"I can't discuss this with you," she said, walking toward the door. "You can't just walk in here and tell me I'm making a mistake with my life."
"We've already established that I make all the big mistakes." He stood up slowly. He stalked toward her, his dark eyes serious. And when he reached her at the doorway, he took one of her hands and squeezed. "Let me do this with you." He kissed her palm, and the play-off beard he was sporting tickled her palm. "Please. I caused you pain, honey. And I want to fix it."
But that was the wrong thing to say. If she was going to have a child with someone, it shouldn't be with a man who was acting out of guilt. "The consummate goalie," she whispered. "Always taking responsibility for the whole field of play."
"No." He shook his head. "I love you, and I want to be with you. It doesn't have to be any more complicated than that."
She pulled her hand out of his grasp. "I can't, Mike. I gave you everything once already. And look how that turned out? I can't do this again, and I need you to stop asking me to." She jerked the door open, the instructions very clear.
He gave her one more long look. And then he walked out.
Lauren closed the door behind him and then stomped over to the leather sofa where she promptly curled up into a ball on its expensive surface. Every time Mike Beacon opened his mouth, her life became more confusing. Not a half hour ago she'd been fantasizing about him during yoga. But when he offered to do the very thing she'd always dreamed about, she'd thrown him out.
But of course she had. You had to trust the father of your child. And her trust in him was already shattered.
She lay there replaying the past month in her mind, trying to decide if he was even serious. She made a list of events, because lists helped to organize her thoughts.
1. They hadn't spoken in two years until the play-offs were clinched.
2. She put on the blue dress, which led to a night of wild sex.
3. Then he offered to get back together and have a kid.
Who does that?
Letting out a groan, Lauren flopped onto her back. Then she let herself wonder what would happen if she actually agreed to his crazy idea. What would he do if she just turned up at the front door of his Brooklyn townhouse with several suitcases and announced she was back?
Lauren snickered to herself. It would almost be worth it to see the startled expression on his face. He'd always been a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of guy. It would serve him right.
She was the analytical one. The planner. She'd always told herself that the contrast made them a good fit. He could keep their relationship a little wild and unpredictable. She would keep all the details straight for the both of them.
But then he'd done something utterly unpredictable, and she'd never gotten over it. There wasn't a spreadsheet in the world effective enough to predict Mike's effect on her heart.
Her reverie broken, Lauren sat up on the sofa in a hurry. She grabbed her bag off the floor and dug out her very last dose of the fertility medication. It was madness to even ponder his flights of fancy. She had a plan, and she was sticking to it.
She took the pill, and then a shower. Then she dug into her e-mail inbox and double-checked Nate's travel plans for arriving in Tampa tonight, and verified with the hotel that his room would be ready.
Her head was back in the game, and she worked through lunchtime, only glancing up at three P.M. to realize she was starving. She called down to room service to order a salad.
A knock came just ten minutes later, and she was impressed by the kitchen's promptness. But when she opened the door, it wasn't a salad that was rolled on a cart through her door, but rather a giant arrangement of blue hydrangeas. She'd never seen anything so large. In fact, it might be an entire hydrangea shrubbery.
"This isn't a salad," she muttered to the porter who had brought it.
"Are you Lauren Williams?"
"Yes."
"Sign here."
After he left her the flowers, she opened the note which was taped to the vase.
I love you, and I'll never stop. -M
Her hand paused over the wastepaper basket, where she almost tossed the note in.
But then she set it on the desk instead, wondering how everything had become so confusing.
TWENTY
For the next few days, Beacon set his troubles with Lauren aside the best he could. Given that his team was fighting for its life in the play-offs, he had plenty of other things to worry about. Their veteran forward Beringer was sidelined by shoulder pain that might or might not be something serious. And O'Doul skipped practice for what was rumored to be a stomach bug.
Nonetheless, they managed to win game five in Tampa, where Skews was an asshole, but nothing Beacon couldn't handle. Then they flew back to Brooklyn for game six, feeling great.
And lost.
That left the series tied 3 – 3, and required one more trip to Tampa. Taking the series all the way out to game seven meant that everyone was tired. Meanwhile, Detroit beat the Rangers in just five games, so their next potential opponent was resting up and recharging their batteries before the conference final round.
By the time they got off the bus at the stadium, every one of Mike's teammates wore an intense expression. They marched through the sticky eighty-five degree air and into the subterranean cool of the arena.
"Good luck out there," Lauren whispered as he caught up to her in the procession.
"Thanks." They had barely exchanged any words since their odd conversation about baby-making. He'd gone a little crazy to think that she'd take him back just like that. But it was one of those situations where he knew if he hadn't at least tried, he'd always regret it. It had taken all his willpower not to blurt out that he hated the idea of her having someone else's baby.
Caveman, much?
He took a sidelong glance at Lauren as the team moved through the long hallway. She looked as deflated as he felt. "You doing okay?"
"Sure am," she said quickly. "Can't wait until the puck drops." Her smile was a little unsteady, though.
That was something to worry about later. "See you on the other side, okay?"
She gave him a little salute, and he followed his teammates into the dressing room.
• • •
Some of Beacon's teammates were wildly superstitious. They ate the same sandwich before every game, or tucked lucky charms into their hockey socks. Beacon wasn't very superstitious, but that didn't mean he couldn't believe in magic.
The game seven magic began making appearances even before the puck dropped that night.
Doulie felt better, and nobody else came down with the flu. Even better, the MRI on Beringer's shoulder had cleared him to play. An hour before the game they gathered on a loading dock to play elimination soccer-the team's favorite warm-up.
Beacon was the first man out, as usual. He was unaccountably bad at elimination soccer, but it was fun to step out of the circle and watch the rest of them duke it out. Tonight's game got down to Doulie and Trevi and Silas, until Silas won it. He often did, too. The only man who never played for the team was the frequent victor of their warm-up game. Go figure.
Their good spirits held when the puck dropped, and they went out swinging. So did Tampa, though. It was a weird, high scoring game, tied 4 – 4 going into overtime. Somehow after all that scoring the overtime period was scoreless.
So it went to double overtime. As Mike stretched during the (fourth!) intermission he pictured his daughter in the stands with Hans and Justin, and wondered what Elsa was thinking.
We brought it this far, he said to himself. We can take it even a little further.
That final period saw the play go a little ragged. But Beacon's eyes weren't as tired as the rest of him. He watched everything. Saw everything. Anticipated everything.
Blocked everything.
Just when he thought his legs might not make it through another overtime period, Castro got a breakaway on rebound. There was a mad scramble in front of the opponent's net before the lamp lit.
Even then-because nothing was ever simple-Castro's goal was under review. They stood around for two tense minutes while the officials watched the video.
And then the scoreboard lit for Brooklyn. They'd won, and would advance to round three. Smiling and practically sagging with relief, Beacon left the net to hug his teammates.
TWENTY-ONE
When Lauren reentered the hotel lobby after the game, she found that it had become ground zero for the Bruisers' victory party. Players' families had taken over the entire lounge area by the fountain.
She was surveying the scene when Jimbo trotted up and squeezed her elbow. "I asked the hotel if you'd made any arrangements for food and soft drinks," he said. "They didn't have anything on order."