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I’m in trouble.
Our baby is in trouble.
Please come help.
When we get outside, I look to her. “Holly?—”
Before I can say anything else, however, she shoves something cool and wet—a cloth, I’m guessing—against my face. It smells like bleach.
And then the world goes dark.
52
REESE
Olivia’s still not back.
The waitress comes by bearing drinks, but I hold off on ordering food. The whole time, my hand is in my pocket, fingers wrapped around a tiny box there. I haven’t been nervous for a puck drop since the day I first laced up my skates.
Now, though?
I’m. On. Fucking. Edge.
I’m ready, though. Ready to push into this new phase of my life. I’ve got a daughter, a kid on the way, and a woman that I want to make my wife. Who would have thought? Me, Reese Dalton, brash and brazen bad boy of the Dallas Bulls, settling down like some kind of North Texas family man.
I wouldn’t have clocked it as a kid. My father would have rolled over laughing ever thinking I’d make this my reality.
Ma… Well, I like to think I’d have made her proud with this choice. Making an honest woman out of my girlfriend and giving my daughter a mother that she can look up to.
But the more the time wears on, the more confused I get. I shoot her a text. Do I need to send a search party to the bathroom?
Five more minutes pass. No answer.
The waitress comes around again. “Are you ready to order, sir…?”
I shake my head. “Nah, sorry. Still waiting for the lady. But can I get some breadsticks for now? She likes that.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
When the woman is gone, I call Olivia this time. The ringer goes and goes, but I get sent to voicemail. I frown and stand up.
Something is wrong. I feel it in my bones. A little bathroom break doesn’t take this long and Olivia doesn’t ever ignore me like this.
I leave the VIP area. The bathrooms are in the back. I’m halfway there when I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket.
Thank fucking God. I pull it out, halfway to saying, “You fall in or something?” when I realize it’s a blocked number.
“Reese…”
Instantly, I freeze in place. “Who is this?” I snarl.
“Now, that’s no way to talk to your wife.”
My blood is pounding in my temples. “What the fuck do you want, Holly?”
She laughs, a high, tinkling sound like we’re clinking champagne glasses at a charity ball. “That’s not much better, darling. I’ll get straight to the point, though. I’d like to talk face-to-face, but you’re a surprisingly hard man to get in touch with. So I figured that clearly, I needed to come to you. Make a statement, you know. To get your attention.”
I swallow hard. “What did you do?”
