Page 42 of Beautiful Storm

My eyes water again and I swallow back the emotion. I’ve spent too many hours crying over that period of my life, and I’ve moved on.

And since the sight of his name makes me anxious, I’m seriously considering not telling my mom about the baby, knowing she’ll likely run to tell Dad. The last thing I need is for my dad to try and worm his way back into my life, hoping for a second chance at being present.

I deserve better, and there’s no way in hell I’d put my kid through that.

After canceling the call, I throw my phone onto the passenger seat before banging my head against the backrest and giving myself a pep talk.It’s time to focus, it’s time to be professional, and it’s time to get the hell out of the car.

Taking another deep breath, I grab my things and throw open the door, not allowing myself a second longer to wallow. Having a baby is agoodthing and it far outweighs thebad. I need to get over it. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I straighten out my dress and stand tall just as one of the players, Reed, steps into what I thought was my private bubble, making me jump.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his brows furrowed as he watches me.

I glance away, subtly wiping a hand over my face to clear up any stray tears. When I turn back to face him, I smile at his concerned expression. “Yes, thank you. I’m just tired.”

“I saw you wiping your eyes.”

Of course he did. “I promise. I’m fine. I was just thinking about something I read last night. A sad story. You don’t need the details.” I’m only half lying in this scenario—I did read a sad story about a couple who’d been together all their lives and died within a day of each other—but I wasn’t thinking about that just now.

Reed eyes me suspiciously. From his interview and from talking with his teammates, I’ve come to learn that Reed is the caring guy on the team. The media even nicknamed him the Golden Boy. He’s the guy that never puts a foot wrong and will protect his teammates at all costs. On and off the field.

And something about his expression tells me he just added me to his list.God knows why.

“Are you sure?” he pushes as if proving my point. “You were staring at your phone before you threw it on the seat. I’m going to go out on a limb and say it wasn’t the phone that did you wrong.”God, how long was he watching me?

“Wow. What made you choose football over investigative journalism?” The verbal dig is out in the world before I’ve thought it through, and I rush to cover my mouth, my eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” I mumble behind my hand. “That was uncalled for. I do that when I’m stressed.”

Reed stares at me for a second before he bursts out laughing. “I did it for the ladies. Football players get the girls. Whereas those journalists…”

“Not so much.” I drop my hand, more at ease despite the fact that he’s lying for my sake. He doesn’t want the girls. Plural. He wantsone. He’s in love with his best friend. It was obvious from the way he spoke of her. But then his teammate Wyatt confirmed it.

“Not even close.” Reed waggles his eyebrows and I join his laughter. “Are you heading inside?” he adds, pointing over his shoulder to the door Luke previously entered, making my heart clench.

“I am.”Unfortunately.

“Okay, I’ll walk you in. Maybe I can turn that frown upside down.”

At that my chest heats and a warm smile spreads across my face. “You don’t have to,” I say honestly, waving a hand in front of my face. “Mission accomplished.”

Now I just need to keep up the charade until I get the chance to talk to Luke. Easy-peasy. Right?

An hour later, some of the guys are on the field ahead of their next preseason game, while I’m on the sidelines making notes and taking photos, pretending I’m not anxious as hell.

I may be two pages in, but I have no idea what I’ve been writing because all I can think about is getting through this day so I can finally get this secret off my chest.

I exit out of my notes screen, ready to give in, when a to-do item pops up, reminding me I have to send Preston my music video idea.Yay!Ugh. If I don’t do it soon he’s likely to chase me, and I’d rather avoid future contact, especially now that I have more important things to contemplate…like being a mom.

After putting my tablet and camera away, I dig around my bag to find my ideas notebook and flip through the pages, looking for the specific song, as a wave of nostalgia hits me. Along with my journals, this book has been my biggest confidant since I was in high school—which means some of the ideas are hilarious. You could say not all my work stood the test of time. But when I come to the “Wicked Style” notes, I hold my breath as my heart races. I love this idea. But just like Preston himself, I need to forget it. After taking a photo with my phone, I rip the page from my book and shove it aggressively into my bag.

Am I giving in? Maybe. But I can’t look at it like that. I’m doing this to cut Preston from my life, and in the long run, that’s more important than a single idea.

A figure walks in front of me as I’m typing out my message and when I glance up, I spot Luke talking to the offensive line coach, laughing at something he says, once again making me picture a little boy or girl laughing the same, their little faces lit up in happiness.

My heart skips until Luke catches me staring, his smile replaced with a glare.

What the hell was I thinking?

Of all the people I could have slept with… Hell, a stranger would have been better. At least then we’d be starting with a clean slate. How can I share custody with Luke—if he even wants that—while the two of us hold so much anger toward each other. That’s no way to bring a child into the world.

We need a truce. A ceasefire. An agreement. Something to ensure we’re civil when it comes to our child. Our baby comes first.

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