49. Weston

I play a sport that requires me to focus on a three-inch rubber puck flying around a rink at a hundred miles an hour while six other dudes try to separate my head from my shoulders. Needless to say, concentration is important.

But goddamn, it is hard to concentrate today.

Not like anyone could blame me. In the span of twenty-four hours, I”ve discovered I”m going to be a father, duked it out with a pompous jackass who thinks he has a claim to what”s mine—and, if I”m lucky, put myself on the path to get my girl back.

So while I need to be thinking about nailing the execution of the playbook and how to get back in Coach”s good graces, all I can think about is Renee. Our baby. Our relationship. I want to high-tail it out of here and go back to her, saying fuck it to all the consequences.

And oh, there would be consequences.

I already got chewed out by Coach. I couldn”t repeat what he said to me if my life depended on it, though. All I heard was white noise, like Charlie Brown’s parents were giving me a lecture.

But I took my licks and hit the ice to get these plays right. For an hour, I locked the fuck in. No distractions. None.

When we hit break, I skate off with my hand already in my pocket, gripping my phone. At the edge of the rink, I check it to see if Renee texted me.

Nothing.

I frown and shoot her a message.

WESTON: How you doing?

WESTON: Want to grab some Ruby”s when I”m done?

It”s a bit of a drive from here to Laguna, but always worth it for that beach view diner vibe. Besides, Renee could use the break. Something lowkey and somewhat normal.

I”d kill for some normal.

I wait for her to reply. I try not to let the nerves get to me, but every second that ticks by has me on an edge that I know I”m going to have to eventually back off from. She can”t be under my watch every single second of every single day…

Right?

No. Of course not. That’d be ridiculous.

But damn, do I wish I had the security that”d give.

Leaning against the edge of the rink, I toss my phone back and forth between my hands. Back and forth, back and forth. My teammates avoid coming near me—probably because I had my ass so thoroughly chewed out earlier that they don’t want to get infected by any of Coach’s residual anger.

But eventually, Orion skates over. He skids to a halt, spraying my skates with ice. ”My bad, dude. Was coming in hot.”

”Mm.”

He leans against the edge of the rink, peering at me. He”s not a hard guy to read.

”O,” I sigh, “if you”re gonna say something, say it. Quit looking at me like that.”

“Who, me?” I glare and he exhales. “I just came to chat.” Nodding at my phone, he adds, ”Gotta blow off some steam after that lecture, I bet? This shit”s gotta be rough.”

I shrug. ”Coach yells. Shit happens. Not the first time, won”t be the last.”

He continues to blink at me meaningfully.

”What?” I grumble.

He gives me a look—a cock-headed, brow raised one that screams, “Dude, really?!” ”I”m not talking about Coach, dude. I mean, you know… the Renee stuff? I get it, though—it”s big news. I told everyone to give you some space today so Coach was the only one that gave you grief. But for real, man, if you need to talk or anything, we got time or we could snag a drink?—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. ”Orion, what the fuck are you talking about?” I feel like I”m watching the last episode of a ten-season show I never started.

Orion is just as confused. ”The… Renee stuff? Don”t you know? It was all over social media.”

”You know I don”t fuck around with that trash.”

His face pales. ”Maybe you should.”

He starts to pull out his phone from his bag on the bench but hesitates at the last moment.

”You know, we could just not?—”

”You already brought it up. Show me.”

Orion sighs and hands his phone over.

BANK HEIR AND SOCIALITE SET TO TIE KNOT! BABY ON THE WAY FOR DEACON CARRINGTON AND RENEE DUBOIS.

My blood starts to boil over.

I skim down the article once, realize I didn’t process a single word, then start over from the tab.

This is no hack job. No bog standard tabloid garbage. Someone put thought into this. There are dozens of perfectly curated pictures of Renee and Deacon together at various functions. Cozied up, two peas in a pod for anyone who doesn’t know Renee well enough to see that she’s screaming on the inside.

The gist of the column is some fairy tale drivel, waxing fucking quixotic about Renee and Deacon”s rekindled romance. “These wedding bells have been in the works for months,” according to Priscilla Lane, the woman responsible for this bullshit.

“We had a whole reveal planned,” says Dubois, regarding the recent attempt at scandal-making regarding the announcement of her pregnancy. “But sometimes, the timing is all off and other people have plans of their own. But it actually ended up working out in the end! Deacon and I have been sitting on this for months, so it feels so good to be able to share. We”re so in love.” Ms. Dubois—soon to be Mrs. Carrington—is visibly alight with excitement as she discusses her pending nuptials.

I can”t help but roll my eyes. That doesn”t sound like Renee at all. This has to be some bullshit attempt at damage control on Deacon”s side.

My rage only heats up more. Who does this guy think he is? Does he really believe he can just control Renee like this?

Nah. I don”t fucking think so. This wouldn”t fly even if it was just Renee in the mix—but now, it”s my child, too.

So that’s a doublefuck no.

”I gotta go. Cover for me.”

”What—hey, Weston, wait!”

But I”m already gone. Phone up to my ear with Renee”s number ringing. ”Come on, come on.”

She doesn”t answer. The call cuts short before the whole cycle can finish.

I call again. Same result.

I growl as I get to the parking garage. I tear my door open and try one more time.

I”m in luck. This time, Renee answers.

”Weston.” Her tone is low and clipped, like she”s trying not to make too much noise. ”Why are you calling me like this?”

”Come on, Renee. You know exactly why.”

I hear her swallow. ”You saw the article.”

”Damn near everyone has. Whole team was told to leave me alone about it, for fuck”s sake, thinking I knew about it already. I was the last to see it.”

She”s quiet for a moment. Then: ”I”m sorry.”

”For what? You didn”t have anything to do with it. That quote they used didn”t even sound like you.”

Her breathing is shallow and scared. ”It was Deacon”s idea. My father loved it.”

”Fuck both of them. Listen, I”m gonna fix this, okay? Can you meet up with me?”

”I… I don”t know.”

Not the answer I”m looking for.

”Can you try?” I press. ”Are they with you right now?”

”No. But they”ll know if I’m gone too long.”

”Doesn”t matter. We just need a little bit of time.”

For a second, I think she”s going to tell me no.

But luck is on my side today for the second time. ”Alright. Tell me where.”

It”s the first time in months that Renee’s been in my apartment. It”s had a cold feeling in it since she left—no, since I got her kicked out.

I have to remember that. Redemption starts with owning my mistakes.

When I answer the door and she”s standing right there, I want to take her in my arms. The only thing I want to do is show her that everything is going to be okay. Despite the designer track suit she’s wearing, her whole demeanor is downtrodden. Her eyes are swollen and red, like she”s been crying.

Easy, tiger. Push down that instinct to strangle Deacon to death for a while longer.

”Hey,” I say instead.

”Hey,” she breathes out.

I step to the side and let her in. It’s almost impossible not to touch her, but I manage—for now. Her scent washes over me—a warm strawberry body wash that lingers in her wake. I breathe her in as I close the door and follow her into the living room.

It”s ridiculous, but it feels like letting a girl in my room for the very first time all over again. That unsure, teenagery anxiety over what might happen, if I’m gonna fuck it up, all washing over me like I”ve never done this song and dance before.

Renee makes me vulnerable.

Maybe that”s why she”s the girl for me.

She sits down on one end of the couch, and I sit on the other. Say something, dumbass.

”Thanks for coming over.” That”s a good place to start, right? Being thankful. ”I know being here after everything might be a little weird.”

”Definitely wasn”t expecting it,” she admits. ”But at least I wasn”t jumped by security for trying to come in.”

”I talked to management about it.”

”Yeah, that”s what they said. That you wanted to waive the ban on me in the building. That—I mean, thanks.”

When I see her lip wobbling dangerously, I scoot a little closer. ”Hey. Hey. Come here.”

I open my arms to her. She eyes the space between them, and I can”t tell at first if she”s uncertain about the gesture. It doesn”t end up mattering when she slips into my hold, her head against my chest, and her arms around my torso. She holds me—clings, really, like she”s afraid to let me go, or maybe this is what she”s been needing.

So I hold her for a while. We just exist together, in the quiet of my apartment.

No Deacon. No paparazzi. No work.

No fucking noise.

Nothing but us.

I press my nose to the crown of her head and take in more of that strawberry scent. Again, I wonder, Has she always smelled like that? Or has she just been gone so long I”m hyper-tuned into every new shift about her body?

”I”m glad you came,” I say at last. ”I figured, after that article, you coulda just ghosted.”

”I don”t know if you know this, but you”re kind of addicting, Weston Scott.”

I grin against her hair. ”I don”t think I’ve got a problem with that.”

”Makes two of us.” She peers up at me. ”But… I think I”m kinda screwed right now. They”re making me marry him before the baby”s born. I have—I have a month. And then I”ll be Mrs. Renee DuBois-Carrington.” Her face screws up with disgust. ”My father and my fiancé had the nerve to argue over whether I”d keep my last name, hyphenate, or if I”d be a full-blown Carrington. Right in front of my face. Didn”t ask me what I wanted at all. Didn’t even?—”

I silence her with a kiss. I can see the spiral, twisting and curling in on her the more she speaks. Nope. None of that. No downward falls for my girl.

Fuck what Deacon or her father says.

She”s mine.

”Tell me what you want, then, babe. Tell me. I”ll make it happen.”

She chuckles against my lips, something incredulous and kind of sad. ”You can”t. I can”t. My father gets what he wants and right now, he wants to put me in my place?—”

”Your place is wherever you choose to be, Renee.” I pull back, looking her in the eyes. ”So I ask you again: what do you want?”

Rene”s eyes shine as she looks up at me. Of all the shit we”ve been through, from meeting her that first time in the hall when I thought she was just another little puck bunny looking for a ride, to learning that we”re having a child together, I”ve never seen her so vulnerable. Like every possible brick that could be considered part of a wall between us is finally gone.

”I want you, Weston. You and everything that comes with you.”

I nod. ”Good. That”s all I needed to know. I’ll handle the rest.”