Chapter 27
ARCHER
In a pink pajama set I bought her—because of course I fucking did—Darcy brews two mugs of Yorkshire tea. One for me and another for her. I don’t have the heart to tell her I can’t stand tea.
Would it be a deal-breaker?
Jenna left around ten minutes ago, and since the moment Darcy answered the door to me, my girl has been really fucking quiet. Disconcertingly quiet.
Slowly, she stirs a tea bag around one mug and then moves to the other, releasing a small sigh.
When Sawyer took his eyes from my phone and Darcy and Jenna back home, I spent the next half hour Googling her symptoms, and—thank fuck—lightheadedness is a normal part of pregnancy, thanks to lower blood pressure.
That didn’t stop the burning desire to wrap her in my arms at Lloyd’s and be the one to take her home, with me, to my apartment—a place I know we’ll call ours soon.
I approach her from behind, not stopping until my chest brushes her barely covered back. Even though I’m wearing a hoodie, her skin still reacts to my presence.
Reaching around, I fold my hand over hers, taking the teaspoon from her and setting it in a cute-as-fuck spoon dish I know she brought with her from England because we don’t have that kind of shit here.
“Spin around for me, Doll.”
Another small sigh leaves her lips. I can smell her shampoo, and I appreciate the perfect curve of her exposed neck since she’s wearing her long hair in a messy bun.
“Please?”
Picking up a small milk jug, she adds a few drops to each mug and sets it down softly. “When all this gets out … about you, me, and the pregnancy, is there a chance you will be traded?”
Her question comes out of nowhere and hits me right in the gut.
This time, I don’t ask her to turn around and face me. I plant both hands on her small waist and do it myself. Her lower back is pressed into the countertop, and worried blue eyes peer up at me through thick, dark lashes.
I cup one side of her face with my hand, my large palm dwarfing her delicate features.
We haven’t kissed in days, but like that’s going to stop me. I duck down and brush my lips over hers.
She smiles against my mouth, and fuck if I don’t do the same back.
With her pinned to my body, I’m convinced she isn’t going anywhere, so my other hand leaves her waist, slipping between our bodies. I palm her stomach, rubbing small circles around her navel with my thumb.
The question she asked still hangs between us, but kissing Darcy is my priority. I know it makes her feel good, and if it offers her some semblance of comfort, then I’ll gladly give it to her every damn day.
The truth is, I can’t be sure what will happen when I ultimately break the news to Jack and Coach. I know the new GM doesn’t take any prisoners, and if it fucks with team dynamics, then best-case scenario is, I’ll be benched. So much of my fate rests on how Jack will react.
I think about if the shoe were on the other foot and this were my baby sister, Emma, and my best friend … yeah, I’d be pissed at the betrayal. But if he treated her right, I’d have it out with him for being a secretive douche and then try to push past it.
“Why do you ask?” I breathe into her mouth as she wets her lips, clearly not done with the kiss.
Neither am I.
She exhales, and I swallow down the taste of her. I want to consume every inch of Darcy Thompson.
“Just something Jenna said. She knows, by the way. It’s a long story, but she’ll keep it quiet until the time is right for us to announce we’re having a baby.”
I close my eyes. Despite the tension rolling off her in waves, the last part of her sentence feels like a melody.
“We’re having a baby.” I repeat her words in a tender whisper, wanting to hear them again.
In her usual way, she cocks her head to the side, smiling sweetly. “You’re one of a kind, aren’t you, Archer Moore?”
Instantly, my hands are around her thighs, and she’s sitting on the counter next to our cooling mugs of tea.
I hope they turn cold and undrinkable.
I step between her legs, one palm braced beside her, the other wrapped around the nape of her slender neck. “I’m not that complex, Darcy.”
She still looks worried over whatever Jenna said, but we’ll get to that soon. I want to hear what she has to say about me first.
“You’re deeper than you—or anyone else—gives you credit for,” she responds.
I play with the soft strands of her hair, and goose bumps bloom along her bare arms. “Perhaps you see it that way because you’re under my skin.”
She leans forward and kisses me, and my heart grows another inch with hope that I’m under her skin too.
“What did Jenna say?” I ask, returning the kiss. “Was it about me getting traded?”
She nods, face twisting, body tensing.
I clear my throat, searching for the best way to deal with this.
“I’ll never lie to you, Darcy. I know I’ve been flexible with the truth from time to time, but with you, I’ll always be honest. I think a lot of my fate hinges on Jack.
If he finds out and decides to kick my ass in the locker room and let his emotions overpower his professionalism and it destroys everything Coach has built between us as a team, then, yeah, the new GM will be concerned.
The thing is, his potential reaction aside, your brother is the future captain of the team; he’s where the money’s at, and he’s the one all the fans are talking about right now.
I’ll be twenty-eight in a couple of months, and while I’m a fucking good goalie, if it’s a choice between him or me, I’m not so sure I’ll win that kind of face-off. ”
A sheen coats her eyes.
Fuck.
I hustle, thinking of something that will calm her. “I’m hopeful it won’t come to that though. I don’t think it will either.”
She wets her lips and rolls them together. “You don’t?”
I shake my head as an urge to take a risk and go somewhere that might help ease her worries rolls through me.
“Let’s get out of here.” I intertwine our fingers. “Throw on clothes and come with me somewhere.”
“Brooklyn really is beautiful in the autumn.” Darcy’s eyes scan the multicolored trees as they line the empty pathway we’ve been walking for the past five minutes.
It’s a beautiful, bright day, and we’re fortunate that hardly anyone is around.
I pull the bill down lower on my cap and shove my hand back into my pocket, resisting the urge to reach out and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“I haven’t been to Fort Greene Park before, which is a crime for saying I live here, and I love open spaces. This place reminds me of the good parts of the UK.”
“Do you miss England?” I ask as she breaks off the path and picks up a conker, which lies beneath a large horse chestnut tree.
She turns it around in her fingers, and I watch her study its grooves and smooth surfaces. Her analytical brain examining it carefully.
“Sometimes. It’s mostly memories of my childhood that I miss and not really my time at university. I loved studying. The company? Not so much.”
Walking over to the tree, I pick up a similar-sized conker, wondering what all her fascination is over. But before I can ask her more about university, she quickly changes course.
“Did you ever have conker fights in school? I used to kick Jack’s ass every time we played.”
“You’re speaking another language right now,” I tell her. “I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes light up like this is the best news ever as she continues walking, holding the conker up to show me.
“Okay, so basically, you have to drill a hole in the top, being careful not to split the skin because that weakens the conker. Then you pass a string through it and tie a big knot at the bottom. The idea is to destroy your opponent’s conker as they hold it out in front of them.”
She turns and walks backward, demonstrating what to do. I just smile because she’s in her element.
She huffs out a breath and finishes up explaining the rules to me.
“Back before my dad became at total arsehole, we used to have family championships each October. I looked forward to it every year, and I usually lifted the conker trophy. That was, until one year, when I caught Jack preserving his chosen conker from the chestnut tree at the bottom of our garden in a jar of vinegar. Cheater,” she bites out.
I make the assumption that vinegar intervention is frowned upon and skip to what I really want to know.
“Does my girl have a competitive streak?” I ask, pocketing the conker in my jeans. Fully intending to keep it somewhere safe when I get back home.
Her brow quirks in a menacing way. “Will it get dark tonight? Of course. But only when it’s necessary.”
“Like with family conker championships?” I muse.
“Precisely.” She nods once, turning on her heel before coming to a grinding halt. “Oh fuck. I didn’t expect that to be so huge.”
Hold in the inappropriate comments, Archer.
I walk up next to her as she pockets her conker too.
“That’s the Prison Ship Martyrs Monument.”
Darcy continues walking until she reaches the couple of large steps leading up to it and turns to take a seat. I do the same and sit next to her.
This feels like the date I never got at the restaurant. But despite being an impromptu idea that came to me in her kitchen, it feels even better than sitting in a restaurant I booked out so we could have some privacy.
Beneath her black winter jacket and beanie, Darcy rubs her hands together and breathes out, a small puff of air clouding the space. I can tell she’s getting cold.
“I should’ve used the voucher my colleagues at work got me for my birthday to buy more winter clothes,” she says on a shiver. “It really says something when I’m too overwhelmed to go shopping.”
I scan the area around us; there are only a few people walking in the distance, and they’re not close enough to recognize us.
“Come here,” I say, picking up both her hands and pressing them together between my large palms.
She releases a small whimper as warmth seeps into her freezing fingers. “You aren’t even a bit cold.”
I shake my head. “Hockey players run hot since we spend most of our lives on the ice. Call it adapting to our habitat.”
She giggles at that, staring up at me with her baby blues. “How did you know that coming here was just what I needed?”
I kick my feet out in front of me, constantly searching the area for people who could see us and blow our cover. “I’ve been here more times than I can count. To most of the parks around where I live, to be honest.”
Darcy cocks her head to the side, studying me again. “Like for runs and stuff?”
“Sometimes, but mainly to center myself when things get difficult. I do my best thinking in the outdoors, whether it’s before a game or afterward.”
She nods her head slowly. “Oxford University is a beautiful place. I found myself walking the grounds around my campus a lot. Took the edge off the loneliness.”
My relaxed jaw tics when I think about Liam.
“Loneliness? I can’t imagine you being without friends.”
She shrugs, and I interlace our fingers on both hands, holding them down between us. “The first year was good. I went out partying a lot. After that, everything changed, and I decided to take on elective courses in my second and third years.”
I know she did since she’s told me before.
“That’s when it all went wrong with Liam,” she continues, moving into territory I’m not aware of.
“I tried explaining that I took them on because I was finding my course easy and I wanted to bolt on additional subjects to help pursue my dream career in editing, but he didn’t get it.
With increasing responsibility, I had less time to party.
Friends became more distant, especially since I shared so many with Liam.
By the time my undergraduate degree was done, I was so ready to leave but stuck it out to finish my master’s degree because I knew that would help secure a job, like the one I have with Glide. ”
My heart breaks for her.
He really is a fucking piece of shit.
“In hindsight, maybe I should’ve gotten into sports and been drafted into the NHL, like you were. That sounds like a much better option.”
I know she doesn’t really believe that, although I can’t deny I’ve had a fucking good life.
It’s just better now.
“Your experience in college isn’t a reflection on you as a person, Darcy. Only the people who were around you. But now all that’s changed because you’re in the right place, surrounded by people who care about and love you.”
She just looks at me with eyes sparkling in the bright fall sunshine when a couple approaches the steps below us and takes a seat, turning their backs to face the same way as us.
I don’t think they recognize me, but I don’t want to chance it.
Keeping hold of her hands, I stand and guide her toward the monument.
“Where are we going?” she asks in a giddy tone.
I turn back to her, the usual cocky grin plastered across my face.
When we reach the back of the monument, I waste no time as I press her into the side. Darcy props a foot up against it as I lean over her frame, tipping her chin up with my finger.
In her flat black boots, she’s tiny beneath me.
“Do you feel better now?” I ask her, my voice breathy.
I see the way her chest rises and falls, but this time, it isn’t because she’s turned on. This time, it’s different. And I like the way the shift between us feels.
“Are we talking about my low blood pressure, headaches, hormones, or panic over you getting traded?”
“All of it.”
I cup the back of her head, and she spins my cap around so it’s facing backward.
Reaching onto her tiptoes, she brings her lips up to mine, and I can smell her sweet scent.
“My headache is gone, and my hormones are in check. The panic has also eased, thanks to you bringing me here …” She trails off.
I lower my lips until their barely touching hers. “And your low blood pressure?”
Her tongue pokes out, smoothing across her lip. “Actually, I’m now having the opposite problem. And that is your fault.”
My heart hammers in my chest. “How so, Darcy Doll?”
Finally, she presses her mouth to mine, still smiling. “Because it’s sky-fucking-high.”