Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

45. Callie

45

CALLIE

The only thing better than spending the day at my baby shower, surrounded by family and friends and Owen, while wearing a gorgeous sundress that I actually bought in the maternity section along with a pair of strappy, flat sandals that didn’t kill my feet… is taking it all off the second I get home.

I felt a little bad for shoving Owen in the direction of his teammates. God only knows what kind of post-shower nonsense they’ll get up to tonight. I left Owen completely at their mercy. But honestly, an evening to myself is worth whatever Owen has to go through tonight.

Kennedy tried to convince me that us girls needed to have a post-shower party, too, but I said I wanted to stay in. To which Uncle Randy suggested a rousing game of Scrabble while he watched hockey highlights.

Thank God for pregnancy exhaustion as a built-in excuse to get out of literally everything.

Now, I’m at home, showered, and wearing nothing but a pair of cotton shorts and one of Owen’s jerseys from college. I toss a bag of popcorn in the microwave and set the timer before padding my way to the living room, remote control and mocktail in hand.

“What’s it going to be, baby girl?” I ask out loud.

I read in some article that it’s good to talk to her and let her hear my voice. Not just my everyday voice—the one I use to tell Dax he hasn’t been keeping up with his stretches and the way Kennedy and I cackle over the pop culture podcast she got me hooked on a few years ago—but the way my voice sounds specifically when I’m talking to her. My daughter.

“We could do a romcom. Or a mystery! If you take after me, you’ll love Nancy Drew and Agatha Christie.” I scroll through the Netflix offerings. “Or a scary movie?”

I’ve never watched a scary movie alone and had it go well, but I can never seem to resist the thrill of it. Plus, Owen will be home eventually. And if things get really spooky, Kennedy is right next door.

I dump the popcorn in a ceramic bowl and take it to the coffee table. Then I shut off the lights and hit play on I Know What You Did Last Summer .

“This is the first scary movie I ever watched,” I tell her. “It’s still secretly my favorite, but only because Freddie Prinze Jr. is a babe. Don’t tell your dad I said that.”

I grin. Dad . Owen is going to be a dad.

This girl is going to be so lucky to have him.

“Keep that little secret to yourself, and I’ll let you watch this cheese scary movie when you’re thirteen, too.”

Cut to: forty-five minutes later, and the movie I swore was cheesy has me huddled under a blanket, my knees pulled to my chest—or as close as I can get with this bump.

“You know what?” I whisper in the direction of my stomach. “This movie might actually be kind of scary.”

Sarah Michelle Gellar is running through town, being chased by the murderer, and I suddenly wish I was watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer . I need her to give up the scared girl routine, turn around, and stake Mr. Hook For Hands in his heart and end this movie now .

My hand is on the remote, ready to turn off the TV and put something safe on, when her character finally reaches her sister’s clothes shop. Just as she bangs on the glass shop door, there’s a loud bang on my side of the screen. I jump so hard, I nearly fall off of the couch.

“Shit! What was that?”

I pause the movie. My heart is slamming into my ribcage, but I’m not breathing as I look around the room. Every dark shadow and blanket draped over a chair is now a fisherman with a hook he wants to impale me with.

“Don’t be stupid,” I whisper to myself.

It’s probably the people in the unit upstairs. They decide to cosplay as a tap dancing octopus at random hours in the night. Or it’s Kennedy! She likes to break out dance workout videos, usually after drinking or eating more than she wishes she had. Which is basically every day.

Everything is fine. I’m being dramatic.

I settle back into the couch, the blanket wrapped around me a little tighter now, and am about to unpause the movie, when I hear it again.

This time, my heart nearly stops altogether. Because I know…

It’s not coming from upstairs.

It’s not coming from next door.

The sound is coming from the balcony.

I stand up and take slow, careful steps towards the door. Maybe it's the wind blowing the chairs around. Maybe it’s Delilah, who somehow escaped from Kennedy’s Catio onto our balcony.

But when I’m a few feet away, the knob, which is apparently unlocked, turns. And the door opens.

Fear floods my veins. My blood runs cold. My stomach bottoms out.

Spencer is standing in the doorway.

He is still for a second, other than his deep, jagged breathing. I have no idea how he got onto our balcony, but his expression is stony and his eyes are dark and fixated… on me.

I run.

I know I should go for the front door, but Spencer is faster than me. I hear his long strides pounding across the floor behind me, and I know I won’t make it to the door in time. He’ll cut me off, and I’ll be trapped. So I run for the kitchen, grabbing a knife out of the butcher block.

It’s slippery in my sweaty palm, but I attempt to spin and face him. But Spencer is too fast.

He knocks the knife out of my hand with a blow to my wrist. It clatters to the floor and slides away from me.

The fear pulsing through my body makes my knees give out as I shriek and fall to the floor. Not even a moment later, he is on top of me, pinning me to the ground. His knees dig into my thighs, his hands clamping around my wrist.

“No!” I cry out, my voice strangled in my throat.

“You are a bitch,” he spits in my face.

I sob, struggling uselessly against him. He’s so much bigger than I am.

“My reputation is trashed. Thanks to you and your slutty cousin.”

“Spencer, please…” I am suddenly worried about his full weight against the baby, crushing me on the floor.

But he doesn’t care. “I got kicked from the team. Banned from the industry. Do you have any —” He literally screams the last word. “—idea what you’ve done to me? Do you?!”

“I’m sorry,” I sob. And part of me is. If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve stayed quiet. I would’ve found another way. I was scared for my job—not my life. But right now, I know my life is in the balance.

“My own father is pulling back from me to save his own ass. All because you couldn’t just make things easy, do what I say, and keep your fucking mouth shut!”

I am pushing against him, trying to wriggle away, trying to get his weight off my stomach. But Spencer pushes against me harder. Then he brings a hand to my throat.

“I am getting messages— threats —from lying women like you. All of them are accusing me of shit. All of them are talking shit all over the fucking internet. Do you know what they’re calling me?” His hand tightens on my neck. “A rapist. Can you believe that?”

I can’t even respond. If I make him any angrier, I won’t be able to breathe. I am forced to do nothing but lie here, trembling and crying.

It’s the same way I felt in that closet. The same way I felt when he backed me into my office and did all the things I accused him of on the internet the other day.

“I am not a goddamned rapist!” he screams. “Say it!”

“You’re not…” I choke, my throat bobbing against his palm. “You’re not a rapist.”

“Do you believe that?” He studies me like he actually cares what I think. Like it matters.

I try to nod, but it’s kind of hard with his hand over my throat. Still, it’s enough. He eases up. I can breathe.

And I know this is my chance. I have to talk to him down. If I want to survive, I have to tell him what he wants to hear.

“I’ll make Kennedy take the website down.” My voice is raspy. I can already feel my windpipe swelling from the pressure he applied. “We can come up with a story. She can say she was hacked. You don’t deserve this, Spencer. I’ll get her to?—”

“I don’t care what the fuck you have her do,” he spits, his lips curled back from his teeth. “My reputation is gone. I’m not here to salvage it.”

How can I tell him what he wants to hear when I don’t even know why he’s here?

My heart rate slows. My body stills. Every fiber of me is focused on navigating these next few seconds.

I am so afraid of what he is thinking, what he’s going to do, that I feel frozen. “Then why are you here?”

Spencer leans over me, his face twisting in hate. “I’m here to kill you.”

It’s every nightmare I’ve ever had wrapped into one.

This is the last face I’m ever going to see.

The last voice I’m ever going to hear.

The time for appeasing him is over. Now, I have to fight.

I try to grab him and shove him off of me, but he pins my hands down. So I drive my knee up and straight into his crotch.

His mouth opens in a silent scream, and I’m able to shove him off of me. I get on my hands and knees to crawl away, but I only get a foot or two before he grabs me by the leg, yanking me back. That’s when I see it. The flash of silver.

The knife.

I reach out for it, the handle cold against my palm.

When he jerks me towards him, I roll onto my back… and I stab him.

The blade sinks into his body too easily. I don’t know if I’ve hit anything vital, but it’s enough for him to stop.

It’s enough that he lets go of me, and I scramble away, backing towards the couch where my phone is still on the cushion where I dropped it.

But just as I’m about to dial 911, Kennedy comes flying through the back door, a taser in her hand.

“What the fuck is happening?” she screams.

“Spencer…” I turn around and point towards the kitchen.

There’s blood on the kitchen floor. The knife is there, too.

But the front door is open.

And Spencer is gone.