Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(297)

“I'm sorry.”

Quinn sniffs out a small laugh; “I was just so worried about you!”

People worrying about me; people noticing when I'm not around.

“I know, and I'm so sorry. I just had to- I had to do something about getting-” I stop and take a deep breath, as if saying Logan's name out loud will hurt her; “We're going to get him, Quinn.”

She takes a deep sigh; “I know you are,” she says; “If anyone can, it's you.” She laughs; “I was just thinking about Florida, with that whole thing, and you just-” Her voice breaks; “You just fixed it all.”

“Of course I did,” I say quietly, smiling as I look out over the city.

“You're strong, Peyton. I wish I was as strong as you.”

Strong; right. I wince; I certainly don't feel like that today. There's a stab of something inside as all the stuff with Bryce starts bubbling up, and suddenly I realize that calling like this was a mistake. I can't burden her with this shit right now, she's got enough to think about.

“Quinn, I actually need to g-” I stop and shake my head; forget it, I’m telling her. I have to; “I need to tell you-”

“Oh! I need to tell you something too!” She laughs, and it's probably the first time she has in days; “OK you first.”

The burst of confidence leaves me as quickly as it arrived; “No, you-”

“Oh c’mon!”

“Trust me, it can wait,” I say glumly, kicking at the phone booth with my shoe.

“You're going to be an aunt.”

The words hit me like a slap across the face, and I practically drop the phone as my eyes go wide; “Wait, what?!”

Quinn's laughing as I stand there with a huge grin on my face; “Wait, you mean you're- you're-”

“I'm sorry, I wasn't going to tell anyone unless- until he got back.” Her voice is quiet, and it starts to break like shattered glass; “There's just already a lot to think about right now.”

She starts to cry, and suddenly the fact that I'm ten-thousand miles away from my family hits me.

My family.

I can feel my jaw tighten; “We're going to get him, Quinn. I promise.”





20





Peyton




The street outside the cafe is utterly abandoned; the stalls that hawk fruit and vegetables and books and other nicknacks throughout the day are now boarded up for the night and their crowds gone. There's a sinking feeling inside, realizing how remote the place is, especially with the shades of the place drawn and only a faint glow of light coming from beneath the front door. But hell, I could be meeting Anderson in the middle of Grand Central Station during rush hour and still feel the impending dread I'm feeling inside.

With the dread comes nausea, and a horrible sneaking sense of revulsion and doubt of self worth. I'm doing this for Logan, for Quinn, and for their unborn child; for my family. But, I can't help but wonder what doing this makes me, however noble the end-game.

And of course, there's the man I walked away from this morning; again. The man that complicates things at every turn in my life; the man that I somehow just can't get away from, no matter how many times I walk away from him.

I shake my head in the quiet, twilight street; I can't think of any of this right now. I just need to get this done. Get it done, forget it, and move on to saving Logan. After that, it'll just be another scar to forget about later, that's all.

I close my fingers around the knob of the cafe door, and step inside.

It's dimly lit inside, and I feel the tingling sense of dread I pushed away outside come roaring back. It's not just dim, it's dark; too dark. And there's no one here.

“Hey, babe.”

Well, not “no one.”

I stifle the gasp in my throat as I whirl to see Anderson stepping out of the shadows by the coffee counter, grinning that creepy, lingering grin at me.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I try and force a smile out of the thin, drawn lines my lips have become; “I thought we were going out to dinner?”

Anderson just keeps smiling that wolfish grin at me; “Change of plans.”

Don't run, you can handle this.

“Excuse me?” I say, my fingers still lingering on the doorknob of the open cafe door.

He looks sober this time, which suddenly has me even more on edge. A drunk man, even one twice your size, is handleable, or at least avoidable. Drunk and sloppy I can deal with.

Stone-cold sober Anderson, with that predatory look in his eye and that terrifying grin on his face, however, is another story.

“Yeah, thought I'd change things up; you know, be spontaneous.” I'm not used to him not three sheets to the wind, and he moves faster than I'm expecting. Suddenly he's right in front of me, pulling me against him and slamming the door shut, out of my hand behind me.