Chapter 10
TEN
The living room was packed wall-to-wall with people, and the bass from the music was thumping so loud I could feel it in my chest. Red Solo cups covered every surface, and the air was thick with beer, cologne, and sweat from too many bodies crammed into one small space.
This was usually my element. Our parties were legendary, and I was always right in the middle of it all—beer in hand, surrounded by girls who were more than happy to help me blow off steam with a good, hard fuck.
But tonight, I couldn’t muster up the usual excitement I felt at these parties.
I leaned against the wall next to the kitchen, nursing a now-warm beer while watching Gordy try to keep people away from his good whiskey.
Across the room, some drunk freshman was arguing with Sam about whether basketball was better than hockey.
Foster and Abby were here somewhere. I’d seen them when they arrived.
Liam was too, probably flirting his ass off right now.
We’d won our sixth game in a row and were going all out on the celebration.
But the looks I kept getting were really killing my mood.
Harper and her goddamn posters with that stupid review site were the worst cockblock of all time.
It was like I’d turned into the campus leper. No girl would get within two feet of me. Despite my attempt at damage control, word—and snaps—of the posters had gotten around.
“Yo, Monty!” Liam appeared at my elbow, grinning like he’d won the lottery, or already had one beer too many.
“Ya gotta meet Jessie and Megan.” I fought back a smile at how his Irish accent always thickened whenever Liam got wasted.
His mom was born and raised in Ireland and her accent had rubbed off on him, but he’d gotten good about hiding it most of the time.
Usually there was just a subtle Irish lilt—like a watered-down Jamie Dornan—when he talked.
The only times I heard it come out super pronounced were when he was drunk or got emotional.
“Jessie there was just saying hockey players are way hotter than football players.”
I looked over at two blondes by the beer pong table. One was tall and willowy, the other shorter with bright blue eyes. Normally, I would’ve been all over this—Liam had excellent wingman instincts—but I really wasn’t in the mood tonight.
Fuck, he might as well just shoot me where I stood. What twenty-year-old male with blood flowing through his veins wasn’t in the mood for sex?
“I don’t know, man,” I started, but Liam was already steering me over.
“Ladies,” he said with his trademark Irish charm, “meet my boy, Drew. Best defenseman in the conference and an all-around good guy.”
“Hi, I’m Jessie,” the taller one said with a smile. She had the kind of confidence that usually did it for me.
“Hey,” I managed, trying to summon some enthusiasm.
“So you play hockey?” Megan asked, looking me up and down. “That’s cool. My ex played lacrosse, but hockey seems way more intense.”
“Yeah, it can be.”
These girls were hot. Why couldn’t I muster up any interest? What the fuck was wrong with me? Hell, I should’ve been over the moon that they hadn’t immediately been repulsed by my mere presence since that’s what I’d been dealing with nonstop since those fucking posters.
Jessie leaned closer, her hand landing on my arm. “I’ve been to a few games this season. You guys are really good. Do you ever—”
“Oh my God, wait,” Megan interrupted, her eyes going wide. “Are you the guy from the posters?”
My stomach dropped. “Uh…”
“O.M.G. You are!”
Jessie’s hand dropped from my arm like I’d caught fire as she turned to her friend. “The rate my performance posters?” Then she faced me. “That’s you?!”
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, yes, technically, that was my picture, but it was just some stupid prank. I’m not—”
“If I wanted to be disappointed in bed, I would’ve stayed with my ex. Life’s too short for mediocre sex,” Jessie cut me off, grabbing Megan’s arm. “Come on, Megan. Let’s go. This party is for losers.”
And just like that, they were gone, leaving me standing there like an idiot while Liam stared after them.
“Well, that didn’t turn out like I’d expected,” Liam said, then took another swig of his beer.
“You should go pick up some girls without me.”
“Come on, man. Surely someone will realize it was a stupid joke.”
“Apparently not any time soon.” I looked around and noticed more people staring. Some with pity, some with barely concealed amusement. “You know what? Fuck this. I’m done.”
“Done with what?”
“This. The party.” I gestured at the chaos around us. “I’m going to bed.”
Liam’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious? It’s barely midnight.”
“Dead serious. I’ve got that psychology project meeting tomorrow with Tinsley, and I need to be sharp if I’m going to survive three hours with her without committing murder.”
“Come on, man. Don’t let some stupid site—”
“I’m just not in the mood tonight.”
He held up his hands. “Alright, alright. I get it.”
I pushed through the crowd toward the stairs, ignoring the whispers that followed. Someone had definitely been talking, because I could feel eyes on me from every direction.
By the time I reached my room, the music from downstairs was just a dull thump through the floorboards. I closed the door and finally felt like I could breathe.
I guess it’s true what they say—the higher you rise, the harder you fall. Because this fall was fucking brutal.
With a heavy sigh, I gripped the back of my CFU hockey T-shirt, about to pull it over my head when I heard an unfamiliar sound.
It was like a whimper almost or a weird squeaky hiccup.
I froze, one hand still gripping my shirt, and listened. Music from downstairs, muffled voices, someone shouting about beer pong…
There it was again.
I spun around, scanning my room. My desk, dresser, hockey gear in the corner.
And that’s when I saw it.
Between my desk and window, sitting on the floor, was a baby carrier. Pink and white with little butterflies.
I stared at it, my brain struggling to process what I was seeing. The whimpering came again, definitely from the carrier.
Holy shit. Was there a fucking baby in my room?
I approached it slowly as if it was a bomb about to explode. If this was another prank, this was the most fucked-up prank of all.
With each step, more details came into focus—a tiny pink blanket, a little fist waving in the air, the edge of an envelope poking out.
When I looked down, my knees nearly gave out.
Inside the carrier was in fact a small baby wearing a pink onesie with tiny white elephants and a pink headband with a bow bigger than her head. She was awake, grayish-blue eyes staring up at me and her little mouth making that whimpering sound.
“What the fuck,” I whispered.
I looked around my room again, like the explanation would be written on the walls. Window was locked. Door had been closed when I came upstairs. There was no logical way a baby could’ve just…appeared.
With shaking hands, I reached into the carrier and carefully pulled out the white envelope tucked against the baby’s blanket. My name was written on the front in neat, feminine handwriting, and that made my trembling worse.
I tore it open.
Drew,
I’m sorry to do this, but I don’t have any other choice.
This is Aurora—your daughter.
I know you probably don’t remember me, but we hooked up at that party by the river last summer. Turns out condoms aren’t 100% effective.
I can’t be a mom. I’m not ready, and I don’t have the money or support to raise a baby. But I remember you talking about your family and your teammates, and I know Aurora deserves a good life. She deserves to be surrounded by people who love her.
I can’t give her that. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I just can’t.
She’s six weeks old. She’s healthy and, for the most part, a pretty good baby.
Please don’t try to find me.
I’m so sorry.
The letter wasn’t signed. There was another document in the envelope from a legal firm that revealed she’d formally revoked her parental rights, although her name was redacted for her privacy.
The baby’s birth certificate was also included with my name the only one listed.
The line above the word “mother” was left blank.
I read the note twice, then a third time, my hands shaking so bad I could barely hold the paper steady.
Aurora.
Mine.
Six weeks old.
I looked down at the baby—at Aurora—and she looked back at me with those grayish-blue, serious eyes.
What in the actual fuck.