Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

34. Callie

34

CALLIE

“So you’re all moved in?” Lance asks me while lying on the table in the training room.

He’s been having issues with his shoulders and asked for a massage. I don’t typically do just therapeutic massage, but Lance isn’t the type to take advantage of what I do. He also has shoulder blades tighter than fan belts, and if he doesn’t get them loosened up, he’s going to get injured.

“For the most part,” I say with a yawn. “We still need to finish the baby’s room, but almost everything else is done.”

Lance is also one of the only people I will talk openly with about the pregnancy. I’ve been strictly wearing scrubs recently, oversized and loose in all the right places. I’m not sure how many people are fooled by it, but I also don’t see a lot of eyes trailing to my midsection, either. It’s not a secret, but I’ve been the center of attention long enough. I’d like a break.

“Well, if you need any help, I can—” He groans as I press him into the table. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever thought of just being a massage therapist?”

“Doesn’t pay enough, and I’d get harassed even more than I already do.”

“Fair enough. But I’ll gladly pay for more of these. The coach has been running us ragged recently. I’m not sure if it’s punishment for all the press shit or because he’s trying to show off for Santos.”

“Spencer?” I immediately regret saying his name. Twice more and he’ll appear like a scarier, more evil Beetlejuice.

“Rodger,” he clarifies. “The more he wants us, the more he’ll pay… probably. I don’t actually know. Or care. I just want to play hockey.”

“Mm.” I don’t have much to say to that.

Since Spencer more or less broke into our apartment before being tossed out on his ass by Owen, I’ve gone back to the strategy of flying under the radar. I’m going to lay low, do my job, and steer clear of anyone by the last name of Santos.

“Things are going well with Owen, though?”

Now, that I can talk about.

“Yeah,” I smile. “They really are.”

“When do I have to start writing my best man speech?”

My hands freeze on his shoulder. “Your what?”

“Oh, come on, I can hear the wedding bells from miles away.”

“What website is that nonsense headline from?” I shake my head. “It’s getting hard to keep up with all of these ‘anonymous sources’ who seem to know everything and absolutely nothing about my life.”

Last week, there was a rumor I was getting plastic surgery to look more like Summer. I can’t even begin to dissect the weirdness of that onion.

Lance rolls over on his stomach, grinning at me. “The source is me. I mean, maybe it’s not on this year’s calendar, but it’s obviously in the stars.”

I snort out a laugh, walking around the table to work out his neck. “We haven’t even talked about…” I gesticulate at the rough shape and idea of the word so I don’t have to say it out loud.

“Marriage?”

“Shh!” I look around even though we are alone. “I’m not trying to be the start of the next rumor, Lance. Plus, we haven’t talked about that. I don’t even think it’s on the table.”

“Why’s that?” He presses the conversation as I press into his neck.

“Because! It’s crazy.”

“Oh, you’re right. You’ve only been dating for months, are clearly in love, are living together and having a baby. Where would I get the crazy idea that you might want to spend your lives together?”

My mind is still caught on something else he said.

“Owen is in love with me?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Clearly.”

“Did he say that?” I’m whisper-yelling, but I don’t know why. Again, we are alone.

“Not flat out, no. But I can tell. He’s my best friend.”

I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved. I keep massaging, my thoughts circling around the idea.

It’s not like I’m completely oblivious. I know Owen likes me. Enough has happened between us to make that incredibly clear. But love is… something else. We’re floating in the gray space between like and love, waiting for the shift that will send us one way or the other.

A small part of me thinks the baby will be that shift. Once we have a kid together, we’ll either sink or swim. If last night was any indication—which I pray to all heavenly beings it was not—we might be heading straight to the bottom.

“Why is that such a touchy subject for you?” Lance asks.

“The M-word or the L-word?” I ask. Because apparently, I am a teenager.

“Both.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it. Close it.

How do I tell Lance about my past with Spencer and the blackmail against Kennedy and my baggage with my own parents that makes me think true love might not exist at all?

Easy: I don’t.

“Next topic,” I decide.

“God,” Lance groans. “When the two of you pull your heads out of your asses, you’re gonna see how simple this all is. You’re good for each other, you like each other. It’s easy. Owen won’t admit it, to you or me or anyone, but he’s needed someone like you in his life for a long time.”

I bark out a laugh. “Nothing about our relationship has been easy, and as much as I might not regret it, I’ve brought nothing but chaos into his life.”

“Forget about the press. That shit comes with the job,” he says. “Owen’s problem has always been that he’s not always good at seeing what’s best for himself. You remind him that he matters, too. Which is why I think you’ll get married. And why you should name your baby after me.”

Again, my mouth flops open and closed like a fish, trying and failing to come up with something to say. Thankfully, my phone buzzes, interrupting my unending silence. It’s Kennedy.

I answer it like the lifeline it is. “Hey, I’m working. What’s up?”

“We are going out tonight.” Her voice, though not on speaker, is loud and energetic.

“You called me at work to tell me that?”

Lance sits up on the bed, snatching my wrist so he can shout into my phone. “Hey Kennedy!”

She sighs in disgust, but ignores him. “I wanted to make sure you don’t have other plans.”

“I don’t know if I do. I’ll have to ask Owen.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I missed the part where Owen became your keeper.” The judgment in her voice is thick, and she makes no effort to hide it. “Listen, I want to do something fun tonight with my cousin. You used to be my roommate, but now you’re my neighbor—and not even the kind of neighbors who swap gossip and share sugar. I miss you. So I don’t care what your new roommate slash baby daddy?—”

“Slash future husband,” Lance whispers way too loudly. I swat at him.

“—has to say about it. We are going out, Callie.”

Lance mouths the word ouch , and I bite back a laugh.

“Fine. We’ll go out. But nothing crazy. I am exhausted.”

“Good. Come over after work and get ready with me. And tell the meat head listening in on the call to fuck off. Love you, bye!”

She hangs up and I arch a brow at Lance.

“Yeah, I heard her,” he grimaces.

“You want to talk about two people who obviously have something going on with each other?” I point from him to my phone and back again.

“Kennedy still hasn’t told you?”

I jump on that. Actually, I’m so excited about any little crack in this case that I almost jump on Lance. “Told me what? What is there to tell?”

He uncurls my hand from around his trapezius with a wince and sits up. “We have… a history. And you know what they say about history?”

“It repeats itself?” I grin.

“No. You should learn from it and move on.”

“Well, I’d love to learn from it, but first, I have to know what it is. Why don’t we do a little review? Tell me everything.”

Lance doesn’t bite. “Like I’ve said before, you’re going to have to find out from her.”

“But she won’t tell me!”

“Because what happened with us should have never happened!” He gets off the table.

“But something did happen?”

I’m prepared to follow Lance to the locker room—to his house. I’ll stand by his bedside and pepper him for information all night long if that’s what it takes.

Suddenly the double doors open. A couple of the higher ups walk in, along with Rodger Santos. I stop mid-sentence.

Lance and I might as well be ghosts the way they survey the room, looking right through us.

Spencer’s dad walks over to the work out equipment, clearly not impressed. He goes on some rant about CrossFit being the future and how the room should be more open and less cluttered.

That’s when his eyes land on me. “Your PT works in the training room?”

He’s not talking to me, per se, but he’s talking about me, so I chime in.

“This makes it easier for me to work with the athletes. I’ve found they’re more likely to ask for my help if I’m standing nearby and not shuttered away in a?—”

“Wouldn’t the PT be better positioned in a private office?” he interrupts.

Pretentious, condescending father like pretentious, condescending son, I suppose.

“I like space,” I grit out. “And this is what has been generously offered.”

He studies me before going on. “It’s cluttered. It also doesn’t give players the privacy they deserve while being… maneuvered.”

“Part of PT is training. Having the space and equipment available is?—”

“Spencer was right—you are a mouthy one.” His words land like a slap. I take a step back, stunned by how similar he is to his son.

He knows he upset me. I can tell by the curling edge of his smirk—the same one Spencer gets when he feels he’s dominating a conversation.

“Don’t let me stop you from your work .” I hear the air quotes he’s mentally putting around that word.

I don’t know what Rodger Santos knows about me and his son’s relationship. Maybe he talks to everyone like they are rotting roadkill at his feet. Either way, I won’t let him intimidate me.

I start to turn my back on him, but he stops me.

“Oh, and Callie? How did you like the flowers?”

My stomach bottoms out completely.

He knows.

I can’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. If I open my mouth, I’ll scream.

With that question hanging in the air, Rodger Santos and the rest of the men trailing behind him leave.

“Flowers?” Lance asks. “Who gave you flowers?”

“He did,” I breathe. My words are quiet. Robotic. More to myself than in response to Lance’s question.

“Why would Rodger Santos send you flowers?”

I manage to snap out of it. The last thing I need is Lance catching on to how upset I am and then telling Owen. I force a smile. “When I started the job. People sent flowers.”

My hands are trembling, my insides twisting into knots I may never undo.

Lance nods slowly, but his eyes narrow. He’s not the only one keeping secrets.