“It was an honest mistake,” she said.“You are quite popular in the States and Canada, Mr.Hockey Man.”
“You should sleep,” I said, trying to deflect.
I lifted the sheet and duvet, my heart thumping as hard as it did when I skated sprints.I’d slept in Millie’s bed for days, but never whenshewas in it.The difference was enormous.We were getting closer—she was sharing more of her space,herself,with me.That was good.Great.
Except things were about to change again, as we flew back to Houston tomorrow.And tonight she’d witnessed my overinflated ego slowly wheezing out its air.Gah!Heat suffused my neck, ears, and cheeks.I hated feeling foolish because that led to remembering the humiliation of waiting for my parents to show up for my pee-wee championship.I’d been so excited, had already told my friends my parents would be cheering the loudest.
Instead, they’d gone to brunch and picked me up an hour late.I’d had to wait with my impatient coach’s family.That day I learned how badly others could make me feel—if I let them.
And until Millie, I hadn’t let anyone.Except Coach Whittaker.He got to me because disappointing him meant I could be traded—not because I cared about his opinion of me as a player or a man.
Of course not.
And Millie, well, she’d ditched me, after all.
“Bree’s up,” Millie said.“I think she’s waiting for you to tell her goodnight.”
Those soft words, her willingness to share, slowed the trickle of negative thoughts in my mind.I settled on my side and slid in close enough to Millie that I could rub my palm on her belly.My hand, splayed out, covered the entire side of her stomach.
“Good night, little Bree,” I crooned.
A thump and a swirl met my words.Millie was thirty-one weeks pregnant, which meant Bree was the size of a pineapple.And according to the doctor, she was close to the three-pound mark.If she came now, she might not even need intensive-care interventions for her lungs.
“She seems to know you,” Millie said.“She’s been more active since you arrived.It’s clear she enjoys spending time with her daddy.”
I continued moving my hand over the undulations of Millie’s belly, relaxing into the beauty of the moment.I inhaled that grapefruit scent of Millie’s shampoo, the warm lilac of her lotion from the curve of her neck.
The moment eased my embarrassment.Contentment filtered into my chest.I held Millie and my child in my palm.
I had a family.
Millie shifted.“Sorry.My back hurts.”
I eased away but kept my hand on Bree’s movements.
After a moment, Millie released a tired sigh.“I’m so glad you came, Luka.I can’t imagine how hard that was.I wouldn’t have had the courage.”
I took a chance and moved in to spoon her from behind, glad she couldn’t see my face.My contentment grew, along with gratitude that Millie was sharing not just Bree but herself.
“Will you tell me what you’re worried about?”I asked after a moment.
She sighed.“You deserve to know, and I’ll tell you more, I promise.But, for now suffice it to say that my dad and I don’t get along.”
And there it was—what I’d been worrying over for months.Millie’s father had hurt her.I clenched my hands into fists, wishing she’d tell me what the bastard had done.
“And also, you’ve been with a lot of women…”
“Not that many,” I scoffed, still focused on my all-consuming desire to slay Millie’s dragons, namely her father.
Millie tensed, and I realized that wasn’t the right thing to say.She was trying to talk to me—connect.
“I’m sorry.I’m not dismissing your concerns, I promise.It’s just… There’s an…aura, I guess, about being a professional athlete.If there are pictures taken, they always show me with women.”
“Because you’re surrounded by them.Beautiful women.”
Ah.Millie worried about how she measured up appearance-wise.If she only understood me better, she’d know I worried about how I stacked up for her in every other category.I wanted to be more, much more, than a great lay.
“That makes me feel inadequate,” she breathed.“Like you’ll always compare my imperfections to those other lovers.”
