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“With his genes,” Ryan says. “He should be playing hockey non-stop!”
“What?” Kelly asks, looking confused.
“Ryan,” I warn with my heart pounding.
“I mean, come on!” he nearly shouts. My brother never knows when to quit. “Am I the only one who thinks this?”
“Yes!” I snap. “And we’re changing the subject. Dad!” I grab my father from the hallway and pull him into the kitchen. “Tell Ryan about your new hot water heater and how they ripped you off.”
“Oh, get a load of these crooks!” my dad shouts, worked up at the drop of a hat.
Ryan’s eyes narrow on me as Dad gets going. I stick my tongue out at him as I leave the room.
Kelly follows me into the garage. I forgot the baguettes in the trunk of my car.
“What is he talking about?” Kelly asks as she helps me grab them. “Why hockey?”
“He didn’t tell you about Lucas’ father?”
She shakes her head. “He barely talks to me at all.”
Then why are you with him? I nearly ask her, but then I remember how much I like to have her around and I bite my tongue.
“It was a long time ago,” I say with a sigh. “I was out having fun and I met a guy. It was a one-night thing. He lived out of town.”
It was also one of the best nights of my life but I leave that part out.
“I don’t understand,” she says with a tilt of her head. “But why hockey? Was he a hockey player or something?”
“Yeah,” I say as his gorgeous face pops into my head. I don’t like thinking about him. It always sends me into a hole that’s hard to climb out of. “He was a professional hockey player.”
“Oh,” she says with her face lighting up. “Juicy. Who was it?”
I sigh as I look at her. “Harris Sutton.”
“What?!” she shouts. “Harris Sutton?! Lucas’ father is Harris Sutton? Wow!”
“Mom?”
My stomach drops when I hear his sweet little voice.
I step to the side with my stomach sinking and see Lucas in the doorway staring at me with those big shocked brown eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fiona
“Did you have a fun night?” I ask Lucas as I tuck him in bed once everyone is gone. “Your magic show was a big hit.”
He’s staring down at his dinosaur sheets like something is on his mind. I’m terrified to talk about it, so I try to keep him distracted.
“How’s your finger doing? Does it still hurt?”
He looks at his bandaid and then looks up at me. “My dad is a hockey player?”
Shit.
A weight settles on my chest as I force out a smile. “Yeah. He is.”
