Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

11. Owen

11

OWEN

It’s official: I have PTSD.

Every time the elevator opens at my apartment complex, I am paranoid AF that Callie is going to be inside. Like, fuck. Why can’t she get her own place? Why does she have to live with her cousin? PTs make enough, especially ones that work in the sports industry.

But no. She had to move in with Kennedy, making my life harder and giving me a goodman panic attack every time the elevator dings.

I make it to my floor without seeing her and let out a sigh of relief that will only last until I have to get in the elevator again. I shove the key in the lock, but my eyes narrow. It’s already unlocked. Did I forget…?

I open the door cautiously. “Hello?” As if a burglar or ax murderer would answer before getting all slicey and dicey.

“Hey!”

I jump at the voice, not at all relieved when I realize it’s not a murderer, but Summer.

“Listen,” she begins, “I know I’m not supposed to be here, but?—”

“What part of ‘emergency only’ don’t you get?” I snarl as I toss my keys on the counter.

She’s in the living room, rocking the baby back and forth. She puts a finger over her lips. “Shh… he’s almost asleep.”

“Summer, this isn’t a fucking joke. The press is hot on me right now. Someone is going to find out you’re here, and they’re going to talk.”

“Let them talk. I don’t care.”

“I do!” I yell.

She hushes me again.

“Summer, people are going to think you and I are…” I trail off.

“A thing? Us? Ew.”

“And then they’re going to think I’m the baby daddy.”

“Double ew. Just tell them I’m your stepsister and you’re helping me out. Y’know… the truth. ”

“Or you could help me out and let me get you a place. I avoid the press, you have a place to yourself with a nursery for Nicky, and a big-ass room for you. Fuck, I’ll throw in a TV and a Jacuzzi tub if you want.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I’m going to have to pass.” She keeps rocking Nicky in her arms, cooing under her breath.

I run my hands through my hair. “Seriously. Be a gold-digger, sis. I’m literally begging you to take my money. I love you, but I can’t have you and the baby here. It looks bad.”

“O, I appreciate the gesture. But I don’t know Houston. I don’t feel safe in a city I don’t know.”

“I will get you a penthouse in the bougiest part of the city. I’ll get security. I’ll get… fuck, you want an attack dog? Attack piranhas? Name it and it’s yours.”

She moves over to the couch, and I grab a beer before joining her. “I’m sorry, Owen. But all the money in the world isn’t going to make me feel safe. I’m scared of people talking, too. If they knew who the father is…” She leaves that part unfinished. We’ve both had enough nightmares to fill in the blanks silently.

“How would they know? I don’t even know who it is. Why won’t you tell me?”

She chews her lip. “I don’t want to cause problems.”

“So, it’s somebody I know?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then why would it cause problems?”

She waits a beat, trying to decide how to answer that. “Because everything our family does becomes public. Everyone knows everyone and it’s just… messy.”

“Because I’m a hockey player.”

She doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.

“Listen, Summer, I get that. But with my profile comes protection. I can get you into a gated community. I can have a security system installed. Fuck, I can—I could?—”

“Language.” She nods down at Nicky, who is: one, in a milk coma, and two, not nearly old enough to understand words yet.

I scowl at her. “You really think you can raise a kid in our family who doesn’t swear?”

“I’m gonna try.” She smiles sweetly.

“Good luck with that. Us Sharpes aren’t known for our manners.”

“We have the same mom, not the same dad. There’s hope for him yet.”

True as that is, all of our mom’s love interests were waste of space assholes. The actual men who spawned us might be different, but there’s a one hundred percent certainty that they were, more or less, the same kind of dude. It’s why I want to help Summer; she and I might be the products of bad choices, but Nicky doesn’t have to be.

I like to think he has a chance.

“Summer. Let me help you. Let me help him.”

“Maybe eventually. But right now, I am scared to be anywhere on my own.”

“Tell me who did this to you and you will feel safer.”

“Why? So you can go all Big Brother and murder the guy and end up in jail? Not gonna happen. I can take care of myself, O.”

I raise an eyebrow and she winces.

“... other than needing a place to crash once in a while when I’m feeling anxious.”

She isn’t going to budge. She’s fiery and stubborn as fuck, two things we have in common. Must be from our mom’s side. The good side.

She tucks Nicky into his car seat, and I walk her out. As we get in the elevator, I have my routine moment of anxiety. I scan the parking lot for press, for camera flashes or even just someone on their phone.

But things are pretty dead.

“Have you talked to the guys on the team about how to ward off the press?” she asks.

“Unless I want to get engaged, they have no useful advice.”

She looks at me. “Unless you what ?”

“Miles says the press stopped hounding him completely as soon as he proposed to his girlfriend. But unless I want to mail order a bride, that’s off the table.” I laugh bitterly.

But she doesn’t.

She looks pissed, if anything.

“Miles sounds like a complete idiot.”

“For getting married? Miles is a good guy. He’s even talking about retiring and going into sports news because it fits the family man persona a little better.”

Summer is unimpressed. “I don’t know. Just sounds like a cop-out to me, using marriage to camouflage the rest of your life. I parked in the back, under the trees for shade.” She points and we make our way in that direction. I carry the car seat for her, my head still on a swivel, continuing to look for anyone, anywhere that might be watching.

The coast seems to be clear. That is except for?—

“Cute girl alert,” Summer mumbles through a smile.

Oh, fuck me.

Callie is getting out of her car. She looks up at us as we approach. Of course they are parked right the fuck next to each other. I look down, baby in one hand, the other hand resting on Summer’s lower back to steer her towards the car. Maybe if we just act like?—

“Oh my God, I love that skirt!” Summer exclaims. Goddammit, why do women do this? I love your skirt! I love your shoes! Oh my God! Nobody cares!

“That’s so sweet of you.” I don’t even have to look at Callie’s face to know she is in panic mode, too. Unlike me, though, she’s painting over it with girl small talk.

“Let’s get the car started, Summer. Don’t want Nicky sleeping in a hot car.” But they both ignore me.

“It looks great with that blouse. Which matches your lipstick perfectly,” Summer goes on. “What is the shade?”

“So, it’s kind of a funny story…” Callie starts in.

Doubt it.

“It’s called Fearless. I wore it today because it was my first day at a new job.”

“Well, that’s exciting! Did you hear that, Owen? Your neighbor started a new job today!”

Jesus Christ, Summer. What are you trying to ? —

I know exactly what she’s trying to do: she’s trying to hook me up with her. Better than a mail order bride , I’m sure she’ll joke later. Is she, though? No. No, she’s not.

“Yeah, I know.” I snatch the keys from her, starting the car so I can at least get the air going before securing Nicky in the back seat. When Summer stares at me, I explain. “We work together.”

“No way!” Summer is way too golden retriever for me right now. I need her to calm TF down. “Are you new to the complex, too?”

“New… ish,” Callie hedges.

“Well, Owen is a very hospitable guy. Extra muscly, too, if you need help moving in.”

“Oh, I won’t be—” Callie starts at the same time that I’m saying, “I’m sure she doesn’t need?—”

“You know, I don’t believe in coincidences,” Summer rambles without paying attention to either one of us.

I wonder if she believes in luck. ‘Cause mine is looking pretty shitty right now.

“You never know what the universe is going to throw at you. Sometimes, the people we are supposed to meet are right under our noses the whole time.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. She’s laying it on way too thick.

“I think Nicky is starting to wake up,” I blurt. “Might want to get driving so he gets a full nap in.”

“Oh, God, yeah.” She peeks into the backseat with a groan. “Mama needs a break.”

“Text me when you get there.” I pull her into a side hug, and she kisses me on the cheek.

“Love you!” she calls out the window to me before waving at Callie and driving off.

I exhale before looking over at Callie. Her eyes are wide, her jaw is tight, and she’s paler than a ghost.

“Unfuckingbelievable.” She shakes her head.

“You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I might. Who is that?”

“Who is who?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she snaps. “There’s obviously something going on there. I thought you didn’t want any more publicity.”

She starts charging towards the building, but as much as I want to stay away from Callie, I’m hot on her heels. Every time this woman talks to me, it’s like engaging in warfare. I don’t want to be involved, but I can’t ignore the mortars headed straight for my face.

“It’s none of your business,” I inform her as we reach the elevator. She punches the button, letting out a sigh. But it’s less of a sigh and more of a shaky exhale. She doesn’t seem well.

“Are you okay?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s none of your business,” she fires back as the doors open.

We both step into the elevator. It’s quiet, other than the listless jazz playing over the speakers. It’s the kind of quiet that eats your brain like a crazed zombie. I turn to her. “For your information, I am trying to avoid the press. And you.”

A small laugh bubbles out of her throat. Even with the smile, she still doesn’t look right. She’s even more flushed than before. “Right. And kissing a woman with a baby in broad daylight is laying low?”

“I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me! And it wasn’t even—” The elevator jolts, and we both grab the rail. “It was on the cheek, for Christ’s sake.”

Callie holds her other hand to her stomach. She legit looks like she’s about to yak all over my shoes.

I arch a brow. “I’m not gonna ask the forbidden question again, but are you…?”

“I’m fine. I just forgot to eat today, so my blood sugar is a little low.”

“You should have?—”

“I said I’m fine, Owen. My God.” The elevator opens, and she stomps out, making her way straight to Kennedy’s door as she fumbles with the keys. “You don’t need to worry about me. We aren’t friends. We’ve never met. We never fucked. You are my cousin’s shady neighbor, and you just happen to be a patient of mine. What goes on in your life is none of my concern. So just leave me out of it.” She gets the door open and gives me one last look. “Got it?”

“Sorry for being worried about you. I’m such a dick.” My words are dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyes scan my face. “Well, you don’t need to worry about me, Owen Sharpe. Because you don’t know me. And I don’t know you.”

She walks inside, slamming the door. For a second, I just stand there. She’s right: I don’t know her.

And she certainly doesn’t know me.

Now, I’m realizing for the first time there is a small part of me that thought maybe that wouldn’t always have to be the case.