Page 18 of Arresting the Hockey Player
"I just need a place to crash tonight. I'll drive to my sister's place in the morning."
A dark laugh is forced from my chest. "Your sister? You don't think he'll look for you there?"
"We're not that close," Jasmine says. "He doesn't know where she lives. He's never met her."
Her idea is ludicrous. "You said it yourself. Your brother-in-law is a police officer. You don't think he can find that information? And you just said you weren't going to run and hide."
"I don't have a lot of options," Jasmine says. She cradles Zayn to her chest and rubs his back. "Maybe the paternity test is a good idea. If he's not Grant's son, then no court in their right mind would give him custody."
"No court would give him custody if they knew he was abusive," I challenge.
"I already told you, his brother—"
"I heard you." I can't just let it go. Whether the little boy is mine or not, he doesn't deserve to be raised by a monster.
She exhales a heavy sigh. "Can we just… continue this tomorrow?"
"Yeah, fine. You and the little one can share the guest bedroom. I don't have a crib. Does he need one?"
"We'll manage for tonight," Jasmine says. "Thank you."
* * *
By the time morning rolls around, I'm not in the best of moods. It's early, I barely slept, and when I stalk out of my bedroom, the guest door is wide open.
She's gone.
I shouldn't care.
Except that Jasmine might have had my son and hid it from me. I run a hand through my hair, put on a pot of coffee, and head to the bathroom to shower.
She didn't leave a note. Not that I anticipated she'd write me a letter, but some acknowledgment after last night's bombshell would have been great.
Will she follow through on the paternity test? Maybe she left early to avoid facing me and the fact that the kid is mine, and she knows it.
I'm in and out of the shower in minutes, dressed, standing by the counter, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
The math in my head, the little boy's age, lines up to about the last time I slept with Jasmine. Shit. He could be mine.
He also could be that dirtbag's son, in which case, I'd still help Jasmine and the boy, but my responsibility would end with getting them away from Grant.
It shouldn't even be my burden, but I can't just turn my back on her. Even if there were days I hated her for what she did, running off to marry Grant. Had she done it knowing she was pregnant but not knowing who the father was?
The coffee is bitter, and I swallow it without a drop of cream or sugar. I don't deserve anything sweet today, nor could I stomach it.
I head out for practice. I need to burn off some of this restless energy on the ice. I need to do something to make sure that my head is in the game tomorrow. At least it's a home game. I won't have to worry about traveling out of town.
Although, right now, that might be nice to get away from the shit show that has suddenly blown through my life.
* * *
"How was your night?" Jasper asks, wagging his eyebrows suggestively at me with a grin.
"Just fucking fine," I mutter. I should be in a better mood, considering I had the perfect evening with Charlotte, but that memory feels a million miles away, like it happened in another lifetime.
"Damn," Jasper says, sitting across from me in the locker room as we get dressed for another day of practice and training. "Did she tell you she just wants to be friends?"
"No." I don't elaborate. I change rather quickly and lace up my skates, wanting to get away from this line of questioning. At least on the ice, even doing drills, I can let my mind clear and feel free.
