Page 57 of The Stick Handler

My doorbells rings and I head back to the living room to find Zander opening the door for his sister. Her hair in a frazzled mess, she steps around him, plants her hands on her hips and gives me a scalding glare.

Air leaves my lungs in a rush, like I’d just been body checked. For a tiny might of a girl, her scowl sure packs a punch

She waves her finger at me, her mess of short blonde hair bobbing around her chin. “First things first, if you’re going to have a baby in here, you need to get this place cleaned up,” she says. I take in the room from her eyes. Empty pizza boxes, Chinese food containers, bags of chips and dozens of bottles are littered throughout the room. Yeah, okay, it’s a pigsty, but we were celebrating.

“I’m not even convinced she’s mine, Quinn.”

The amber flecks in her blue eyes flare bright. Could she hate me any more? “Clean up,” she says, “and put a damn shirt on already.” She starts stacking bottles in her arm, clinking them together, and Zander reaches for the pizza boxes to help.

I stand there, dumfounded. Wait, Quinn is going at this situation like I’m actually going to keep the child here with me, in my house.

Oh, hell no. I’m not fit to be a father.

“I can’t keep Daisy here, Quinn,” I say, pointing to the sleeping baby in Liz’s arms. “I have no idea how to take care of a baby.” I grip my hair. “Jesus, I have a career to think about, and the last thing I want is to be a father or settle down with a family.”

She glares at me, and so help me God, if looks could kill, I’d be riding shotgun on the bus to Hell.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she says.

Jesus, does she have to be so mean? Yeah, okay, I know I’m a selfish prick, but at least I know it and don’t pretend otherwise. And yeah, she’s right. It is too late for that.

Quinn:

I’m so pissed off, I’m sure there is steam coming out of my ears. I can’t stand for a man to shirk his responsibilities, and seeing Jonah standing there, denying the baby is even his, makes me want to throat punch him.

I’ve never, for one minute, liked the way my brother or his best friend lived, puck bunnies in their beds every night. At least now Zander has seemed to settle down with Liz. Seriously though, did Jonah not think that it would catch up to him? That something like this would eventually happen? Sure, he’s the golden boy of the NHL, but this is reality, and he needs to clean up his act and stand up to be the man Daisy needs him to be. She deserves that much from him. Especially after being abandoned by her mother.

My stomach takes that moment to clench, and I stop what I’m doing long enough to swallow down the pain of my own abandonment. How can a mother just up and leave her child? I glance at the sweet bundle being held by Liz and my heart squeezes.

Jonah must know what I’m thinking because he puts his big hand on my back.

“Quinn, I really appreciate you helping me out like this.”

He splays his fingers, and as the heat of his touch goes right through me, goose bumps pebble my skin, despite the warmth inside his mansion.

Honest to God, I hate myself right now. Hate how much I like his touch. He’s a selfish prick who cares about no one but himself. How could I ever like a guy like that…fantasize about being in his bed?

I’m such an idiot.

I shake him off me and stiffen. “Let’s get one thing straight, Jonah. I’m not here for you, I’m here for Daisy. That poor child can’t be left alone with you until you get yourself together and be the father she needs you to be.”

He holds his hands up in surrender and ste

ps back. “Okay, thanks for helping, Daisy,” he says.

My gaze drops to his bare chest, to the hills and valleys my fingers itch to touch. I briefly pinch my eyes shut and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Put on a shirt.”

“Okay, okay,” he says and darts up his stair. I watch him go, admire his ass in those nice-fitting jeans.

When I look at Liz, she’s biting back a smile.

“What?” I ask, and narrow my gaze.

She shakes her head hard. “Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

I carry the empty bottles into the kitchen, and my brother is pulling a garbage bag out from under the sink. “Zander,” I say, and he turns to me, a worried look on his face. I drop the bottles into the bag and glance around the kitchen.

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