Page 53 of Power Play with My Brother's Irish Friends

29

MIRANDA

Why did I feel like the world’s biggest, fattest liar? Drawing the blue satin covers up over my head, I screamed into my pillow until all the breath in my lungs evaporated. I had no idea when Charlie had slipped out last night, but since Austin hadn’t burst into my room to yell at me, I guessed he’d made it out okay. Me? Not so much. I’d spent the last three days with the most incredible men in the world, and what did I have to show for it? Three incredible memories. Three incredible experiences I would never forget. And an aching heart too eviscerated to be trusted with making a single decision.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked the Tiffany lamp sitting on the solid mahogany table beside my bed because who else could I talk to? Austin was out of the question, and I had no close friends, especially not one I could trust with the full scope of this problem. It was up to me to figure out my next move, but nothing made any sense. Letting out another groan, I rolled onto my back and banged my fists on the bed, throwing a temper tantrum that would make any kid proud. The release of tension and anger helped clear my head enough to try and process my problem.

The sight of my familiar room comforted me. I’d had Austin bring in a decorator to make the space personal, and after sending her a few samples of what I liked, she’d turned the room into a winter wonderland of blues and grays with bright spots of color like the yellow curtains covering the windows at my balcony and the rich earth tones of the hand-carved furniture that brought it all together. Austin could keep the rest of his house plain and unassuming, but my room needed pizzazz.

Sitting up, I dropped my head into my hands and planted my elbows on my knees, bending my head so I spoke to my belly. “What do you think? None of them mentioned each other. And I never agreed to date any of them.” My breath stuttered in a quick inhale at the sharp lance of pain that tore through my heart. “They didn’t ask me to date them, which is kind of suspicious. But I’m not going to spiral down that far. It wasn’t cheating.” I knew that to the very core of my being. Still… “Am I a bad person? I sure feel like one.” Releasing my head with one hand, I cupped the tiny mound of my stomach and sighed. I’d fallen for three very different men. Three men who treated me with kindness, tenderness, and all the love I could ever want. Why couldn’t I choose one of them and be happy?

“Your uncle is going to lose his mind when I tell him I’m in love with his teammates. He’d lose it over one of them, but when he learns that I can’t choose and I want all three? Game over.” I slashed a hand through the air. “He’s not a bad guy, your uncle. Protective. A little conceited. But a great guy.” I held onto hope that he’d understand. “If I can get him to listen, he’ll understand.” And he’d have questions. So many questions. “I can’t hide you much longer.” My emotions rioted into a nasty, tangled knot that brought tears to my eyes. “I’m not ashamed of you. Not ever. Life is just complicated, and sometimes it sucks.” The secret I’d been keeping was so much bigger than my emotional attachment to Duncan, Charlie, and Patrick. Pregnancy wasn’t something I’d expected at this stage in my life, but I welcomed it. I welcomed the babies growing inside me and vowed to do everything in my power to raise them into kind, compassionate humans. “I have to tell them.”

I’d known it since the minute I saw Patrick at the airport. They all deserved to know the truth, and they would all want answers. I had to tell them before I headed back to New York. Better to get it out of the way now instead of springing the surprise on them later.

“They won’t be mad.” I said it for myself, and the force behind the words bolstered my courage. Even if none of them wanted to be fathers, they would not hold the pregnancy against me. I worried they’d be angry that I kept it a secret for so long. I worried they’d lose interest in me as soon as I told them about the babies. “They’re not like Luther.” My voice grated out his name like a curse. It was a curse. He was a curse, a scourge on all mankind. I’d begun to expect rejection after Luther’s betrayal. I expected it now, my heart already aching with the loss that hadn’t happened. “Love is complicated.” I fell back into the pillows and scrubbed both hands down my face, trying to convince my body to roll to the edge of the bed so I could stand and get into the shower. One failed attempt at love shouldn’t prejudice me like this, but being burned so thoroughly left a sour taste in my mouth. Or maybe that was nothing more than my morning breath.

“How should I tell them?” I refocused my attention on my stomach.

My phone pealed out a series of short rings, the sound distant and muffled. I checked the other table where I usually left it plugged in overnight. No phone. Where was it then? Oh, right. I’d left it in my pocket, in the jeans I’d kicked aside last night. Well, what better motivation to get out of bed than to answer the phone? I kicked free of the covers and padded over to the pile of clothes, fishing the phone out while muttering under my breath at the inside out legs making it difficult. By the time I extracted it, the ringing had stopped and started up again.

“Hello?” It came out in a breathless rush after taking note of the hockey team’s coach’s number on the screen. We’d exchanged numbers when I first arrived to help Duncan, but I’d never expected him to have a reason to use it. My heart stopped. What if someone was hurt…

“Miss Lake.” The business tone soothed my suddenly rattled nerves. “We have a situation with Michael, one of our rookie players.”

“Yes?” I racked my brain for my notes on the players. Michael Corbin. Youngest on the team. Hot-headed, temperamental, and well on his way to becoming a star player. “What happened?”

“Punk ass kid thinks he’s the next Duncan, that’s what happened.” Coach expelled a rush of expletives fast enough to make even my head spin. “Kid’s in the drunk tank at the local police department. They picked him up for being drunk and disorderly but decided not to charge him.”

I pressed my thumb and forefinger into my eye sockets and nodded. “Not a good look for the youngest guy on the team. Media will chew him up and spit him out.”

“Yeah. That’s why I called. Reporters are already camped out in front of the police department. News right off the bat this morning was that he threatened to beat someone over the head with a bar stool because the guy pushed him. No way to verify the story since the bar doesn’t have cameras and no one is willing to talk. He was there alone.” Coach stopped and the sound of keys tapping drifted through the silence. The deep inhale straightened my shoulders. “Anyway. I heard you were in town for the weekend. Any chance you’d be willing to help us take care of this?”

A rookie player showing that kind of anger and aggression outside of the rink was bound to keep attracting attention. The potential for a PR nightmare sprang up with the few words I’d heard from Coach.

“Absolutely.” No way I’d let all my hard work go to waste. I hurried to the bathroom, catching sight of my face in the mirror, I grimaced. “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you at the station.”

“Thank you.” I’d never heard that much relief and exhaustion mixed up together in two words.

“You’re welcome.” One hour. Fuck. I’d done it to myself, and I’d pulled off jobs like this before, but one hour to shower, dress, and prepare our argument to appease the masses left me with no time to keep thinking about my personal dilemma.

---