My career.
My team.
“And,” he said. “You and Jeannine were around each other enough to know neither of you had babies on the brain. Hell, I’m pretty sure she told me she never wanted kids.”
“Right,” Gage said. “She always reminded me of you when she talked like that.” Gage flashed me a pitying look, and I glared at him. He shrugged.
“So,” Rory went on. “That would be enough to not want to tell you. Or, she likely thought you got the message and didn’t care.”
I snarled. “I’m not a heartless asshole.”
“I know,” Rory said, holding up his hands. “I know, trust me. But she may not. Or she may have made herself believe this was some kind of burden to you.”
Fuck.
“It’s not,” I said, shocked as hell those words came out of my mouth.
Because what had I always said?
What had I always thought?
That a wife and kids would be a distraction from the game. From the career I spent my whole life working toward. One I was riding in my prime right now. One I didn’t want to end any time soon. One I didn’t want to choose between when it came down to it or something else.
But this? I hadn’t prepared for this on any sort of level.
“What are you going to do?” Gage asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “She was so pissed when she stormed out of here.”
Rightly so.
“I was kind of a dick,” I admitted.
“You were angry,” Rory said. “That’s totally understandable. We’d all be roaring if they’d hid it from us.”
Gage nodded in agreement.
“What are you going to do?” he asked again.
“Talk to her?” I tilted my head. “If she’ll let me.” I unlaced my skates and bolted off the bench, needing a shower. A minute to get my head right. “I never wanted to be a dad,” I admitted as I grabbed a towel from my bag. “But now…”
Now what?
I couldn’t get Jeannine out of my head before.
Couldn’t stop wondering what she was doing but was too much of a coward to call her.
I should’ve checked in.
I should’ve done a lot of things.
“Something shifted when she said the words,” I said. “If she’ll let me…I want to be there for her.”
“How?” Rory asked.
A fair question.
One I wasn’t close to having an answer too.
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
Gage nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Rory did the same.
“We’re here for you,” Gage said. “Whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I said, nodding as they headed out.
I walked in a fog to the showers, not really feeling the steaming hot water. Going through the motions, I wasn’t really there.
I was with her.
Trying to change my reaction.
Trying to find a way to make her see I wasn’t some guy who would check out when the stakes were raised.
She’ll never believe you.
But that wouldn’t stop me from trying.
Chapter 3
Jeannine
“Damn it!” I snapped, slamming the copper skillet down and booking it out of the kitchen in my restaurant. I nearly knocked over Rafael on my way out.
My stomach rolled, and I barely made it to the bathroom. I heaved but had nothing left to give. I’d already thrown up everything at home before I came into work.
After a few minutes, and a few splashes of cold water to my face, I took a deep breath. “Baby,” I said, holding my stomach. “Mommy needs you to cool it with this attitude. I know we had a shit day yesterday but please don’t take it out on me.”
Or do.
Since it’s my fault.
Oh God, everything that happens to this child from now until I die will be my fault.
I leaned over the sink, another wave of nausea crashing over me for an entirely different reason.
“Jeannine?” Warren’s voice sounded from the door, and my eyes snapped to it. One perfectly sculpted arm held open the ladies’ room door, but his face was turned away.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, standing straight to inspect myself in the mirror.
My chef’s coat was a bit tight due to the baby-ball-belly, but we didn’t look half bad.
Not that I cared what Warren thought. His gruff response to me showing up yesterday was enough to shoot that fantasy all to shit.
“We need to talk,” he said, still looking away.
I dried my hands, threw the crumpled paper towel in the trash, and brushed past him in a hurry. I stomped back into my kitchen, finding my copper skillet full of seared halibut had already been sent.
“Thanks, Rafael.” The kid was brilliant and had been picking up my slack for the last couple of months. The second I was given the go-ahead by investors to open my fourth location, I was going to make him head chef. He still didn’t have a clue.
“Jeannine,” Warren said my name again, this time walking straight through my kitchen doors like he owned the place.
He didn’t.
I did.
I glanced at the pile of tickets in the window, calling off orders as I read them.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Hot damn, that chest.
It was more defined than six months ago if that was possible. I hadn’t been able to notice in all that hockey gear yesterday, but training with his native Canadians had turned the already sculpted man into a freaking Adonis. And the way his dark eyes stared me down, unwavering, unflinching…it was enough to make my body hum like a backup generator had started.
No, bitch. No!
I was horny as hell thanks to these hormones and not having an orgasm since the night of my little baby-ball’s conception. But that didn’t mean I was going to go all moony-eyed over Warren.
Not after yesterday.
“I assumed we talked everything out yesterday,” I said, slipping a piece of salmon into a fresh skillet. The sizzle was a gorgeous sound I lived for.
The smell?
Fuck. My. Life.
I spun away as the steam rising from the pan hit my face, one hand on my back, the other on my tummy as I bent over the prep table next to my stove.
Deep breaths—in and out—I would not throw up every single time I cooked.
A pair of strong, warm hands were on my back, and without meaning to, I closed my eyes. My skin remembered his touch as it tightened with need.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice calm, steady.
Baby-ball wiggled as my heart rate soared, and suddenly the nausea was replaced with…anger.
I whirled around, jerking away from his touch. “No!”
I handed Rafael my tongs, silently telling him I’d be right back. He nodded, and I once again found myself loving that kid. I hurried out of the kitchen, turning left down the hallway, and flying into my office that was tucked into a back corner. Warren shut the door behind me, and I spun to face him.
“I’m so far from all right, Warren,” I said his name like an insult.
This wasn’t his fault.
Not really.
But he’d hurt me yesterday.
I never let men hurt me.
Never let them get close enough to sting.
Plus, I was beyond hormonal.
I flung my hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Lately, I can’t smell any cooked protein without wanting to puke,” I snapped. “Which is brilliant since I’m a fucking chef!” My breathing was ragged, but I pushed on. “The owner of the ancient building I’ve had my eye on for years is finally ready to sell to me. Because I know a few Sharks and he’s a huge fan…” I eyed him, but the words kept coming. “I have this huge benefit in a few months to get the fourth location greenlit from investors, and the building owner, and the high-pr
ofile guest list isn’t coming together like I planned.”
I moved my fingers, pinching my thumb and forefinger together.
“And,” I continued. “I just found out this morning that because my complex’s yearly inspection turned up one tiny spec of black mold, the entire place has to be renovated. So, not only am I hugely pregnant, hormonal, and can’t cook, but I’ve got no home.” I huffed. “I’m supposed to nest soon! And I can’t!”
I dropped my hand, smacking it against my black legging covered thigh. I had a pair in a variety of colors—the soft things had been a godsend since the first trimester.
Warren’s arms were loose at his sides, his eyes sincere, tuned-in.