One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(109)
I can’t think of last night and the way Adalyn felt in my arms again, so soft and made just for me. I can’t think about the way she called out my name when I was buried deep inside her, claiming her. I can’t think of the way she felt pressed against my body, sleeping soundly, her breaths in rhythm with mine. And I sure as fuck can’t think about the dead silence when I asked if she had feelings for Logan.
And the biggest thing of all, I can’t focus on whether or not she’s here, sitting in the stands, cheering me on.
I need to keep my head in the game, skate hard, and win this game.
Skating toward the puck, I snag it with my stick, spin off a defender and break through toward the goal, the puck juggled back and forth with my stick.
Focus, Hayden.
Haines is weak on the upper left. You’ve already scored two goals on him tonight in the upper left. Should I go for a third? Will he expect it?
No. He won’t expect me to go for another upper left.
Pushing to the right, I fake, cross the puck to the left and slip it up into the corner again. The siren above the goal sounds off, the crowd cheers, and I wave my stick above my head as I skate toward my celebrating teammates.
Gloved hands pat my helmeted head, my eyes traveling around the arena, fans erupting, the score four to two with a minute to go.
This is one hell of a game. I just hope Adalyn is here to see it.
She’s never seen me play, and that fucking stings. My entire career I’ve been surrounded by friends and family who’ve seen me play, who’ve supported me, been there for me, and the one person I want here, I can’t be sure is actually cheering for me.
The rest of the game finishes in a blur, leaving the score at a four-to-two victory for the Quakes.
Helmets off, we shake hands with each other, congratulating one another on one more win to add to our record. It’s a long season so we need to keep focused on one win at a time.
Gathering my gear, helmet tucked under my arm, I take a deep breath and follow the team in a solid line through the players’ entrance.
Staying in the back, my nerves a mess, I consider what I might do if I don’t see Adalyn waiting for me in the hallway. Hell, what can I do if she’s not there? I can’t keep throwing my heart down in front of her when she has no urge to pick it up off the ground. You can’t force someone to love you. It’s a tough pill to swallow, and I hate that it’s one I might have to.
Stepping onto the carpeted area, I lift my head to take a look around. It strikes me as strange not to see Shannon there congratulating Chris but I continue looking for my girl. Mendez and O’Brien are giving high fives to their children, while Halstrom and Bidwell are kissing their girls off to the side, giving themselves some privacy.
Scanning the area, I search for the brunette with whiskey-colored eyes and a smile that knocks me on my ass. My heart splutters in my chest, the weight of my gear feels heavier, making it harder to breathe.
But I don’t see her.
Not giving up yet, I casually stand in place, off to the side, scanning the entire area, making sure she’s not hiding behind any pillars or trapped behind security.
But the farther and farther I get into the hallway, I feel the crack of my heart as it starts to ripple through my chest. Realization starts to set in.
She’s not here.
She’s not fucking here.
Biting down on the side of my cheek, holding back the angry scream I want to expel, I make my way to the locker room. The team publicist asks me to do an interview but with one look in his direction, he sees the anguish in my eyes and, without asking what’s wrong, he gives me space and turns to another player.
Players, media, staff members all congratulate me on a good game, their praise barely touching the deep wounds busy forging a hole in my soul.
Ignoring the banter in the locker room, the media grabbing interviews with players, and the playful ribbing regularly conducted after games, I shuck my gear as quickly as possible and head to the showers where I single out a shower head in the far corner, and let the scalding water burn onto my back. My palms pressed against the tiled wall, my head dipped down, water slicing over my body, I allow myself to have a fucking moment.
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she didn’t fucking show up. There was a small part of me, a part of me that was holding on to the summer, holding on to what we shared last night that maybe, just maybe she’d be waiting for me when I got off the ice. That maybe she loved me too.
This is what true disappointment feels like, like utter despair. When the woman you love rejects you for another man, for a man you completely despise. Beaten down and battered, feeling more empty than ever, I let the guys pass by me, their conversations hushed when they spot me. But I don’t move. I stay in that position, letting the water attempt to comfort me. But it’s no use. I’m going to have to find a way to co-parent a child with the woman I’m in love with, who doesn’t love me back. I’m going to have to find a way to accept that a man I loathe will spend every day with my child and the woman I love. Fucking hell, this hurts.
“Fuck,” I mutter, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
Taking some soap, I lather my body and hair and rinse it under the lukewarm water now, the only guy left in the showers. When I towel off and head to my locker, the room has cleared out. Perfect, I don’t have to deal with anyone.
Approaching my locker, my phone buzzes against the wood of my cubby, but I ignore it and instead, sit down, resting my arms on my legs, hands clasped together, trying to figure out what I’m going to do next.