Page 117 of Slap Shot Surprise
“Don’t say anything, okay? This isn’t your fault.” I took a breath. “When I came down to Chicago to tell you about the baby, I told you I didn’t expect you to change, and I meant it. I knew hockey was your priority. And I didn’t suddenly expect you to have feelings for me just because the condom broke—I didn’t have them for you either. After all, we were practically strangers.” I paused, thinking of that day. “I remember turning down your offer to stay the night because I didn’t trust us not to have sex, and I knew sex would complicate things. I just wanted us to get to know each other better. Become friends.”
“I wanted that too.”
“The problem was, the better we got to know each other, the more I wanted you in all ways.”
“And now you regret it?”
“No! I love being with you that way, Joe, I really do, but my heart did not get the memo it was all in fun, no matter how many times I sent it. And I’m scared. I don’t want to get hurt.”
“I never want to hurt you,” he said quietly.
“I know you don’t. And you wouldn’t intend to. It’s just that your dreams and my dreams don’t overlap. We’ve always known this. And I couldn’t live with myself if I thought for one second that I’d stepped between you and your dreams.”
His blue eyes were shining. “And I couldn’t live with myself if I made you a promise I couldn’t keep.”
“Don’t,” I said, my lower lip trembling. “I don’t want that promise, Joe.”
Exhaling, he slipped one hand around to the back of myneck and tipped my head toward his, our foreheads touching. “So now what?”
“I think we should cool off for a bit,” I said, even though it was the last thing I wanted. “Take some time to think about what’s going to be best for the baby long-term.”
“Can I still call you?” He sounded aggrieved. “I need to know you and the baby are doing okay.”
“Of course. We can still talk. And I promise I’ll keep you up to date on all the baby things.” I spoke more gently. “I just need a little space to give my heart some time to accept reality.”
“Okay.” He kept his hand on the back of my neck, kneading it gently. “I wish things were different for us.”
“I do too. But I wouldn’t change who you are, Joe.”
“I wouldn’t change you either. Not a single thing.” He released me, his expression pained. “But you’re keeping this car, Mabel Jane Buckley. No backsies, no givesies.”
As I wiped my eyes, I laughed. “Okay. Deal.”
We said goodbye thirty minutes later at my front door with a long hug. “Let me know when you get home,” I said, determined not to break down in front of him. “And I hope you have a safe flight.”
“I will.” He let me go and planted a quick kiss on my forehead. “You take good care of yourself,” he said gruffly. His eyes were uncharacteristically dark.
“I will.” I tried to keep things light when I really wanted to sob into his chest. “And you rest that shoulder. I need my favorite team to make the playoffs.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
After closing the door behind him, I went to the front window and watched him walk away, holding back the tears. And then halfway to the sidewalk, he stopped.
My breath caught.
He bounced his right leg at the knee a few times. Agitated, like he was torn.
My lips moved in a silent prayer.Come back inside. Love me. Stay.
But a moment later, he continued the walk toward his car, which was parked in my driveway. After tossing his bags in the back, he got behind the wheel, started the engine, and looked at my house. I held my breath once more.
Again, I was disappointed. Ten seconds later, he backed out of the driveway, and then his rental car disappeared down the block. I closed the door, walked into my bedroom, and curled up into a ball on my bed, inhaling the scent of him clinging to the sheets.
Cradling my belly, I wept.
“Whose car is that?” Ari stared past me out to the street where I’d parked in front of her house. She’d invited me to come for dinner, and since I’d done nothing but mope around my house for the day and a half since Joe left, I jumped at the chance to be around family.
“It’s mine.” I held up the fob. “Christmas gift.”
