Page 66 of Playing for Keeps

Tate

The team got in late last night from Detroit, so on top of losing game eight and blowing our winning streak to a dumpster team, I’m running on four hours sleep. Hell, I should be used to it by now. It’s been weeks since I’ve slept eight hours. Exactly four weeks but who’s counting. It’s my first broken heart, but so far, I’m sporting all the classic symptoms according to Max.

It’s late and the locker room is emptying out. I’m only half dressed when Max comes by and says he’s taking off.

“By the way, you have a visitor. In the training room.” He gives me a wink and I wonder what shit he’s pulling. If it was Sean, I’d expect something devious, but since it’s Max, I get off my ass, grab a shirt and head for the training room. As soon as I push open the door, I know it’s her.

Chloe has a special scent that I’ll never forget as long as I live. It sends a spasm of longing and excitement, fear and joy running through me in a shiver as I step inside and close the door behind me.

She turns to face me and whatever warring chaos is fucking around in my head stops, the numbness that’s gripped me like a close friend disappears like a ghost. There’s something in her beautiful violet eyes that compels me forward, that clears my emotions like a tornado clears a forest.

Stopping in front of her without touching her, as if I’ve hit a glass wall, I say, “What is it Chloe? What’s wrong?”

I shouldn’t let my guard down because I know what lays just beneath it. More than lust, more than caring—more than I want to think about because that way lies madness. As in madly in love and I know why they call it mad now, understand the craziness it causes, how it messes up your head, fucks with your whole life and everything you thought you knew.

But the look in those eyes scares me more than anything else I’ve experienced in life up until now. The room is deathly quiet and the air between us tense.

“I don’t know how to tell you this.” Her voice is wobbly, like she’s on the verge of crying and my fear for her blows up, spewing out fresh new emotion to replace whatever came before. Taking the last step to close the distance between us, I hold her arms.

“Tell me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not wrong… but it’s not exactly right,” she says, her eyes glittering, but different than the last time I saw her with unshed tears. This time there’s no holding back as tears leak onto her cheek in a small stream.

“I’m sorry—I’m extra emotional. It’s hormones,” she says as I don’t bother resisting my urge to brush her cheek with my thumb.

“You’re scaring me, Chloe.” My voice is shaky and it’s no exaggeration. I’m preparing myself to hear that she’s dying and my gut roils and my heart screams, the sharp pain of it shooting through my chest.

She puts her hands on me, touches my chest and leans in, looking up at me. “No, don’t be scared, Tate. It’s alright. I don’t expect anything from you. I’ll be fine.”

“You will? That’s good.” I blow out a breath, but relief is quickly supplanted by confusion. “What the fuck is going on, Chloe?”

“I’m messing this up—I’m sorry. But it’s so hard, such a big, big thing and a surprise—such a surprise, and—”

“Chloe,” I grip her shoulders, “tell me what this big fucking surprise is right fucking now.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Boom.

“What?” My mind is blank. The shock is like jumping into Lake Michigan in early spring the first time when the water’s fresh off the freeze. My whole body goes numb and I hold my breath, my eyes close and I wait to resurface, for the world to start up again with a big breath of air. But the big sad violet eyes staring at me are still sparkling with unshed tears and my heart beats wildly pounding too hard to be healthy.

Something hot and electric starts in the pit of my stomach and spreads through me like a wild fire. “What did you say?”

“I’m pregnant, Tate. With our child. You’re going to be a father. I’m going to be a fucking mother. We’re having a baby—” Once she gets going, she can’t stop, but her words are registering now.

“Chloe,” I whisper the words like I have rust in my throat. “Are you sure.”

She nods, shaking a tear loose and I reach up and wipe it with my thumb, my hand shaking.

“I just came from the doctor.” She clears her throat, sniffles and goes on with bravado. “It’s official. You and I will become parents in about seven and a half months.”

But the bravado doesn’t hold and her cocky smile quivers. My chest feels like I’ve just been branded by hot irons—with her name on them. Reaching out to her I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her, pressing her against me, as much to sooth the searing in my soul as hers.

She doesn’t want me and I’m not so sure she wants this baby even as brave as she’s trying to be, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to be the best damned father this baby could have. No kid of mine is going to live a minute feeling unwanted.

Tears soak my sweaty shirt and I realize belatedly the last place she probably wants to be is pressed to a smelly practice shirt in the arms of a man too foolish to appreciate her, too stubborn to forgive her.

“Chloe,” I don’t know what to say, where to begin.