Page 157 of His Big Bad Stick

He stumbles a little, then turns right around.

My right fist is cocked tight and I’m ready to spin his head around with one punch.

“You stay the fuck away from her,” I growl. “From this place. From her gallery. From everything to do with her.”

“You’re all protective now, huh? She’s pregnant. How about that. From one guy to another, right?”

“See, all I hear is you calling her slut again,” I say.

I finally punch Simon.

I have no choice in the matter.

I hit him in the gut.

Not too hard, but enough to make him lose his breath for a few seconds.

He coughs first. Then groans.

“You’re not paying attention!” Simon yells. “I have a say in this!”

I grab the front of his shirt and I’m ready to hit him in the nose. He’s already bleeding a little from smacking his face off the glass door.

“What if the baby is mine?” Simon cries out.

I freeze. “What?”

“What the fuck? Are you dumb? She was with me! You do know that, right? We were together! And then she met you. Fine. I don’t care. She can do whatever she wants. But how do you know that baby is yours, huh? How do you know?”

I let go of Simon’s shirt and he backs up.

“Stay away from her,” I growl. “If I ever see you again I will hurt you.”

“You say that now, man. But if that baby is mine…”

I step toward Simon and he starts to run off.

He runs like his legs are made of cheap rubber.

It’s the damn goofiest run I’ve ever seen. Like an emu charging across a field.

I should be laughing at the guy…

I turn my head and see Abrielle inside the coffeeshop.

Now I feel like someone punched me in the stomach.

Is it possible that the baby in Abrielle’s belly isn’t mine?

We’re flying out in the morning to go down to Atlanta for two games.

I don’t have to pack up and leave right now.

I tell myself this over and over as I stare down at the bag on the bed.

Abrielle walks into the bedroom. “I didn’t realize you were… leaving…”

“Hockey life, kitten,” I say, gritting my teeth.

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