Positives & Penalties: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 4)

by Heather C. Myers

  Kyle was currently sitting at his place on the bench, a towel wrapped around his lower torso, his blond hair dark gold and dripping with drops, revealing a recent shower. He was bare chested, bare foot, sitting there seemingly deep in thought.

  Emma wasn't sure if he knew she was there or not so she cleared her throat and remained standing where she was; across from him. He seemed like he might want space and she didn't want to push it if she didn't have to. Maybe she shouldn't have come in here at all.

  He looked beautiful, if tragic, and her fingers itched to push back the damp hair from his face. Not that it was in his eyes, considering how short he liked to wear his hair, but they longed to run through his tresses, to touch him again.

  He picked up his sky-blue eyes and when he saw her, they softened.

  "Hey," he murmured, his voice crisp and desolate.

  "Hey," she replied back. "You okay?" She quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward so her elbows rested on her knees. She gave him a soft, encouraging smile.

  "You saw that game," he said, his tone bitter as he leaned back and all but snorted. He crossed his arms over his chest and Emma couldn't help but feel her eyes get drawn to his biceps that stretched when he did so. "I was shit."

  "You were not -"

  "Don't try to patronize me, Em," he snapped his eyes flashing into hers. "Please. Be honest with me."

  Emma pressed her lips together. He wanted honesty. That was almost ironic, considering she had a big secret she probably should tell him but hadn't yet. Maybe she wouldn't anytime soon. She didn't know, wasn't sure. She hated this stupid game.

  "Okay," she said slowly, her eyes dropping to the tips of her chucks. "You want honesty? You're letting them get into your head."

  He blinked in surprise at her words but made no move to get defensive. In fact, if she was being honest, he almost seemed more receptive to what she had to say.

  As such, she cleared her throat and forced herself to continue.

  "You're letting them get into your head," she repeated. "You're thinking too much about playing and it looks like you aren't having fun anymore." She stopped, sucking out a breath and letting her hazel eyes rest on him. "Are you having fun?"

  Kyle continued to look at her. If anyone else was in the room, they would have originally assumed he was staring at her blankly save for the intense burning in his sky-blue eyes. They might be concerned for her, perhaps he was angry with her for speaking honestly to him. However, she knew Kyle well enough to know that he wasn't angry. If anything, he was hearing her, he was listening what she was saying and taking her words in, digesting them, seeing how well they fit in his system. Finally, he pressed his lips together and looked away. Though he hadn't actually responded to her question, she knew his answer.

  "Why not?" Emma asked in a soft voice. "I've seen you play, Kyle. Every single home game, I've been there. And even on an off-game, I've seen you have fun. I've watched you enjoy yourself. I've seen effort. But the past few weeks, ever since Vegas, it looks like you're at a job that you don't really like." She paused softly. "Why?"

  "I don't know." His voice was right. He still looked away.

  Emma felt compelled to move from her seat to sit next to him. She continued to keep her distance, she continued to refrain from touching him because she didn't want to smother him when she could tell he needed to be alone, at least for right now. Once he relaxed, she would feel it was more appropriate to touch him. Right now, this was about him, not about them as a couple.

  "I think you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself," she continued. "And you're analyzing it too much and thinking about it too much and then you mess up or make a bad decision."

  Kyle pressed his lips together and nodded his head, his eyes on his bare feet. He clenched his jaw, causing it to pop.

  "You need to stay out of the box," she told him.

  "I know," he snapped then winced. Emma didn't flinch, didn't take it personally. She knew this wasn't about her, it was about him. She couldn't take his reaction personally. "I know," he repeated, more gently. "It's like, I'm caught flat-footed and I can't catch up so I reach out my stick. Or we're in the defensive zone and I'm trying to clear the puck, it goes over the glass directly."

  "How do you think you can fix those mistakes?" Emma asked, sliding closer to him, still not touching him. He turned his head, his mouth still closed, but a question in his eyes. "When I see one of my students struggling, I have them take the next day off to do anything but dance. Distract themselves. Hopefully, it will rid them of the pressure they're feeling to get the steps right. When they come back, I explain that they are in control of their body. Not anyone or anything else. Which means they can take the necessary steps in order to correct their mistakes. Sometimes, that means practicing only the footwork. Sometimes, that means running and building stamina. Sometimes, that means visualizing the choreography. At the very least, they'll focus on something new, something different. A new way of looking at things really helps things fall into place." She stopped talking, allowing her words to sink in. "So what about you? What do you think you need to work on to improve?"

  He was silent for a long minute and Emma thought he wasn't going to tell her anything. Kyle had always been reserved, even with her. There were rare occasions when he would open up to her and tell her how he was feeling, which was how she knew she was special, how she was different, compared to the other people in his life. For the most part, however, he kept his feelings to himself and Emma had always been okay with that. She had accepted that that was who he was and it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. Emma was the same way so it helped that neither expected the other to open up and share feelings.

  However, maybe it was because of the new hormones racing through her body or maybe it was because of the fact that she hadn't really noticed things until now but she realized she wanted to speak to him about her feelings and she wanted him to open up more as well. She didn't want to be the couple that didn't say anything or share anything with each other; she wanted to feel comfortable telling him anything and she wanted him to do the same.

  Emma also realized that just because that was what she wanted didn't necessarily mean that that was going to happen. She glanced down at her folded hands resting in her lap, before looking back at Kyle with hopeful eyes. She didn't realize how important it was that he answer her question; however, she also knew that this wasn't going to change overnight. And if she did want it to change, she needed to be the one to make the first move and show him what it meant to share feelings.

  "You don't have to say anything," she told him, shrugging her shoulders. She felt uncomfortable with the silence, which was strange considering one of the things she was most attracted to Kyle was the fact that she was comfortable around him from the first time they officially met. And now, in this moment of intense silence where she was trying to help him and dig deeper into his playing issues, she was afraid he wasn't going to say anything. She was afraid he wasn't going to open up to her and share what was in his head, what was going on with him, what he was thinking about, what he was worrying about. And that scared her because she realized she wanted to know these things. She wanted to be the one he confided in, regardless of whether or not he preferred to keep his mouth closed and his feelings to himself.

  She wanted to be his exception.

  "No," Kyle said, shaking his head before picking it up so he could lock eyes with her. "It's not that. I'm just thinking about what you said."

  Emma nodded, pressing her lips together to keep from saying anything that might cause her to stick her foot in her mouth. She needed to be patient with him and if he chose not to share anything, she would have to accept it and maybe talk to him about at another time.

  "I've been slacking off when it comes to skating," he finally said, reaching behind him to cup the back of his neck with his hand. "I could do a lot more with my skating. I could push myself. I could run more and keep active. I could go to more optional skates."
He looked back at her, a small quirk to his lips as he regarded her. "I guess I've been slacking off a bit. It's hard to stay focused when I've been distracted."

  Emma felt her cheeks turn pink and she laughed despite herself. "Are you saying I'm the reason for your play the past few weeks? I don't think so, buddy."

  He laughed and pulled Emma to him so she was straddling his lap and locked her wrists around his neck. "It's the truth," he said, his voice dropping and his sky-blue eyes turning dark as he looked into hers. His hands gripped her hips and held her possessively.

  Emma sighed in his grasp, feeling both desire and safe at the same time. She could feel his hardness press against her through the thick towel he was wearing and she bit her bottom lip, feeling her eyes darken with her own lust and her heart race against her chest.

  There was no way he intended to take her in the locker room, where anybody could walk in - including the janitors, who were due in a few minutes.

  But then he started kissing her neck, in the most sensitive spot behind her ear and her eyes rolled back and nearly all rational thought left her mind, at least temporarily.

  "What about," she managed to get out, breathless. "What about Taboo?"

  "I don't care about Taboo when I have the most beautiful woman on my lap and only a towel between us," he growled and she gasped.

  It wasn't long before he had her panting. Her clothes were shed and his hands were all over her skin, cupping her hips, running up and down her back, getting lost in her hair. She felt her thighs moisten at his gentle caresses, could feel her pelvis thrum with anticipation feeling his hardness press against her.

  God, she loved making love to Kyle Underwood. She never doubted he had the experience to please any woman but there was something about him that made her burn with desire, lose her breath, want him more than she could ever know.

  It was only when he had positioned himself inside of her, angling his cock so it hit her in just the right spot that she dug her nails into his back and shuddered out a breath, when she realized they were having sex without a condom on.

  She should tell him, she knew. It didn't matter that she was already pregnant and therefore couldn't get pregnant, but Kyle didn't know that. However, considering how deeply he had buried himself inside of her, she didn't think the thought had even crossed his mind. Maybe she didn't have to remind him since there were really no other consequences she could think of. Kyle got tested every year and once they decided to have sex, they both got tested beforehand and shared the results with each other. She also knew he was faithful. The only consequence that could come from unprotected sex was pregnancy.

  And that had already happened.

  So she let herself relax and enjoy this time with Kyle. She allowed herself to really feel what it was like to make love without any restrictions or barriers. The connection she felt with Kyle in the moment was indescribable. She hated to admit it, but there really was a difference between protection and not having protection. And when they came, she shattered and clutched him to her, taking as much of him as she could get. They didn't stop until they were both spent. And then they rushed to get dressed so they wouldn't get caught.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Emma waited until her father had already left for work before calling her general physician and asking to make an appointment to confirm her pregnancy.

  "You know," the medical technician said, "we're just going to give you a pregnancy test and tell you the result. If you took one at home, there's really no need to get it confirmed. What we can do is refer you to some OBGYN's who specialize in pregnancy, labor and delivery and who are also in network and you can make an appointment with them as soon as possible."

  Emma agreed and wrote down the three names and phone numbers the technician gave her.

  After doing her research, she called up the first one - a Dr. Candace Howe located just across the street from Hoag Hospital, the nearest hospital to her home and, most likely, where she was going to deliver - if she was keeping the baby.

  A voice in her head snorted. 'You know you're keeping the baby,' it muttered. 'Stop kidding yourself.'

  The phone call to Dr. Howe's office lasted roughly fifteen minutes. They obviously took her insurance information and basic information including a name, a birth date, her smoking and drinking history, any allergies. They asked about her menstrual history, the day of her last period, and gave her the due date of November 9 - which could potentially change after her first ultrasound based on the size of the fetus.

  Surprisingly enough, they scheduled her roughly two weeks from now, which was odd considering Emma thought this was something doctors would try to fit her in same day - or at the very least, same week.

  "Yes, but we can't pick up baby's heart beat until roughly six weeks," the technician pointed out. "On the off chance that your dates are wrong - perhaps you ovulated later than an average cycle would indicate - we want to ensure that you come in and hear your baby's heart and be able to see baby on the ultrasound. This is why we push back the first appointments to roughly seven to eight weeks in pregnancy because if the dates are off, you're still likely to hear the heartbeat."

  This made sense to Emma now that everything was explained.

  The technician referred her to 'What to Expect' if there were things she wanted to know about or was curious as to what to expect. She also told Emma not to read stories online because each pregnancy was subjective.

  Finally, she gave Emma a list of food she couldn't eat, activities she couldn't partake in, and when to call the doctor or go to the emergency room.

  By the time Emma got off the phone, her head was swimming with overwhelm. She shook it, trying to get a hold of her swirling thoughts. She never thought pregnancy was easy, but now that she was experiencing this for herself, she realized just how complicated it could be.

  At that moment, her phone pinged with an email. She glanced down and noticed it was from her doctor's office.

  Congratulations on your pregnancy!

  Emma had to press her lips together to keep from reacting. Why did people naturally assume all pregnancies were wanted? Did that make her a bitch for even thinking? She clenched her jaw and looked away. She hoped not. It was hard for her to even admit she might want to keep this child - she kept going back and forth, back and forth. Her talk with Harper hadn't much helped, and it wasn't Harper's fault, it was because Emma was looking for someone to tell her what to do. She needed guidance, direction, because for the first time in nearly her whole life, she wasn't in control and she didn't know the right course of action.

  The only other time she felt that way was when her mother left. She had only been three at the time so she barely remembered the woman who gave birth to her, but she did remember the loss she had felt, that hole in her heart that was still there, even today.

  A year ago, one of her cousins on her mother's side had visited because she had wanted to meet Emma after all this time, but Emma refused. Her life was perfect, as far as she was concerned, and introducing a figure who had voluntarily left was not something she wanted to do. She didn't know how it would affect her life and, quite frankly, she didn't particularly care. As mean and as rude and as heartless as it sounded, she did not care about her mother. About the woman who chose to abandon her and her father. This person didn't get to choose when she was part of her daughter's life. Just because they were biologically related did not mean anything, at least not to Emma.

  Her eyes skimmed the email. It was basically consisted of everything they had just discussed over the phone, including the foods she wasn't allowed to eat, information about spotting, bleeding, and cramping during the first trimester, and what to expect from her first prenatal appointment.

  Four days before your appointment, you will be notified of a medical survey you must complete before your appointment. It will ask you for your medical history, your partner's medical history, and your family medical history on both sides. Please be as detailed as possible.<
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  Emma's eyes widened. Both sides of her family? She clenched her jaw and clocked off her phone. She did not want to talk to her mom about anything, especially not about being pregnant. Maybe she didn't need to. What about all the adopted mom's having their own children who didn't know anything about their parents.

  She clenched her jaw. There was no way she was going to get in contact with her mother if she didn't have to. Even if she had a way - Justin and her uncle had left a contact number with her father on the slim chance that Emma wanted to reach out to her mother - that didn't mean she would. In fact, once her cousin had left, Emma had instructed her father to trash the note. Trash the number. Trash everything that had to do with her mother. She didn't think he did. Her father knew when she was going based off of emotion and when she was being serious but it felt good saying it and pretending her father had actually listened to her.

  "Hey."

  She jumped, seeing her father in the doorway. He furrowed his brow upon seeing her jumpy reaction and tilted his head to the side.

  "You okay?" he asked, his voice slightly hesitant. "You seem tense."

  She shook her head, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. "I just have a lot on my mind," she told him. "You're here early."

  "Yeah," he agreed, nodding and closing the door behind him. "I finished a briefing and instead of heading back to the office, I decided to head home." He placed his briefcase on the dining table before heading to the living room and sinking into the leather theatre chairs her father had insisted they buy despite how expensive they were. "How are you feeling?"

  "Honestly, Dad?" she said, feeling her resolve slip. Even if she couldn't tell her dad everything about what was going on with her, she could at least tell him what was going on in her head. "I'm stressed out. I have this thing growing inside of me and I don't know how to handle it."