Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I nodded, which was pretty much all I’d managed to do since calling Asher from my front porch. His answer had been instant and easy—meet him at his office. He handled every issue on our team as a family matter first and foremost.
Holy fucking shit, did I actually have a family? Was that kid mine?
I always wore protection. Always. But what if I’d been so trashed that I’d slipped up? How the fuck would I have let that happen?
The door burst open and Axel, our captain, appeared. The giant Swede was carrying a car seat that looked just like Skye’s, except blue. His firecracker of a wife, Langley, walked in right after him.
“You’re supposed to be on maternity leave!” Asher snapped.
Langley narrowed her eyes at Asher, which was something not many people did without fear of repercussion. “I think this calls for an exception, don’t you?”
“Fuck, Langley, you just had him like four days ago or something,” Asher muttered.
“It’s been two weeks,” Axel countered, “And trust me, I did everything I could to keep her at home, short of tying her to the damned bed.” He set the carrier down on the floor, clear of London’s pacing path.
London passed us again, and I turned in my chair to watch. The baby was gnawing on a fist in between spurts of yells that bounced off the glass walls and only seemed to increase in volume.
“Well, she yells like you,” Langley said with a slight smile.
“I’d be yelling too if I’d just been dropped on my porch, too,” I muttered, tearing a hand through my dark hair, which I realized was the same shade as Skye’s. “What are we supposed to do?” I asked Asher. “Procedure wise, we call the cops, right?”
The women in the room gasped and both spun to face me, outrage lined on their features.
“What?” My jaw ticked. “If someone abandons a kid, you call the cops.”
“They’ll put her in foster care!” London hissed, covering one of Skye’s ears like she’d understand.
Shit. When had I started thinking of her as Skye and not the baby? Wait. Foster care? Nausea rolled up to my throat. I’d been in foster care for the first month after Mom and Dad died and I wouldn't wish that kind of hell on my worst enemy.
“You don’t know if she’s yours!” Langley argued.
“There’s something to be said for that,” Asher said slowly. “I’m not saying don’t inform the police. But maybe we should have a rush paternity test done before that happens. You have a better chance of keeping her in your house with one of those in hand.”
In my house?
What the fuck was I supposed to do with a baby? Ice-cold tendrils of panic raced up my spine, freezing my muscles and my thoughts. Father.
I couldn’t be a father. That kid—hell, any kid—deserved someone a hell of a lot better than I was. They called me Demon on the ice, and it wasn’t just because I was faster than a bat out of hell. It was because my temper was legendary. I was one of the Reapers’ enforcers, a fighter by nature. My hands were built for beating the shit out of my opponents, not holding a baby, and there was way more to parenting than holding a baby. There was...everything.
Shit, she was still crying.
“Does she have a bottle or something?” I asked, my grip tightening on Asher’s desk. The sound of her cry made me want to rip apart the room until I found something to make it stop.
“Now I know why the army uses baby cries for psy-ops,” Maxim muttered, flinching when she hit an especially ear-piercing pitch.
“I already fed her,” London said, adjusting her hold. “She’s clean, too.”
Thank God, because I’d never changed a diaper. Ever. Fuck. Diapers, wipes, cribs, clothes, bottles, formula...babies needed a lot of stuff, and I had nothing.
She might not even be yours.
The logical thought kept beating around in my skull, demanding to be acknowledged. NHL stars were banks to some people, and there was a good chance that this was just a scheme cooked up for an easy payday.
But there was something...an intangible, unidentifiable feeling that defied logic and screamed that she was mine.
“Brogan, are you listening?” Langley asked, waving her hand in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I muttered, shaking my head a little. “I can’t really think with her screaming like that.”
Her eyes softened with compassion. “Yeah, that happens. Just wait until it’s three a.m. and your brain quits.” She gave me a soft smile. “It’s going to be okay. I already have a plan.”
“Of course you do,” Axel said with a quick smile and a roll of his eyes.
“Hey, why isn’t yours making that noise?” I asked him across the room. I was the only guy on the team who didn’t have to look up to Axel because we were roughly the same height—considered giants as hockey players.