“Another round?” Gigi asked as she passed their table.
Jackson nodded. “Keep ’em coming,” he said, his speech slightly slurred.
“You know what, I think we’re good,” Ben said with a smile.
Gigi checked her notepad. “James Dessner from the hardware store and Kiffer Patrick from the fire hall are still waiting to buy you guys a round, and I’ll lose my job faster than Ben filed for divorce if Wilson hears me turning down paying customers,” she said.
“Nice, Gigi.” Someone just had to say something.
She touched his arm with a warm smile. “You know I couldn’t resist, honey. What do I do about the drinks?”
It was the same every time he and Asher were in town for a few days. He appreciated the locals’ appreciation, but with him and Asher not drinking much during the season, poor Jackson reaped the benefits of the free booze with a nasty hangover. “We’ll take them in rounds of soda,” he said, tossing a large tip on her tray.
She beamed. “You got it.” The wink she threw his way and the extra sway in her thin hips as she sauntered back toward the bar for their next nonalcoholic round was wasted. He didn’t get involved with women from his hometown. He wasn’t a complete idiot. Breaking hearts and keeping things fun and casual on the road was one thing, but the moment he messed around with a local, he was doomed. He was a hero in town, and he wanted to keep it that way. Besides, he’d grown up with all of these women; they all seemed like extended family. It would be like dating his sis…He shook his head. Jesus. Gross.
He prayed Kevin Sanders could get him out of this marriage mess quickly. So far, no one in town appeared to have lost respect for him, but he knew he was walking a thin line with this quickie wedding and divorce. And everyone was already watching him, waiting for any sign of “the choke.” Since making it to the NHL, the pressure to be the best, to not let down his fans, had only increased the better he played.
“So, tell us about this woman,” Jackson said, leaning closer.
“I really don’t want to talk about Kristina Sullivan,” he mumbled.
“Not her—the lawyer—Ms. Davis,” Jackson said. “Mom hasn’t stopped talking about how fantastic she is.”
So much for family loyalty. “I don’t want to talk about her, either.” It was bad enough he couldn’t stop thinking about her. An image of her curves in the white dress had plagued him all night. The more time he spent with her, the more his attraction for her grew. Despite her reputation for getting her clients everything they wanted in court, she was kind and easygoing. Strong and determined, but not the ball-busting, man-hating attorney he’d thought she’d be.
And he knew she was fighting a similar attraction to him. He could sense it in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, the way she’d stiffened in his arms and ran away as soon as the song ended.
“Abby says she’s beautiful.”
He nodded and shrugged at the same time. “So are a lot of women.”
“Exactly. Ben’s not about to let some woman get in his head and affect his game, right?” Asher said, looking to him for confirmation.
Too late for that. He drained the contents of his glass and looked around. “Where’s Gigi?”
Asher’s expression changed to a panicked one. “Ben…”
Man, was the cup the only thing anyone cared about? “Look, don’t sweat it, okay? She’s not in my head. She’s just…aggravating.” And hot and tempting as hell.
“Aggravating,” Asher repeated, shaking his head. “Shit, here we go again.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” This thing with Olivia was nothing like the thing with Janelle. He’d been head over heels for his ex…He ran a hand over his hair and checked his watch. He had to get back to Denver. But he stayed in the booth, noticing Dr. Chelsey approach.
“Hey, boys, how are you?”
The older man was once the head gynecologist at the local hospital, and he’d opened a fertility clinic several years ago. His reputation and the clinic’s success rate had couples flocking to the small-town clinic. His question may have been directed at the three of them, but he was studying Ben.
“Don’t worry, Doc. That cup is as good as ours,” he said wryly.
“Oh, I wasn’t worried.”
Sure.
“I came over because I need something from you boys,” the man said, sliding into the booth next to Asher and setting another round on the table.
“No can do. My swimmers belong to one woman only,” Jackson said, picking up his empty beer glass and tipping it back to catch the last few drops.
Ben grinned at the doctor’s expression. “He’s cut off.” He moved the new pints of beer out of Jackson’s reach. “What can we do for you?” He wasn’t willing to donate sperm, either, but he didn’t think the man went around soliciting it.
Ben doubted a family and kids were in his future, but he could appreciate how important they were to couples who longed for a family. Watching his nieces grow up was enough for him, but he saw the love and special bond his sister and husband had with their girls. And even the way Jackson had stepped into the role of stepdad for Abby’s daughter, Dani…But after things ended with Janelle, he’d pushed away the thought of children.
An image of Olivia flashed in his mind; the look on her face when he’d asked her about kids—and a husband—had been telling. She obviously did have hopes for a family, so why she didn’t have one, he was interested in finding out.
Which was just stupid. Getting to know her any more on a personal level was only asking for trouble. If he had a hard time forgetting about her after the brief glimpses she’d allowed him, he wasn’t sure he could walk away unscathed if he found out more.
“That’s not what I meant,” Dr. Chelsey was saying. “Karen and I are hosting a dinner party with a silent auction next month at the country club, and I’d love to have autographed jerseys, sticks…anything you boys can provide.”
Asher opened his coat and retrieved a puck.
Ben grinned. “You carry a puck around?” Ben loved the sport, but his little brother took the obsession to a whole new level.
“You don’t?” Asher countered. He pulled the cap off of a white marker and scribbled his name on the puck. “There you are.”
Dr. Chelsey smiled. “Great. Thanks, Asher.” He studied the puck. “Actually, if I can get another one of these, I’ll keep this one for myself. Ben, could you sign it, too?”
Asher frowned, but reluctantly handed over the white marker as Ben took the puck from the doctor. Then he made sure to sign his name bigger.
“Thanks, boys. Now I’ve got the autograph of this year’s Stanley Cup winner and a player on the US World Hockey Championship team.”
“That’s if he gets an invitation,” Ben said.
His brother’s hand gesture was less than polite, and Ben laughed. The delay in the invite was causing his brother to sweat.
“I didn’t get an invite,” Jackson mumbled.
“I think it’s time to get you home to Abby,” Ben said, sliding out of the booth.
The doctor stood as well. “Great seeing you boys again. I’ll pick up the donated items from your mom’s place next week?” he asked.
“I’ll drop everything off at the clinic in the next few days—save you the trouble,” Ben offered. He hoped to avoid his mom for a while. She was a little too determined to make him admit his feelings for Olivia, and he was still determined to move past them as quickly as possible.
The doctor shook his hand. “Thank you…and good luck with the semifinals.”
Translation: try not to screw up. He nodded and waved to his brothers. “Ash, I have to get back to Denver. You’re on Jackson duty.”
Leaving the bar, he headed toward his Hummer. His cell phone rang as he reached it. Sanders. This late at night? His heart raced. Late-night calls were hardly ever a good sign.
“Hello?” he said, climbing into the vehicle and starting it. He set the ce
ll phone on the holder on the dash as the Bluetooth connected.
Sanders got straight to the point. “We have Kristina Sullivan’s statement. I wanted to give you the highlights, and I’m hoping it might jog your memory of that night. The more you can remember to refute, the better.”
Unless he remembered getting roofied, he wasn’t sure much would help. “Go ahead.”
“She says you ran into one another in the lobby of the Bellagio Hotel and started drinking there.”
He thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure I’d started drinking before I met her, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten into this mess, but we were staying at the Bellagio, so it’s possible that part is correct.” He turned the vehicle onto a side street and pulled to the curb.
“She says when she approached you, you were offensive, believing she was a fangirl whom you’d already had relations with…” Kevin sighed. “Women,” he muttered. “You’d think that would have been enough to send her on her way.”
“You’d think,” he said slowly, a fuzzy image of that night appearing like a vague dream.
“Anyway, she says you two went for several drinks in the hotel’s sports bar…You both got wasted. She says she told you about her son, Brandon, and his aspirations to make it to the NHL someday. You were supportive, yada, yada, yada…”
He could hear the man flipping a page as parts of that night returned. So far, everything she said was true…and it confirmed his suspicions that she wanted him to help her son.
“Then she says Janelle’s sportscast aired, and her co-worker…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know this part,” he said quickly. Janelle’s surprised expression and tears of joy as she accepted her co-anchor’s marriage proposal was etched in his memory. The only thing from that night that was hauntingly crystal clear.
“Then you suggested the wedding.”
“I suggested it?”
“That’s what she says.”
Ben rested his head against the seat. “Fine. Maybe I did.” Shit, this sucked. “So, what does she want?”
“Only for you to live up to your word.”
He tensed. “Of happily ever after?” She couldn’t really keep him married, could she?
“No. She says you promised to try to help her son,” Sanders said.
“How?”
“I don’t know, man. But if you want out of this marriage quick, you better figure it out.”
Chapter 8
The little cluster of cells in the center of the petri dish could potentially be her new baby.
The thought both excited and terrified her.
“Olivia, you okay?” Dr. Chelsey asked, gently touching her shoulder through the thin pink medical gown she wore.
His touch made her jump. She’d almost forgotten he was in the room. She tore her eyes away from the dish and nodded. “Yes. It’s all just…”
“A little overwhelming? Scary? Intense?”
“Yes,” she said, the doctor’s understanding putting her at ease. She was so grateful she’d chosen this particular clinic. Would Dr. Chelsey be interested in being honorary grandfather to this baby? The idea that she would be completely alone during the process was the scariest part—the pregnancy, the delivery…the raising of a non–serial killer. She wasn’t sure of her parenting ability, and a support system would be so helpful.
Maybe she should move back to L.A.; at least she had friends there. But a new firm in L.A. would be reluctant to hire a pregnant woman.
“Unlike the egg retrieval, implantation is noninvasive and will be no worse than a Pap smear,” Dr. Chelsey was saying, cutting into her thoughts.
“That’s good news.” She’d already read that the procedure would only take a few minutes and then she’d be on her way.
The thought of leaving the clinic didn’t appeal to her. At least here she had someone to talk to about the whole thing…someone who could reassure her that things would work out the way they were meant to.
She sighed. How had she let her life become so void of things that mattered—family and friends, support?
“So, whenever you’re ready, we’ll get started with the embryo transfer.”
She nodded. The doctor probably had countless other patients to see that morning and no doubt she was putting him behind schedule, but this decision hadn’t felt completely real until now. There would be no turning back. “Can I have a few moments?”
“Of course. I’ll knock, and if you’re still not ready, just tell me to come back.” The doctor stood and left her alone in the room.
The door clicked shut behind him and she was alone with the petri dish. Alone with her future child. Potential future child. The success rate wasn’t high enough for her to feel comfortable getting her hopes up yet.
She stared at the fertilized eggs. In a few minutes, her life could be changed forever. The process had been surreal, going through the motions, deciding on a sperm donor, cultivating eggs for retrieval…
What kind of mother would she make?
A memory of her own mom flashed in her mind, and she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes.
Of all the memories that could resurface in the moment, she remembered the day she’d gotten lost at the mall. She wasn’t actually lost. She’d known exactly where she was—looking at a pair of sparkly blue Cinderella slippers in a toy store’s window display. It was her favorite fairy tale; Prince Charming finally wising up and following his heart…At least in the version her mother told.
“Liv!” Her mother’s voice had sounded frantic. “Liv! Olivia!”
“Here, Mom!” she called out, but she saw her mother walking in the opposite direction. “Mom!” she yelled, pushing her way through the crowd, until finally reaching her.
Her mother’s eyes had been full of tears, and the look of relief on her ghostly white face as she’d bent to hug her had brought tears of fear to her own eyes. “I’m sorry, I was looking at Cinderella shoes,” she said, crushed into her mother’s chest.
Her mother had pulled away. “Don’t ever wander away like that again, okay? You terrified me.” Her voice and expression had softened. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I was right there, Momma,” she’d said.
In the end, it had been she who’d lost her mother. And she’d known exactly how her mother must have felt that day. Only so much worse. Losing her parents in a drunk driving accident had changed her life. She’d moved to Colorado to live with her father’s sister, Helen, and while her aunt had tried her best to give Olivia a good life, she’d lacked the maternal instincts her mother had had, the nurturing, caring side that a heartbroken ten-year-old girl had longed for.
Her mother had been so wonderful. Could she be that for her own child?
A loud voice in the hallway outside the examination room made her tears stop in their tracks and her heart echo in her ears. Already on edge, a new kind of anxiety threatened to undo her.
What the hell was Ben Westmore doing at the clinic on her fertilization day?
What the hell was Ben Westmore doing there any day?
Her eyes widened. Was he a donor?
With her heart barely contained in her chest, she struggled to recall the details of the donor she’d selected. Dark hair, blue eyes, six foot—pound, pound, pound against her chest cavity—pro athlete. Her hands shook at her sides. Since the charity banquet, the memory of what it felt like in his arms had played on repeat in her mind. She honestly thought she might be going crazy as every now and then she thought she could still smell his cologne on her skin. The radio station seemed to play that stupid Ed Sheeran song a million times a day.
Her mouth went dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper. Water…she needed water. They really should provide water—after all, she was paying ten grand for this procedure.
Forcing a calming breath that got stuck somewhere in her throat, she stood and paced the room as she heard him laugh.
God, she hoped the baby got his laugh.
Damn it! What the he
ll was wrong with her?
She heard him speaking, but the words were muffled through the door, and all she could think about was the sound of his deep voice, strangled and slightly sexy—okay, a lot sexy—telling her she made him uncomfortable.
Naked under her hospital gown, three minutes from having a potential life placed in her care, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t find her as intimidating in that moment…or as desirable, if in fact she’d read his expression right every time she caught him looking at her.
She swallowed hard. Confidentiality agreement or not—she was finding out if her egg had been fertilized by Ben Westmore’s donation. Because there was no way she could cross that crazy line knowingly. Right?
She hit the button on the wall to call the doctor and clenched her hands together at her chest as she continued to pace the room.
An eternity too long, he entered, a wide smile on his face. “Feeling better? Ready to get started?” he asked, reaching for a new pair of latex gloves.
She held him off as he approached. “Almost. Um…one quick thing.” She paused. How on Earth was she supposed to ask the question? She was pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to answer it, but maybe she’d be able to tell from his expression or the way he answered. She bit her lip.
“Olivia, you had a question?” he asked, pulling out a stool and sitting.
“Yeah, just a second. I’m working though something in here.” She gestured around her head. Funny how a second ago, a million concerns had raced through her mind in these final decisive minutes, now there was just one burning thing that seemed like a deal breaker.
“Are you okay? What is it?” the doctor asked, looking concerned. “Do you want me to go over the procedure again or…”
“Am I getting Ben Westmore’s sperm?” she blurted out.
Dr. Chelsey looked surprised, then he laughed gently, offering her a sympathetic look. “You wish,” he said with another soft smile. “Unfortunately, we haven’t had the pleasure of trying to create a new local hero, I’m afraid.”
Relief flooded through her. After that panic, she was certain she could handle any other stress she might encounter going forward with this procedure, the pregnancy, and beyond.
Maybe This Love Page 7
