Page 51 of On Thin Ice

He leaned in and pressed his lips to my forehead, brushing his thumb across my palm. I fought back a shudder. All of this wasn’t helping my brain think rationally, which was what I needed to be doing.

Then, with one last smile, he dropped my hand and walked out of my condo. I sank down on the couch as the door shut behind him.

Could I really move to Denver? I needed to talk to Darcy, but it was late, and the Strikers had won, so I wouldn’t disturb her and Jake.

I chuckled. Like it mattered if they won or lost. Jake and Darcy were always all over each other.

I’d call her tomorrow. Tonight, I would finish this ice cream and make a list. Lists were helpful.

“Ugh,” I groaned into my quiet condo.

Why did he have to care?

DOM

I raked my hand through my hair, a common occurrence whenever I started thinking about Ally and our future—whatever the hell that future was. Fuck.

It’d been three days since I’d walked out of her apartment, and while we continued texting, it felt off. Maybe I was imagining it. Or maybe I was losing my damn mind. I rested my head against my chairback on the bus. We were heading to the LA arena for tonight’s game after squeaking out a win against Anaheim last night. My head had been all over the place, and Millsy was giving me some leeway, but I could tell my leash was getting shortened. I had to get my shit together, and soon. Last night, I’d taken astupid tripping penalty and had been minus three for the game. I definitely needed to step it up before I lost my second-line spot.

And, of course, my father had texted me multiple times in the last three days. First, to ask if I was really stupid enough to knock someone up, especially a teammate’s sister. I’d ignored him. My mother hadn’t reached out at all—not that I wanted her to.

But the texts from him last night had pissed me the fuck off. I didn’t need to scroll through them to remember the conversation.

Dad: Played like shit tonight.

Dad: That penalty shouldn’t have happened, but you don’t seem to be using your brain this season or last.

Dad: Why the fuck didn’t you wrap it up if you were going to fuck that girl?

Dad: The kid isn’t even here, and it’s already fucking with your head.

Dad: Don’t fucking ignore me, boy.

Dom: You don’t deserve a response, but fuck off, old man. Yeah, I had a bad game, and yeah, my life is going to change, but it’s my life, and you will not be a dick about Ally or our daughter. I will not tell you again.

Dad: Big words for someone kissing his career goodbye.

Dad: You’ll end up resenting each other. Just ask your mother. If she even cares. Bet she hasn’t reached out at all.

I squeezed my phone in my hand, unaware that I’d even pulled it from my pocket while remembering his tirade from last night.

Fucking asshole.

“You want to talk about it?” Micah asked from the seat next to me. He hadn’t said a word till now, and I appreciated that. I liked the guy. He was quiet and clearly thought things through before speaking.

He wouldn’t blurt out that he knocked up a girl or that she should move in with him in front of her pissed-off brother.

Fuck.

My shoulder still hurt from Harty sending me into the boards more than once three nights ago. A few of my old teammates had messaged me to see if I was still breathing and to rib me for getting Ally pregnant. I should have felt bad about my impending fatherhood no longer being a secret, but I was stupidly happy. Telling my father to fuck off and then not engaging with him had felt like a weight lifting from my shoulders, as well.

“Uh, not really.” I sighed, shoving thoughts of my father aside. “I don’t fucking know, man. It’s kind of a mess.”

“You nervous about Harty?” Micah asked.

“Nah.” I took a deep breath. “I asked Ally to move to Denver in front of him.”

He breathed out. “Woah, maybe you should be nervous. How’d she take it? And are you ready for that? It’s a massive change.”

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