Out of the Game3 (19 page)

Chapter Thirty

Claire felt stupid. She’d thought many times about going on the pill or getting any of the other long-term birth-control options, but she’d always half expected Alex to cut her loose. The relationship wasn’t supposed to last. The two of them were going to have a good time and then move on cleanly. At the time, it had seemed the smart thing to do. Planning too far into the future with the bad boy of the Barracudas, even when it was only for a month of pills, had seemed naïve.

But now, that clean break was impossible. She was tied to him for the rest of her life. He would always be the father of her child, whether they were a couple or not.

The challenge was moving forward. No question she was keeping the baby. Being a mother was going to put a big dent in her budding fundraiser career, but she knew she could work around it, especially with Erin and Tim supporting her. The baby wouldn’t lack for male role models. Tim was a fantastic uncle. Erin had told her stories about how much a part of his niece’s life he was. Baby Hollander would be so close in age, it was almost ideal. Her brothers would be there for her too.

The only question mark was Alex.

Later that night when they checked into the cabin and unloaded the car, he didn’t talk. In fact, he hadn’t said much since she’d dropped the bomb. To be fair, he had a lot of mental realigning to do. She understood that more than anyone. It had taken her a while to come to terms with the fact that she had a baby inside her and that she was going to be a mother come August.

She went to bed before he did. He’d said he needed some time alone and went onto the balcony even though it was starting to snow. She looked out the window and saw him standing there in the blue moonlight. His breath was visible. His hands were stuffed in his pockets. She wanted so badly to go to him, but respected his wish to be by himself. Whatever he decided to do, it had to be because he wanted to do it, not because she demanded it. Even though she loved him and wanted him to be a real father to the baby and partner to her, she’d rather he not participate at all than do it begrudgingly, because at the end of that road was resentment or detachment.

When he finally joined her in bed, he was naked. His skin was cold, but she took him into her arms anyway. It felt as if they’d been apart for months. He pressed his face against her breasts like he’d done so many times before, except this time he seemed to want comfort, not sex.

“Claire, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

“Alex, what are you talking about? You didn’t do this to me.”

“It was my fault. It’s all my fault. Everything was so perfect with us, and now...” He hugged her tighter. His tone was unlike any she’d heard from him before. She’d heard him be cocky, cajoling, angry and even threatening when the situation warranted it. But this? It was as if all the pretense had been stripped away, leaving only his raw, unprotected self.

She stroked his hair soothingly. “And now, what? Is the world coming to an end? No. No one is dying. It’s the exact opposite, in fact. There’s a
baby
on the way. That’s all. There are much worse things in the world than that.”

“I know, but—” He stroked her lower back with his thumb. “I...I just don’t know how good a father I can be.”

Claire prepared herself. Was this where he listed excuses and then separated himself from her and the baby? God, she hoped not.

“What makes you say that? Why wouldn’t you make a good father? You’re hard-working and honest. You’re loyal and generous and protective...”

His arms tightened around her. “They...they don’t let me work with the kids.”

She frowned. “Who doesn’t?”

“The team. There was this two-hour mini-camp thing once and I was too rough with them.”

“Physically?”

“No!” His head came up fast. “No. I...I was too abrasive, I cussed. I ordered them around too much. I wasn’t nurturing enough.”

“How old were the kids?”

“Six.”

“They should have put you with the older ones. The teens.”

“Now you tell me.”

“It was just the one time?”

“Yes. One kid cried. A lot of parents complained—almost
all
of them, and they haven’t asked me to do a mini-camp since.”

“Alex, that was one time. You can’t judge your potential for fatherhood based on one incident. That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s not the only reason.” He paused. “I just...the only way I know how to be a good dad would come from the movies, really. And I guess that’s not a completely bad resource, depending on the movie.”

“So, your dad was...not good?” The question felt ridiculously nosy, but hello, they’d made a baby together. She had a right to know about his home life, didn’t she?

“No. I’m pretty sure he was the reason my mom took off. I believed my dad’s story about the note for a long time. But now, I think my dad made that up. I think she left because of him.”

Shoot. Claire steeled herself for the worst. Had Alex’s dad been an alcoholic? Or a wife-beater? Maybe he was one of those men whose self-esteem was so low, the only way he could feel better about himself was to make his woman feel like shit by putting her down and telling her she was stupid, lazy, fat or useless.

“He wasn’t a drinker or anything,” Alex said, as if reading her mind. “I don’t think he hit her either, although I’ve never been completely certain of that. He’s just a controlling asshole who thinks everything—and I mean everything—needs to be done his way. It was his way or the highway, and my mom chose the highway.”

And she didn’t take you with her
,
that bitch
, Claire thought.
She should have taken you with her.

“So, I...all that’s written in my dad handbook is to make the rules and enforce them at all times. Set standards and make sure the kid meets or exceeds them. And if he doesn’t...”

He got tense. She lay there, continuing to stroke his hair, waiting for him to tell her, even as her brain tossed out every nightmarish thing she’d ever read or seen in a movie or on TV.

“If he doesn’t do what the coaches tell him...if he doesn’t fucking move his feet and keep his fucking stick on the ice...” His voice grew tight, like a slingshot, drawn back. “He’s going to regret the day he was fucking born.”

And then he went on for a long while, telling her how it had been for him growing up. The more he talked, the more Claire realized he hadn’t had a father. He’d had an unforgiving, coldhearted drill sergeant. His childhood had been nothing but training, threats and punishment and her heart ached for him. He’d had no choices as a boy, so it was no wonder that when he broke away from his father, he threw aside all the rules and did whatever he liked, whenever he liked.

But she sensed he was holding something back. There had been some sort of incident between him and his dad, something bad, but he skirted around it. This time she didn’t prod him. He’d tell her if and when he was ready.

Eventually, he seemed to run out of steam. They lay there quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. She shifted, intending to give him a tender, soothing kiss, maybe even just touch noses, but he didn’t seem to want that.

The moment their lips touched, he took her mouth with purpose. He slid his hand to her ass and pulled her toward him, inserting one powerful leg between hers. His cock hardened in a matter of moments and she moaned, suddenly wanting him inside her, filling her, making the connection that had come to mean so much more to her than when they’d first started sleeping together.

By now he was struggling with her panties and mumbling. She only caught a few of the words.
Need you.

Please.

I’m sorry.

After putting a hand on her sex just long enough to confirm how wet she was, he made no eye contact as he kneed her legs apart. In fact, his eyes were closed. Clearly, he needed to soothe himself inside her body. She wanted that too. She wanted him to find the solace he was looking for because it hurt her to see him so beaten down.

They didn’t bother with a condom. There was no point. He rubbed the head of his cock against her. Strange how much more intimate it felt without that thin layer of latex between them. He slid inside much easier too. Two strokes and he was fully embedded.

He groaned and didn’t move at first. He held still, thick and hard inside her, seemingly lost in thought, like he’d forgotten they were having sex, but then, he looked up. His expression—so lost, so needy, so vulnerable—brought forth all the love she had in her heart for him. Whatever doubts she’d had about him seemed to fall away. When she’d first met him, all she’d seen was a man who didn’t care about anything but himself. He’d seemed vain and fickle and shallow. Now, she knew that persona was a disguise. He was so much more than what he led people to believe.

With a groan, he covered her mouth with his and finally began to move. She sighed at the pleasure of his gentle thrusts. He pulled almost all the way out, paused and then sank back inside. His kiss was just as slow and tender. And it was different. Everything felt different, like they were, at last, making love, not just having sex. This wasn’t about scratching an itch or taking the edge off a long absence from each other. This was a man and a woman sharing each other, unguardedly, wholly, knowing the possibility was there of being hurt and rejected, but risking it anyway. Because the reward was love.

He had picked up the pace by now. His breath gusted into her ear as the sensations began to build. Each thrust propelled her toward the next level. He was grunting. Every muscle in his body was taut.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Don’t be sorry. I’m here for you.”
I’ll always be here.
“You’re a good man.”

“Shut up.”

She let that go. “You’re a good man.”

“Claire, seriously, you need to stop talking. I’m trying to come.” He was close. His groin slapped against her loudly.

She grabbed his head and made him look at her. “I won’t stop. You need to know this. You’re a
good man.
You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

“I’m a fuckup.” He stopped moving. “I’m stupid and lazy and if I couldn’t play hockey, I’d be nothing.”

“Now
you
shut up. That’s your father talking and I don’t remember asking him to join us.”

He laughed mirthlessly and glanced aside.

“Your father didn’t give a shit about you. If he did, he wouldn’t have said all that. If someone loves you, they lift you up, not beat you down.”

“You do that for me, Claire.” He looked her in the eye. “You lift me up. Do
you
love me?”

She didn’t hesitate. He needed to know she loved him. He needed to feel it and believe it. “I do,” she said. “I do love you.”

“Fuck.” He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers as he started to move again.

She gasped. Just like that, she was right where she was before, right on the verge of coming.

“I love you,” she said again with more conviction.

“
Fuck.
”

He was going at her hard now. All she could do was grab his shoulders and hang on.

“Claire, I’m gonna lose it.”

“I’m almost there.”

He dropped his head and redoubled his efforts. His reddened face shone with sweat and his thrusts were hard and rapid. She just needed a little more, just a little more...
yes
.

The wave hit. As the orgasm crashed over her, she clung to him, lost in the intense pleasure, and he came a moment later, crying out as he emptied himself inside her, his face buried in her neck. But right on the heels of her euphoria came the painful realization that he hadn’t said it back. She’d opened her heart to him and in a way, he had too, but he hadn’t said the words.

Fighting tears, she told herself it was all right to love someone who didn’t love you back. It wasn’t as if she had a limited amount and couldn’t afford to share it with him. He needed her love, whether he realized it or not. He needed a family, too. He’d never feel complete unless that void got filled. She could give him both, if he allowed her to. It was all up to him.

So she said it one more time because it was all she could think to do.

“I love you.”

Maybe she could say it enough for both of them.

She felt him stop breathing for a moment. She did too. He was probably trying to find a way to respond without saying it back, but then he said it. Softly. With a press of his lips to her skin and a catch in his voice.

“I love you, too.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Alex knew just enough psychology to realize he was, figuratively and literally, one fucked-up motherfucker.

After keeping the lid on his life with Dad all these years, he’d finally flipped out with an involuntary confession
.
John Bender, the character in that movie
The Breakfast Club
, had a chip on his shoulder as big as the Canadian Prairies but exposed his tender underbelly to the other kids in detention by revealing the scars left from his father’s cigarettes. Alex remembered identifying with Bender strongly and thinking he’d gotten off easy with a broken arm, because at least Alex’s dad had groomed him for something useful—a sport and a profession that enabled him to live the dream.

Alex did have a great life. He recognized that. He actually focused on that, shutting out his past and grounding himself in the now. He didn’t see his dad or even really think of him much. When Father’s Day rolled around, he ignored it. Many NHL teams, including the Barracudas, had annual father road trips and Alex made himself as scarce as possible during those.

But when Claire told him about the baby, he’d panicked. He’d withdrawn. He’d known he was hurting her by not immediately saying The Right Things.
We’ll get through this together.
Don’t worry.
Yada yada yada...
But he thought a man deserved an hour or so to get over the shock.

Out on the porch, he’d stood as the snow started to fall. Memory after memory of himself and his dad bombarded him. In most of them, his dad had his arms crossed and words were coming out of his mouth—sometimes calmly, sometimes angrily. Sometimes he had Alex by the shoulders, raining down the criticism, others he was quietly proud. Up until a certain point, the good and the bad were well balanced enough that Alex could handle it. He’d advanced in the junior hockey world swiftly and noticeably. When he made the WHL, his dad up and moved them to Saskatoon. Everything they did was focused on Alex’s hockey. In many ways, Alex was grateful. Like he’d told Claire, he didn’t think he’d be anything at all if it weren’t for hockey. And yet, the ends didn’t justify the means. His father could have achieved the same result without being a controlling son of a bitch who couldn’t rein in his temper when his son fucked up the day the scouts came to watch.

That day, his father killed their relationship by striking him with his hockey stick, breaking his arm, then threatening him with more bodily harm should Alex tell the doctors anything other than the story his dad concocted to cover up the truth. But that was also the night when the scouts saw past the one bad mistake and indicated they wanted to talk. Two months later, Alex moved to Hartford, Connecticut to play for the New York Rangers affiliate and hadn’t seen or talked to his dad since.

And now he was going to be a father himself.

Shit.

He knew people often ended up making the same mistakes their parents did. Kids of alcoholic parents developed drinking problems, etc. Was it in his future to walk out on his own kid, like his mom had? Was he destined to lose his shit one day and get violent? He felt all twisted up inside after thinking about how he grew up, and it was snowing pretty steadily by the time he figured out the only thing that was going to make it right was Claire.

He’d gone inside then and sought her out and she’d made the world, inside and out, disappear. With her words and her luscious body, she slowed down the carnival ride and helped him see there was a lot more to life than having fun and not giving a shit about anything but what was going on in the moment. Then, as if the baby news wasn’t enough, she’d told him she loved him.

Fucking shit on ice.

Shock. Disbelief. Wonder. Elation. When she’d said it, he felt all of that and so much more. Even crazier was him saying it back. He sort of wondered if she’d manipulated him with sex in order to make him say it back. The need to come had been riding him hard, and admittedly, sometimes his brain was a little slow to reboot after sex. There was the baby issue too. Maybe he’d said it back because of that.

He glanced over at her. She lay sleeping on her side, facing away from him. He got closer and spooned up. He slid a hand over her stomach and thought about the baby growing in there. His baby. He felt strange when he imagined teaching a child of his to skate, to pass, to shoot. Claire would be out there with them. He and the kid would play keep away from her and even though she wasn’t half bad on the ice, she would make them laugh. They would have fun together, the way it was supposed to be—with two parents.

Would they
have
to play hockey? No. Shit no. Soccer, baseball, music, the fucking debate team, whatever floated the kid’s boat, that’s what Alex would encourage him to do.

He would be a good father, a better father. He would encourage, and hug, and joke around and fucking smile.

Yeah.

And he would fucking love Claire the way she deserved to be loved.

* * *

The next morning when he woke, he felt...weird. He glanced at Claire, sleeping. She was curled on her side, facing him this time. It occurred to him that he had a baby-mama and he felt a little proud of that. His sperm were champs, or at least one of them was. He could imagine that one little guy on a breakaway, finding the egg and fertilizing the hell out of it.

Was it an X guy or was it a Y guy? Fifty-fifty chances there. And which one was which anyway? Did the Xs make the girls or was it the Ys? He’d never been very good at remembering stuff like that.

Didn’t really matter. He’d like a boy because he could relate to him more. They’d both have dicks—even if the boy’s would be the size of a mini-carrot—so they could do the peeing standing up bonding thing. They could wrestle around, scratch their balls, spit...all good stuff.

On the other hand, if it was a girl, he’d have two ladies to watch over. That’d be nice. Squiring them around, watching them get all squealy about nail polish and shit like that. Pranking them with fake bugs and rodents. Impressing them with feats of strength. Having a girl could be a lot of fun too, he realized.

Intending to run out and grab some lattes and pastries, maybe clear his head a little, he slipped out of bed. The snow had stopped and the landscape was postcard perfect, like something out of an animated princess movie. Christmas wasn’t for two more days, but Mother Nature contributed her share, at least here in Utah.

His mind was on a grocery shopping list when Claire surprised him in the shower. The sight of her walking toward him, beautifully naked, her hair morning-messy, breasts swaying, cleared his head more efficiently than any amount of fresh air outside. There were few things he liked better than being joined in the shower by a naked woman.

Unless it was being joined in the shower by a naked woman who wanted to give him head.

Holy. Shit.

It hit him all at once. She was his. This gorgeous, amazing woman loved him. How the hell had that happened? He had no idea and didn’t really care because right now her lips were wrapped around his cock and he was watching it go in and out of her mouth, getting glimpses of her tits as she moved. She hadn’t been at it for very long before he was coming and coming hard. He didn’t feel deserving, which was weird. Before when a woman blew him, he hadn’t thought twice about it, but with Claire, he felt like she was giving him a gift, rather than performing a service. He liked this way a lot better.

When she released him from her lips, she stood and he dropped to
his
knees. He threw one of her legs over his shoulder and went to town. She cried out and braced herself. Almost drowning from the water streaming down his head, he had her going over the edge in two minutes flat. Because his dick was still recovering, he stood, inserted two fingers into her and made her come again, this time looking into her eyes the entire time.

This was his kind of morning.

Dripping wet, he carried her to the bed. She opened her legs and he looked down on her gorgeous pink pussy, all plump and soft and perfect. By now, his cock was ready for round two and after positioning himself at her entrance, he slid right in. She hissed as he buried himself deep.

“I love you. I love this,” she said, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

He waited for the gut-clench response to those words, but it didn’t come.

She loved him.

Last night, he’d told her he loved her too and he was pretty sure it was true, so he said it again.

“I love you, too.”

And damned if she didn’t come. She locked eyes with him, emitted a sound that was half gasp, half sob, and climaxed. Holy fuck. Those were three—no,
four
—magic fucking words.

* * *

It was the best Christmas he could remember and it was all because of Claire. They woke up and exchanged presents first thing. She went apeshit over his painting. With Jeremy’s help, Alex had painted the Angels Landing cabin. He’d used a photo he’d taken on his phone during their first trip and was pretty proud of how it turned out. Sneakily, he’d even had it shipped so she wouldn’t see the shape of the present with their luggage and guess that it was a piece of art.

“Alex...” She gazed at it, clearly touched. “This is...perfect.” She set it aside and hugged him tightly. “I love it so much. I love
you
so much.”

A warm glow filled him up inside. She looked at it a little while longer with a tender expression on her face and it made him feel quietly triumphant. Like when he’d entered the Rangers’ dressing room for the first time at fucking Madison Square Garden and saw his name on one of the stalls. In that moment, he’d realized he’d made it to the NHL. He was a goddamned New York Ranger. His chest didn’t erupt with a bellowing roar. He didn’t fist-bump anyone. He’d just bundled the emotions up like mental memorabilia. And right now, looking at Claire smiling as she admired his painting ranked pretty high on the list of memories he would enjoy forever.

Eventually, she set the canvas aside and picked up a medium-sized box. “My present to you isn’t nearly as good. Tim helped me pick it out.”

He eagerly unwrapped a top-of-the-line set of wireless headphones that he’d actually been coveting for a while. Often on the charters, he wanted to shut out everything, and headphones made it easy to create a sense of privacy, but his current pair had been giving him spotty sound in one ear.

“This is great!” He tried them on for size. Very comfortable. “These will be perfect on those long flights.”

She beamed. “That’s what I was hoping.”

For breakfast, she served him her quiche, just like she’d promised she would all those months ago, and he actually did like it. He ate half of it all by himself. That made her happy too. Afterward, they watched Christmas movies—
Elf
,
A
Christmas Story
,
Home Alone
,
It’s a Wonderful Life
. They talked about past Christmases, but that’s when she did most of the talking. His boyhood holidays had always been the same—his dad giving him new hockey equipment after which they’d go to a movie and get burgers for dinner. As an adult, he sometimes hung out with teammates. Other times, being alone was better than feeling pitied.

As Claire told him a story about the year they’d gotten a puppy who peed all over the presents, he slowly realized that there was a chance—a good chance—he might never have to endure another lonely Christmas. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Spending the holiday with someone he loved and who loved him back? Not having to feel like he was being included just because someone felt sorry for him? He could barely comprehend.

Later that night, their last night in the cabin, he lay in the dark with Claire in his arms. She was so soft and pliant. Her eyes were closed but she was still awake—drowsy from the sex, but awake. A good time to proceed with his plan, in his opinion. Better to do this kind of thing without an audience. That way, if things went badly, there was no one to witness it. Other guys on the team felt differently, but that was them. Alex might come across as if he didn’t care what people thought, but he’d rather not be humiliated if he could avoid it.

Gathering all his courage, his stomach feeling as if it were full of hyperactive beetles, he asked, “So...what do you think about eloping?”

Claire slowly moved away from him. “You are out of your mind.”

“No, I’m not.” Alex turned on his side. “Let’s get married and make the baby legit.”

“That’s...nobody thinks that way anymore,” she said. “We don’t need a marriage certificate to legitimize our child,” she said. “He or she is a legitimate person even if we’re not married. And besides, I just got divorced. It’s too soon.”

“So you’re saying no.”

She shook her head. “I’m saying I want to take things slow. There’s no reason to rush things. We have seven or eight months before the baby comes,” she said cupping his cheek. “I do love you, but I just need some time, okay?”

“Sure. Time. That’s easy.”

He felt guilty about the relief that washed over him, but there was no mistaking it. Clearly, he wasn’t quite ready for marriage either. He’d sort of assumed she would say yes because that’s what people were supposed to do when they accidentally made a baby together. Especially people like him who believed a kid deserved a father
and
a mother. Despite her talk about the baby being a legitimate person, he was pretty sure Claire agreed with him on that score. They owed it to the baby to be there, together and united, didn’t they?

“And while we’re on the subject of time,” she said, “let’s keep this to ourselves for now and not announce it to everyone that I’m pregnant, okay?”

“That’s fine with me.”

He felt another wave of relief. He wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of having to explain everything to his teammates, Tim especially.
Of course
,
I
used a condom.
And yes
,
I
asked her to marry me.
I’m not a jerk.
She did
not
say no
,
she said
not yet
.