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The only normal thing about my life these days is being on the ice.
I don’t have complaints about that. Since Coach’s stern talking-to, I’ve forced myself into a focus that would drive a normal man insane. It helps keep my mind off the things that aren’t so normal.
Like the baby in my house.
Or the mystery woman that left her there.
Or Olivia.
My nanny has me feeling like I’m psychotic. Like I need to be in a ward somewhere. Wouldn’t that be just great? Reese Dalton strapped into a permanent hug, all by his lonesome in a room with pillows for walls and floors.
That’s not the kind of psychosis that scares me, though. Honestly, it sounds like a nice break.
No, Olivia Carter makes me psychotic in the I need this woman like I need to breathe kind of way. I crave her so damn much I nearly fucked her in my sleep.
There’s something clinical about that shit, isn’t there?
So, I focus on the ice. I don’t fight with Bastian, even when the ugly bastard baits me. I don’t rough anyone up anymore. Not that they don’t deserve it, but I’m nothing if not a model of ethical restraint.
My pristine behavior must be what draws Coach over to me after practice about two days after The Sleep Fuck Incident, as I’ve come to call it in my head. He puts his hand on my shoulder like we’re old pals. It reminds me of how he used to treat me when I was first signed to the team. I was his golden boy. His ticket to back-to-back conference championships that’d put the Bulls center stage on the league map.
Things have changed since then. Turns out I wasn’t a golden boy; I was a party boy with both mommy and daddy issues, along with a penchant for getting myself into places I didn’t belong.
“You did good today, Reese.” His praise comes with a wide smile. “I’m proud of your progress. Not just what you’re doing on the ice, but all of it. You’re carrying yourself like a man.”
He claps my shoulder again. His praise jostles something in me. Not for the first time, I recognize that the only men who’ve ever praised me have been coaches. On the ice, I was a hero.
At home, my dad only ever saw a disappointment.
“Reese?”
I blink, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, cool. I’m trying, Coach.”
“It shows. Keep up the good work.”
With a crisp nod, we part ways. I hit the showers to scrub all the unmentionables. I’ll get another when I’m home and have the luxury of a waterfall shower to really relax it off.
On my way out, my pocket vibrates. I’m glad I don’t give into the desire to ignore the call. The caller ID reads Elliot. My heart leaps.
“Yo, Ellz! You got good news for me? Say you got good news for me.”
“Depends on your idea of good news.”
Elliot is one of my oldest friends. He also happens to be my lawyer. Funny, how we both grew up dirt-ass poor and ended up where we are, a famous athlete and a lawyer to the famous.
“Okay,” I say, closing my eyes and pinching my nose like it’ll ward off the headache I know is coming. “Lay it on me.”
“So, first thing’s first: as a lawyer, a lot of this is shit I can’t actually do. Soooo, I offloaded some of the stuff that could get me disbarred to a P.I. He’s discreet.”
“How much does he cost?”
Elliot laughs. “You ask that like you care.”
“You’re a bastard, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, but you love having me around. Anyway, so I’ve had him tracking down the women you gave me. Some don’t even live in Texas anymore. None of them have had hospital visits that would indicate prenatal care or giving birth.”
Fuck. Dead end. I push my hands through my hair. When I get to my car, I lean against it. “Okay… so no good news then.”
