"Garrison!" Crew calls out, walking up to us while the rest of my teammates just gawk at us like we're exotic zoo animals. Jesus, is it that weird to see me showing a woman affection?
Crew slaps my shoulder and turns to Mallory. “Hi again! Good to see you.”
“You too. How is your teammate?”
“Still waiting to hear about test results,” Crew replies. “And thanks for asking. And coming here to hang with us. I know it was your first official date.”
“Tate and I are doing everything in our own unique way,” Mallory announces. “Why should this be any different?”
Crew grins and looks at me. “I like her.”
“Of course you do.” I tug her closer to my side. “Who doesn’t?”
"Hey, pretty lady and Garrison, my round. What are you drinking?" Nash calls out from the corner by the bar.
“Mal, you up for a margarita?” I ask with a wink and then lean down and whisper in her ear. “Like old times?”
She just bites her lip and nods. It’s adorable and hot as hell all at the same time. I kiss her, which gets the guys to all make stupid noises. Rich, the owner, laughs. “Leave the kid alone. No wonder he hasn’t brought her by here before.”
“Rich, you got someCluelessstuff to show Mallory?”
He smiles and nods. “Be right back!”
Two hours later, Mallory is tipsy and happily explaining every single aspect ofCluelessto Nash who for some insane reason actually seems interested in it. I’m humiliating Collingwood at a game of pool. My parents have sent fourteen photos of Dylan, the last five are of him sleeping. I finally had to text my mom back and tell her to leave him to sleep and just stare at him on her phone app instead. I love the way she’s already obsessed with him though.
“Look, they’re talking about Casco!” Nash calls out and points to the muted TV above the bar. “Rich, turn it up!”
We all turn to the television and Rich grabs the remote and pumps up the volume. It's a reporter standing outside the arena with a somber look on her face. "The Quake is at the top of their division, guaranteed a playoff spot but off the ice, the team seems to be in turmoil."
“That’s a bit dramatic,” Crew grumbles.
“Forward Landon Casco collapsed on the ice during practice today, just one day before the last game of the year against the San Francisco Thunder,” she goes on. “The cause is still unknown but we’re told he is in stable condition now. And just an hour ago, TMZ Sports broke a story that star forward Tate Garrison has a secret baby.”
“What?” Collingwood balks and starts to laugh. Loudly. He looks over at Mallory. “You’re a tiny woman and not that tall, but surely they don’t think you’re ababy.”
It’s a joke. It’s not funny.
I stare at the television, my body frozen in shock. I hear Mallory say my name but I just keep staring. The image changes from the reporter outside the medical center to a picture of me and Mallory outside the townhouse, I’m carrying the stroller down the front steps and she’s standing there with Dylan in her arms. Her face is blocked by her hair. Dylan’s face is in full view and a wave of rage washes over. He’s a kid and he didn’t agree to have his face plastered everywhere.
“The mother is unknown. According to sources who live in the same complex as Garrison in Venice Beach and supplied this exclusive photo. Garrison is not only keeping the child secret, he’s leaving it to be raised by nanny Mallory Echolls, who is also the sister of San Francisco Thunder defensemen Emmett Echolls.”
“How…?”
I finally look at Mallory, but I don’t have time to say anything as my phone is blowing up. Text message alerts and telephone calls. Coach Braddock, Adam from Communications, Christine. Crew exhales loudly beside me. “I thought you told the team? And your parents?”
“Parents yeah, they’re with Dylan now. But my meeting with the team management was canceled when Landon collapsed,” I mutter.
“Wait… this is true?” Collingwood balks.
“You knew?” Nash says, staring at his twin with a shocked expression.
“I don’t tell you everything,” Crew snaps at him. “Just like you don’t tell me everything.”
Crew turns away from Nash and back to me. “The townhouse complex is going to be swimming with paparazzi. Good thing we switched houses.”
I nod. I grab my phone and call the person I know is the source, my neighbor Tara. She works for TMZ. She answers on the first ring. “Hey. Do you want to make an official statement?”
“How about fuck you,” I snap at her. “I thought we were friends but you just wanted a story.”
