26. Grey

Grey

G roggy, I lifted my head from my pillow. And blinked. "What?"

Colton stood in my bedroom doorway; his skin drained of all color. His mouth opened and closed, his eyes flicked between Ellie and me, lying together, naked, in my bed. Groaning, I shut my eyes.

"Who invited you?" I grumbled. "How'd you get in here anyway?"

"I kept a key," Colton snapped. "It's a damn good thing I did."

"The restraining order is still in place," I commented dryly. "You can't be near her."

Ellie sat up. "You wanted to know who I was sleeping with. Now you know."

"You bitch ."

At the title, the venom in his tone, I opened my eyes and leaned my weight on my elbow, staring hard at Colton. "That's uncalled for. You cheated on her, harassed her, assaulted her into a vehicular collision. And you still blame her for your stupidity."

"How long has this been going on?" Colton demanded.

Ellie, her right hand holding the bedsheet over her bosom, grated, "None of your business."

"I'm making it my business."

Sitting up fully, I rubbed my eyes, the bed clothes pooled in my lap. Colton wore his go-to business suit, his overcoat, his hair neatly brushed for the office. The man standing in my doorway was my son…and yet, he wasn't. Just as Ellie told me, Colton had changed and not for the better.

Colton's upper lip curled. "She isn't supposed to be at my father's house. How was I to know?"

"You know now," Ellie retorted, then flapped her fingers. "Scoot."

"No."

"Want your bail revoked? One call and you're in the slammer," Ellie said.

Colton's expression scared me. I'd seen less malicious intent on the faces of hockey players than I did on Colton's right then. Ellie's fears were justified. What I hadn't wanted to believe, what I'd hoped was a mistake on Ellie's part, proved to be true.

Not caring that I was naked, I got out of bed and donned my jeans. "Let's go downstairs."

Colton followed me willingly enough. I led the way into the kitchen, switched on the lights. He sat at the island as I made coffee, took mugs out of the cabinet. He refused to meet my gaze as I sat across from him, waiting for the coffee to brew.

"I came by to congratulate you," he said at last. "On the game."

"Okay."

"When did it start? Between you and Ellie?"

"Not long after you left her to wander down the road in the middle of the night in the dead of winter."

He grimaced and looked down. "That was stupid of me."

"Yep."

"I still love her."

I wanted to say that Ellie loved me now, that I wanted to spend my life with her, have more kids with her. But something told me to keep my mouth shut, to wait on him.

Colton finally looked up with an expression of grief, of pain, written across his face. "Is the baby mine?"

"We don't know."

"So…it could be yours."

I let the silence speak for itself.

"Shit," he muttered. "What a fucking mess."

Rising, I crossed the kitchen to the coffee maker, and poured us both full mugs. As I set his in front of him, Colton wrapped both hands around it as though craving its warmth. Or strength.

"I want kids," he said at last, and took a sip.

"So do I."

He barked a sharp laugh. "You have one…Christ, that could be my little brother or sister."

"Yep."

"Or your grandchild."

"Yep."

Silent again, not looking at me, he drank his coffee. I sipped mine, feeling thankful Ellie had chosen to remain upstairs. For some reason, Ellie's presence brought out the worst in him. He was reasonable and calm with me, yet turned into a vicious, jealous monster while around her.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I plan to take care of her."

"No." He swallowed hard. "If the baby's yours. Or mine."

"If the kid is mine, it's obvious," I answered slowly. "I'll ask her to marry me, maybe have more kids."

"And if the kid's mine?"

For a long moment, Colton revealed a naked vulnerability, a tearing grief that broke my heart to witness. I wanted, craved, to take him in my arms and hold him as I once had when he was little. To comfort him, tell him everything would be okay, Daddy will take care of everything.

"She wants you in the child's life," I said quietly. "To be a part of it. To be the baby's father."

"She said that?"

"Yeah."

Something in him seemed to unwind, to relax, and a tiny smile quirked his mouth. "That's something."

"You hurt her too badly for her to go back to you, son," I went on. "You have to realize that. For the sake of the baby."

He ran his fingers through his blond hair, mussing it. "Jesus, I can't believe Ellie and my own dad, fucking each other. You're old enough to be her father."

"Why is that a problem? She's consenting adult."

"It just is." He stood up abruptly, the vulnerability and grief gone from his face, leaving behind a dull rage. "I have to go to work."

I walked behind him as he crossed my house to the front door. "I'll protect her, Colton," I said as he opened it. "So help me, I'll see you in jail if you so much as look crosswise at her."

He half turned with a bitter smile. "Fuck you."

***

"What will he do?" Ellie sat at the kitchen island, huddled in my bathrobe, hardly touching the breakfast I cooked for her. Her makeup from the previous evening had smeared, creating dark shadows around her eyes. Her dark hair fell in tangles around her shoulders, and she'd finally put her sling back on.

"There's nothing he can do," I replied. "He comes near you again, he goes to jail."

Ellie shook her head. "I didn't want him to find out. Not so soon."

"It'll blow over."

"Why is he so obsessed with me?" she cried. " He cheated on me . He forced me into running, almost into your arms. But he keeps blaming me for everything."

"I don't know."

I took a bite of my eggs, unable to say more. Where Ellie was concerned, Colton's normal sense of reason and fairness had failed. During our conversation, he'd waffled between acceptance of the situation and utter rage. Perhaps there was a psychological reason for this. If there was, I had no idea what it could be.

"There's no way this can have a good ending," Ellie complained.

"It will."

"How can it? I'm pregnant by either the son or the father. Colton is as pissy as a spoiled toddler whose dad took his favorite toy from him." Ellie pushed her plate away.

"You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You still should eat," I went on gently. "Billy needs his breakfast, too."

Ellie sent me a glower that might have split my head had it been a little sharper. "Dammit. This is a clusterfuck."

"It is what it is," I answered. "Colton will see reason. Eventually."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He won't have a choice. Now eat before that gets cold."

Clearly reluctant, Ellie scooped eggs and fried potatoes into her mouth, chewing hard and fast. The image made me chuckle, garnering for myself another hard glare. I obeyed my own order and ate my breakfast.

"We should consider a paternity test," I suggested, then sipped my coffee.

Ellie nodded without looking up. "I know. If Colton knows the baby isn't his, he might chill."

"Or chill because the baby is his."

"No, I don't think so. If he's the father, he'll become more obsessed with me. He'll get worse, not better."

"Either way, he has to understand we're together. Right? He's a part of the family no matter what, but he's not the one for you. I am."

When Ellie refused to look at me, nor did she answer, a chill crept into my soul. "I am…yes?"

"I want you to be," she answered quietly. "But here I am, stuck between a rock and a hockey player. I told you I don't like being between you and Colton. I can't help but feel things are getting out of control, like really fast. Now that he knows about us, I'm uneasy. Scared even."

I nodded, seeing her point. "I'm a bit nervous now, too. I hate feeling that he's trouble, because he shouldn't be. I'd never in a million years have believed he'd threaten to harm you or chase you the way he did."

Ellie glanced up. "Until he did it."

"Right. Until he did."

***

We spent much of the day on the sofa watching movies, eating popcorn. As Ellie's only set of clothes was the slinky dress from last night, she wore a pair of my sweatpants and a shirt, both of which were far too big for her. We cuddled in ways that ensured none of our broken or injured bits hurt.

Ellie yawned lazily. "I should really go home."

"Please don't." I tightened my arm around her. "I want you to stay with me."

"I have deadlines, Mister MVP. You know? Work?"

I kissed her cheek. "I'll pay you double to stay here and watch another Clint Eastwood flick."

"My client is expecting my article."

I smirked. "Tell him to come see me. I'll give him an article to post."

Ellie wiggled out of my arms. "You need to take me home."

I sighed as she mounted the stairs to change, wishing I could convince her to live with me, let me take care of her. Ellie's independence glowed on her like the full moon, and I couldn't ask her to give it up. Not yet anyway.

Back in her black cocktail dress, her fuck-me shoes, she tossed her coat over her shoulders. I stood to help her left arm slide through the arm, then bent to kiss her sweet, luscious lips.

"Move in with me and I'll set you up with an office," I said, holding her lightly around her tiny waist. "You can keep your freelance job."

"Sure. And you'll be talking nonstop, kissing me, distracting me and I'll never get a thing done."

I grinned. "Yep."

The doorbell rang, breaking us apart with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel.

"That can't be Colton again," I muttered, turning toward it.

"Hope not."

I stepped to the door and swung it open…

I blinked in shock.

A reporter and a cameraman from the local news station, their van parked at the curb, stood on my steps. More news vans pulled in as the reporter thrust a microphone in my face.

"I already gave a news conference," I began.

"Mr. Aldine," the reporter said, not withdrawing the microphone as the camera zoomed in on me. "We're here to get your comment on your relationship with your son's girlfriend. What can you tell us?"

"What?" I stammered. "What did you say?"

"We're told you got a young girl pregnant, sir," she continued, merciless. "Is she of age? She's your son's fiancée, yes?"

As I floundered in the face of the world's end, I caught more cameras, more microphones, more questions barked at me. I craved to turn, run into the house, and slam the door shut. My feet seemed rooted to my front step.

Is the young woman pregnant, Mr. Aldine?

Is she of the age of consent?

Why would you make a pass at your son's fiancée?

Can we get an interview from her, sir?