Page 76 of Hooked On Them

My mouth opened and closed a few times, no sound coming out. This was it, the moment of truth. Literally.

I couldn’t lie to my dad about the father, no matter how much easier it would be. Eventually, the truth would come out, which was a whole other issue I was going to have to deal with. “It’s not Miles’s baby.”

Dad’s brow furrowed, and there was a beat of silence while he waited for me.

“It’s Dominic Wilson’s.”

The words hung in the air between us like a live grenade. I watched emotions flicker across my dad’s face: shock, confusion, and finally, something that looked unnervingly like resignation.

“Dad, say something.” He was making me nervous, and of all people, I needed him to be calm.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging slightly. “How did this even happen, Nora?”

“Well, when two people have sex, sometimes the protection doesn’t work.” The snark in my voice did nothing to hide my hurt. I sounded like a petulant teenager instead of a grown woman, but old habits die hard when it came to your parents.

He sighed and took my hand, his grip gentle but firm. “I want what’s best for you, and I don’t trust him. Not with his history, and certainly not with who his father is.” The mention of Dominic’s father made my shoulders tense.

I hated that it always came back to that man. Even Dominic defaulted to letting his father dictate his perception of himself. “That’s not fair. You don’t even know him.”

“I’ve seen how he operates on the ice with all flash, no foundation. And that father of his...” He shook his head. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I pulled my hand away, crossing my arms over my chest. The gesture felt childish, but I couldn’t help it. Everyone had opinions about Dominic, but none of them knew how he’d looked at the first ultrasound or how he’d started sending me daily dad jokes on top of the treats and gifts he’d already been sending.

“That’s not always true.” The defense felt hollow even to me. Hadn’t I harbored the same doubts? “He’s been... trying. Since finding out.” He was still like a startled pit bull, but we’d been making progress.

My dad studied my face. “And Miles? Where does he fit into this picture? Because that photo looked pretty convincing.”

I sank deeper into the couch, hugging my pillow. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be.” He settled back, crossing one leg over the other.

So, I told him everything.

The yacht in very vague terms that made us both uncomfortable, the surprise pregnancy, the fake relationship with Miles to protect my job and reputation, and Carter becoming part owner of the team.

By the end, Dad was pinching the bridge of his nose like he did when his team blew a power play opportunity. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess. What does Wilson really want? Beyond keeping this quiet?”

“He wants to be involved.” I shrugged, trying to seem more nonchalant than I felt. “He came to the ultrasound. He’s calling the baby Gummy Bear. He’s checking in on me and sending me treats. That’s something, right?”

“It is, but letting other men step in?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What are you going to do? Have three men and a baby?”

I laughed, which quickly turned into a choked-sounding cry. “I don’t know.”

My dad pulled me back into a hug, and I melted into the embrace, suddenly exhausted from the weight of pretending my life was normal.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered into my hair, “you’ve got me. Always.”

The simple declaration broke what remained of my composure. I buried my face against his shoulder and cried quiet, overwhelmed tears that seemed to come from some deep, uncertain place inside me.

Somehow, I had three men orbiting my life like planets around a very confused, hormonal sun. I’d woven an increasingly tangled web that seemed to double in complexity with every passing day.

* * *

I’d just managed to achieve the perfect temperature equilibrium with fuzzy socks pulled up to my legging-covered calves, an oversized UCLA sweatshirt, and a chenille throw blanket wrapped around my legs like a burrito. On the TV, some baking competition played with contestants making gravity-defying chocolate sculptures that should’ve interested me but barely registered as I stared through rather than at the screen.

The emotional hangover from my dad’s visit lingered like a persistent headache. Every time I thought about the subtle look of disappointment mixed with concern on his face when I’d told him about Dominic, my stomach clenched.

My phone buzzed from somewhere within my blanket cocoon. I ignored it.

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