Page 136 of Daddies on Ice
Dark circles ring my eyes, and my usually vibrant complexion looks pale and drawn.
I’ve barely slept, my mind spinning with scenarios of how this conversation will go.
How do you tell three men that one of them might be the father of your child?
How do you explain that you have no idea which one?
The February air bites at my cheeks as I make my way through the facility.
My stomach churns, though I can’t tell if it’s morning sickness or pure anxiety. Probably both.
I’ve rehearsed what I’m going to say a hundred times, but every version sounds inadequate.
Carl’s office door is slightly ajar, and I can hear their voices inside, deep, familiar tones that make my heart race despite everything.
I pause, pressing my palm against my still-flat stomach. In a few months, there will be a baby.
A tiny person who deserves to know their father, who deserves stability and love.
I knock softly and push the door open.
All three of them are there, arranged around Carl’s desk like they’re preparing for battle.
Carl sits behind his desk, his silver hair catching the overhead light, those piercing blue eyes immediately finding mine.
Jake lounges in one of the chairs, but his usual easy smile is replaced with concern.
Ash stands near the window, his broad shoulders tense, brown eyes studying me with that protective intensity I know so well.
“Trisha.” Carl’s voice is warm but cautious as he rises from his chair. The way he says my full name, never the nickname, sends a familiar flutter through me that I try to ignore.
“Hey, Tish.” Jake’s voice is softer than usual, missing its typical teasing edge. “You look…”
“Tired,” I finish for him, managing a weak smile. “I know.”
Carl gestures to the large television mounted on his office wall. “The docuseries company sent over the rough cut yesterday. Thought we should all see it together before it airs next week.”
The irony isn’t lost on me.
We’re about to watch a documentary about our unconventional relationship, and I’m carrying a secret that could change everything between us.
I settle into the remaining chair, hyperaware of how close Jake is sitting, how his cologne mingles with Carl’s subtle aftershave and Ash’s clean, masculine scent.
I should tell them now, before we start the documentary, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Before we start,” Ash says, his voice taking on that protective tone that always makes my pulse quicken, “have you heard anything from Mica? Any more messages or threats?”
I shake my head, and that’s what worries me most. “Nothing. Complete silence for over a week now. It’s…unsettling.”
Carl’s jaw tightens. “Men like him don’t just give up.”
“Maybe he finally got the message,” Jake suggests, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Or maybe he’s planning something bigger,” Ash mutters, running a hand through his short blonde hair.
The thought sends a chill down my spine, but I force myself to focus on the present. “Let’s just watch the documentary. We can worry about Mica later.”
Carl dims the lights and starts the video.
