8. Ryan
EIGHT
Ryan
It’s been two days since I saw June outside the football stadium with Oliver. Two fucking days and I’ve done nothing but jump down the rabbit hole, watching old talk-show clips, ones where guys freak out over paternity. You are the father has been on repeat in my head all damn day as I’ve been not so patiently waiting for the DNA results.
He’s mine, I know he is, but that doesn’t stop the little voice in the back of my head asking if I’m sure.
I’ve been trying to ignore it, but as the clock creeps closer to five thirty, it gets harder. If we were a match, would it really take this long to figure out?
I want to trust June, I really do, but then reality sets in, and that bitch reminds me I knew that girl for all of ten hours. She was getting married, and even though her husband-to-be was cheating on her, it didn’t mean he never tried to hide the salami.
Even if he didn’t, after our night together, she was a free woman. She could’ve had any man .
Fuck. She really could have.
My jaw clenches, and instead of placing the chip bowls on my kitchen table, I slam them down, muttering several expletives. My heart races, and it’s hard to breathe, the weight on my chest pressing down with zero regard for me or what I’m doing. I turn away from my poker setup, blood surging through my veins, and I have an irrational urge to punch someone. Preferably any man who has touched June’s body.
She doesn’t belong to you .
She doesn’t, but that doesn’t shake the fight-or-flight response invading the caveman part of my brain. This isn’t normal, my reaction to her makes zero sense. She’s a virtual stranger.
Blowing out a breath, I put my hands behind my head and stare out my sliding glass door, letting my gaze trail over the Nashville skyline. Whatever feelings I have toward June need to be locked away and fast.
She’s the mother of my child and nothing more.
Which of course has me picturing her pregnant, her belly swollen with my child and—nope. Not going there. Whatever I missed is in the past, and there is no room for a repeat performance in the future.
None.
Zero.
Zilch.
Waiting for this email has me delusional. Yeah, that’s it. I’m fucking delusional.
I grip the back of my neck, squeezing like it’s going to help me find some sense, some clarity. Something that wipes away the picture of June smiling at me, running her hand along her belly .
It doesn’t.
Instead I take my phone from my back pocket and refresh my email. Again. And again.
I’m about to see if the fourth time will make this email magically appear when there’s a knock at my door.
Thank fuck. Saved by the bell. Well, kinda.
The guys will help me take my mind off all this. If nothing else, they’re great at providing a distraction, and that’s exactly what I need right now.
I do my best to open my door with a smile, but it’s only half assed and falls from my face the second my phone dings. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . Of course a fucking email comes now. I could greet these guys, ignore it, but I think we both know I’m not going to do that. I need to know if it’s the email I’ve spent all day waiting for or another one of those emails trying to sell me a home warranty.
I’m already unlocking my phone as I wave my teammate Gunner Rose and Gordon Benson, owner of the local hockey team, inside. “Yeah, hey, make yourself at home.”
“Not a hello, fuck you, what you need. Nothing.” Gunner pushes his way into my penthouse, waving his hand in front of my face and showing off his favorite finger. Spoiler alert, it’s the middle one. “Fuck you too, asshole.”
He grumbles something else but I’m not listening. I turn away, leaving the door wide open, and I’m sure the two of them are staring at me like I’ve lost it, but I couldn’t give two fucks. Not when I’m opening up my email and clicking on the pediatrician’s office.
99.9999997999% Match.
My breaths come faster and faster. My fingers tighten around the phone, cutting off the blood supply to my fingertips, but I hardly notice. Who needs fingers anyway? Especially when my heart is thumping faster than the drums from Jumanji .
The room spins around me ... or is it me? Am I spinning? Why is it getting dark in here? Why can’t I fucking breathe?
I jump, almost falling backward as two hands clamp down on my shoulders. “Jesus, Ryan. Sit down.” Dean? When did he get here? “Big breath in. Let it out. One more.”
With a faint nod, I comply, letting the three of them guide me to a nearby chair. I slouch down, letting my head fall back and my phone land in my lap. Eventually the room comes into focus and my heart no longer feels like it’s going to bust out of my chest.
Holy fuck.
That came from the other side of the field and slapped me right across the face. I haven’t had an attack like that since ... well, since the one and only day I actually talked to my dad. Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. Dean was there for that too. It was his first time coming back to Nashville after he left for college.
He crouches in front of me, studying my face, his brows scrunched together like I’m a problem to be solved. “What the fuck was that? Are you okay?”
I should be okay, I should be great. It’s not like this news is a huge surprise. After spending time with Oliver, I knew he was my son. I was sure of it. But this? This makes it fucking real. It’s right there in black and white. There’s no denying it. There’s no taking it back. It’s real .
Oliver is mine.
“I’m good. Must’ve been something I ate.” I try to push up from the recliner, but Dean is quick to push me back down .
“Nice try, bro.”
Gunner sits on the arm of the chair, crunching loudly as he shovels a handful of chips in his mouth. “Why don’t you try that again?”
After taking a deep breath and then another, I run my hands through my hair and down my face. While I might have told my mom about Oliver, I’m not ready to share that information with everyone. But I know these guys, and they’re my family for better or worse.
I glance at Gordon, standing rigid behind Dean, still in his suit, his arms crossed as he stares down at me. If anyone is going to understand, it’s him. He went through something similar earlier this year, and fuck me, I couldn’t imagine missing eleven years of Oliver’s life. I commiserated with him when he found out, but I really didn’t get it. I didn’t understand the full gravity of what he actually felt.
Well, I sure as fuck do now.
“I have a son.”
None of these guys are known for being quiet or reserved, but I swear you could hear a pin drop in my penthouse right now. Dean opens his mouth but promptly closes it, Gordon loosens his tie with a sigh, and Gunner’s mouth drops open, letting a chip roll down his shirt.
I get it. I’m not seeing anyone—haven’t for a while—so I’m sure they’re trying to do the math, figure out when and who I could’ve knocked up.
“He’s three.” I pick up my phone, staring at the results for several seconds, before I fill them in on the past couple of days—everything from running into June to the email that came through just a few minutes ago. They ask a few questions but are content to stay quiet and let me word vomit everything .
When I’m done, Gordon flings himself down onto my couch with another sigh, pulling off his tie and tossing it on the table in front of him. Gunner grunts and resumes eating like I just told him I bought a new pair of shoes. And Dean ... Dean’s looking at me with so much disappointment written across his face.
“Dude.” He shakes his head, pushing himself from the ground and pacing the length of my living room. “Were you not careful? Fuck me, Ryan, I’d think you of all people would try to avoid impregnating random women you meet at football games.”
“I was careful. I’m always careful, but sometimes things fucking happen. As much as we like to think we’re good, nothing is a hundred percent effective. Did you give this lecture to Gordon?”
“Gordon’s not my brother. And Riley was his high school sweetheart, not some random-ass woman he met at a bar. I think there’s a little bit of a difference between a woman he was with for years and one you spent five seconds with.”
This is where I’d love to stand up and tell him he’s wrong, that June wasn’t just some random woman in a bar, but she was. She may feel different, she might feel like more, but she’s not. “Fuck off. It’s not like I asked for this to happen. You think I want to be like him? You think I want that?”
“I don’t know, Ryan. I don’t fucking know.” He sighs, rubbing a hand across his chin and sitting down on the other end of the couch. “Look, I’m sorry. I just ... it’s him, you know. The last thing I want is for you to leave a kid without a father. You’re better than that, you’re better than him.”
Gunner puts the near-empty bowl of chips on the coffee table, muttering, “Better than you, asshole.”
“I’m not walking away from June or Oliver.” I ignore Gunner and lean forward, holding Dean’s eyes. If he doesn’t believe my words, he’ll see the truth written across my face. “He deserves a dad who loves him, who shows up, and I’m going to try my best to be that guy.” I shift my gaze to Gordon. “If you’ve got any advice, I’d love to hear it.”
And I would. After talking to my mom, I feel better, more confident, but I’m still terrified. If I’m honest, I probably will be for a while.
Gordon huffs a laugh, a sardonic one. “For one, be glad Oliver is only three and there’s a good chance he won’t remember you not being there. Two, there is no secret formula, no rules to follow. None of us know what we’re doing. You can’t dwell on the years you missed, the firsts you couldn’t see, but you can make new memories with him. Be there when he falls, listen when he talks, and love him unconditionally.”
“It’s that easy, huh?”
“Nothing about being a parent is easy, but it’s worth every damned second.” A slow smile spreads across his face, and, you know, I think he’s genuinely happy. And if you knew Gordon before Riley and their daughter Maxine came back into his life, he was an insufferable bastard. My friend, but no less an asshole. “And obviously as soon as you’re ready, we’re going to need to meet this little guy.”
Gunner nudges me. “When he comes to his first game, I’ll be sure to have a Rose jersey ready for him. We’ll make him a proper fan.”
“It’s bad enough Silas gave him a signed football.” I cross my arms and frown. “And I’m pretty sure he was hitting on June.”
“Which one was more offensive?”
Definitely him hitting on June. There has to be a rule about flirting with someone else’s baby mama. No, that sounds terrible. Mother of my child? I don’t know, that doesn’t sound great, either, although it’s technically correct. “Pretty sure they’re about equal.”
Gordon grunts, his brows shoot to his hairline, and the look he gives me makes it clear he thinks I’m full of shit. “Speaking of offensive, I was talking to your bosses earlier today, and it sounds like you’re going to be getting a Remington of your own. Hopefully for you, this one knows how to listen and follow rules.”
I can’t say I’m surprised. With his brother and sister both settling down in Nashville, I figured it was only a matter of time before the third Remington sibling started knocking on doors. At least he doesn’t seem like a total waste of space like a few of the trades they made last season.
“Any idea when this trade is supposed to come into fruition?” Speaking of waste of space—Gunner shifts, practically sitting in my lap, and I shove him off me. Sadly he doesn’t hit the floor, just rolls his eyes and repositions himself on the arm of my chair. There’s a perfectly good love seat on the other side of the room, but it’s close to Dean, so I guess it’s off-limits.
Not sure why those two hate each other, but they’re going to have to get over it. Especially now that Dean’s back in Nashville permanently.
“That’s a big word for a quarterback.” Dean’s eyes flit to Gunner, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Well, guess we’re not getting over it tonight.
“Fuck off,” Gunner spits out, grabbing the bowl of chips back off the table and shoving another handful in his mouth. His crunching is aggressive, but it’s probably better than perpetuating this feud when we have a handful of guys showing up in the next fifteen minutes.
Gordon shrugs off his jacket, glancing quickly between the two of them before his gaze volleys back to me. “Sounds like it’ll happen in the next week or two.”
“Rhett know yet?” Rhett Remington is a hockey player for Gordon’s team, the Devils, and even though I deny it some days, he’s become a friend. But I doubt either Remington, Rhett or his brother Heath, knows for sure what’s going on. Usually they keep trades pretty quiet—even from the player—until the deal is finalized.
“No, and we’ll not be telling him tonight.” Gordon glances around the room, pointing at each one of us. “Pretty sure they weren’t supposed to tell me, but Noah is the owner with the big mouth and he let it slip after a second double shot of whiskey. He wants to make the playoffs this year.”
The owners want us to make the playoffs every year, so that’s nothing new, and they’re always making trades and behind-the-scenes deals. If my contract weren’t up this year, I wouldn’t be worried, but it is.
Dean huffs a quick laugh. “We all know football players can’t handle their whiskey.”
“You seem a little obsessed with football players.” Gunner winks, and of course it’s not an ordinary wink. He puts his whole face in it. Jesus. “Developing a new fetish?”
I lean my head back with a groan, letting the three of them bicker back and forth, and I pick up my phone to text June but see she sent me a few pictures. The first one is Oliver staring down a large orange cat June says belongs to her mother. I’m not sure who’s mad at whom, but neither of them looks particularly happy. The next one is Oliver holding an ice-cream cone, chocolate melted all over his hands and cheeks, a huge smile on his face. He looks so happy. So carefree. I set that one as my screen saver.
But it’s the next one that has the guys fading into the background.
June is in a hospital bed, staring down in wonder at an infant in her arms, at our baby. Her cheeks are flush, her hair is wild around her head, but she looks beautiful. They look beautiful.
Had I not been such a selfish asshole, I could have been there for this moment. I wouldn’t have missed this. Fuck. I wouldn’t have missed so much.
June: I almost didn’t send the last one. I look terrible, but thought you should have his first picture.
Me: I love it.
Too much.
Me: And you look great. Radiant.
June: Now I know you’re full of
Me: I’m serious. I wish I could have been there for the both of you. I’m so sorry I missed it.
June: It’s not your fault. And I was terrible when I was in labor. I yelled at everyone. You would’ve been terrified.
Me: Nah, I’m a big boy.
June: I know.
June: Shit.
June: Shoot.
June: I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, it was inappropriate. Probably should go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.
Me: Good night, June.
June: Night.