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“Just waiting on Carter,” Goran says. “He has a minor problem.”
An icy shiver wracks down my spine. “What kind of problem?” I ask, my voice low. We have two games this week. We can’t afford to be without our best center forward.
“His girlfriend is pregnant.”
“What?”
“We don’t know if she’s pregnant,” Max points out.
“Good point.” Goran shrugs. “She thinks she’s pregnant. He’s on FaceTime with her while she does the test.”
“Where is he?” I look around the locker room. It’s a damn mess. I’m going to have to read them the riot act again tomorrow.
Make them write it out on a chalkboard a hundred times.
My mess is nobody’s responsibility but mine.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Was I as much of a punk as these guys when I was starting out in my career? Probably. But I was drafted straight into the NHL and we had all the support money could buy. Your apartment needs cleaning? Great, the team has a list of cleaners to choose from. You need some clothes for a night out? We’ll hook you up with our stylist.
Seriously, I was more babied than these guys could even imagine. I find it embarrassing to think about now.
“He’s in the bathroom,” Goran says, pointing at the door. “We’re giving him some privacy.”
A loud whoop comes from said bathroom. Then the door flings open and Carter comes running out.
“You’re gonna be a daddy?” Goran asks.
“Nope! A single line, baby.” Carter does a little dance. “No little Carters for me.”
I clear my throat. His eyes slowly scan the room before landing on me. “Uh, hi Coach.”
“Do I need to give you a lecture on condoms?” I ask him.
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Because I’d feel like a fraud. I was bareback in a woman who gave me her word she has a contraceptive implant last night. Who the hell am I to talk?
But it was Mackenzie. And you trust her.
Yeah, isn’t that the kicker? I trust her so much I want to do it all over again. Multiple times.
“Now clear up this mess and get your asses home.” I pull my phone out and write a quick message to Mackenzie to make it 7:15 and not 7. There’s no way I’m having her walk into a locker room that smells of sweaty hockey balls.
Carter is so hyper than he does most of the cleaning by himself, all the while giving the others a running commentary on how he would have made a great dad if his girlfriend really had been knocked up. I sit in the corner and stare at my notes for plays this week, pretending I’m not listening, but eventually it grates on my nerves.
“Okay,” I say, standing up. “You’re all done. You can go.”
“But there are still clothes to pick up,” Carter points out. Doesn’t stop him from looking hopeful.
“I’ll finish.”
He frowns. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Just go!” Before I lose my damn mind.
They take their time packing up. Too much time. My teeth grit as they finally agree on where they’re going – out to a steakhouse because they need to celebrate the fact that Carter’s sperm aren’t working – but then before they can walk out of the locker room Goran remembers he left his phone on a chair by the rink.
The door to the locker room opens and Mackenzie walks in, holding it so it doesn’t slap her in the face.
