
Coach and Sawyer simply roll their eyes, and just like that, it’s as if the previous five minutes never happened.
“Okay, well, now that you’ve both finished literally dicking around …” Coach begins as we step into the room, and I make straight for the usual bench, dumping my gear down. “I’m glad I have your attention since I’ve got a new member of the team to introduce.”
I turn on my heel. Fuck. With everything swimming around my head, I totally forgot today was the day.
“We’re honored to have him working with us on a temporary coaching contract. He’s a good friend of mine, and with his skills and knowledge, I’m confident we can expect great things this season.”
Rising from the bench next to Jack, Jensen Jones comes to stand beside Coach Morgan.
The room falls silent as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his gray sweats and scans the room, acknowledging each player before finally landing on me.
“Thanks for having me,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Jon—Coach Morgan,” he corrects himself, “has told me nothing but good stuff about each and every one of you. The plan is for me to work with the team over the next couple of months, but perhaps longer. I’ll be here in a mentor capacity, although mainly working with Moore.
” He looks at me again and then my training bag.
He’s probably wondering why I’m not already padded up.
Because I’m having a mild breakdown over my personal life.
“I’m looking forward to working closely with you and helping achieve your goals this season?—”
“Which is lifting the Cup,” Coach finishes Jensen’s sentence for him. “Okay”—he points at the clock above the exit leading to the rink—“I want everyone ready and out on the ice in the next five minutes.”
As Coach leaves the room, Jensen looks like he wants to say something directly to me, but then pauses, swiping a hand across his mouth. I catch a flash of his platinum wedding band.
I vaguely remember reading an article about his wife and the circumstances in which they got together. Allegedly, she got pregnant unexpectedly with twins, and then he made some kind of grand gesture in a TV interview about them getting married someday.
He walks over to me, a warm smile on his face. “Nice to finally meet you beyond a handshake and a few awkward stares from the crease,” he says with humor in his voice.
I hold out my hand, and he takes it, offering me the eye contact he never did at games. He was the ultimate professional during his career, but that’s where the pleasantries ended.
“Looking forward to working with you. As you’re aware, Jon has employed me in a coaching capacity, but we can shape that in any way that will work best for you.
I’m here to give you pointers on the ice, off the ice, as part of game prep or postgame analysis.
Whatever you want. As much as we are a part of the team, goalies are a different breed, and this job can be lonely as fuck sometimes.
It’s a whole different perspective from the blue line, and at times, it feels like we’ll never be understood. ”
I swipe a hand across my mouth, eyes flicking to Jack as he passes by, wearing a grin.
“Yeah,” I say, already liking this guy way more than I thought I would. “Ain’t that the whole damn truth?”