Page 69 of Shots Fired

“Lesson One: How to Figure Out When the Former NHL Fuckboy Is Actually into Only One Girl.” He reaches up, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’m down bad, Darcy. And I’m not going anywhere. Especially not now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ARCHER

We didn’t make it to the restaurant.

Instead, we switched up the seafood for Taco Bell. Cheesy bean and rice burritos were all my girl could think about, repeating her need for them as I drove us to the nearest drive-through.

After she inhaled three—the first in less than four bites—she asked me to take her home. But that was where the compromises stopped for me. I might’ve missed out on my unofficial date with her, but I wasn’t about to let her sleep anywhere else but in my bed.

And that’s where she passed out, straight after I carried her in my arms from the elevator to my bedroom, helping her exhausted body get undressed. I didn’t miss it when she said she hadn’t planned on telling me about the pregnancy right away, but, fuck me, am I relieved she did. By the time I pulled the duvet over her body and grabbed her toothbrush—yes, I’d made sure she would have everything she needed when she stayed overat my place—Darcy was fully asleep, her soft snorts filling my bedroom.

It’s amazing how the presence of one person—no, two people—can turn an otherwise empty and cold penthouse into the home you never knew you were searching for.

When I wrapped myself around her warm body, resting my splayed palm against her lower belly, I felt her melt into me, a gentle sigh leaving her lips.

We haven’t had much chance to talk, and it’s fucking killing me to know what’s going through her head right now as I drive the short journey to the practice rink for morning skate. All I have to keep her from leaving is the hope that she’ll sleep through until I get home, along with a note I left on the nightstand, confirming I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Did I consider skipping skate in favor of staying curled around her warm, pregnant body, waiting until she woke up so I could repeat the same assurances I had given her last night in my car? Best fucking believe I did.

When Darcy had told me she expected to be figuring out life as a single mom the moment she broke the news to me, the only comfort I could find in her words was the realization that she was planning to keep the pregnancy. Ultimately, this is her body and decision, but I want our child in the same way that I’m desperate to have this girl in my life. Permanently. Irrevocably. There isn’t a flicker of doubt in my mind that her birth control not working for whatever reason was the greatest failure in the history of forever. Because now … now I get my shot to prove how goddamn serious I am about her.

As I pull into the rink parking lot, I turn the volume down on Aerosmith’s “Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” and flash my ID at the security guard.

But the second I round the corner and see Jack’s black truck parked next to Sawyer’s, I’m hit with the heavy thud of reality.It’s not lost on me that the fuck-buddy arrangement I had with Darcy has morphed from risky to a full-blown atomic bomb, waiting to blow one half of my life to pieces in the wake of the other half finally gaining some traction.

Jack Morgan is going to fucking murder me.

At one time, when we were joking around about my crush on his baby sister—well, pretending we were joking—he told me if I touched her, he’d put my balls in a vise. And I knew he meant every fucking word.

I put my Mercedes into park and check my cell for messages from Darcy—none.

When he finds out I’ve not only been fucking his sister, but now have her knocked up and that she has a newfound addiction to Taco Bell, I’m pretty certain my balls and their fate will be the least of my worries. Because let’s not forget that the girl lying in my bed, carrying my baby, is also, for all intents and purposes, my coach’s stepdaughter.

You. Could. Not. Write. This. Shit.

Unless you’re Archer Moore and you have a habit of getting yourself into binds with women you can’t resist.

A knock on my car roof interrupts thoughts of which method Jack and Coach will use to castrate me, and I peer out of my driver’s window to find my captain waiting. With one hand in the pocket of his gray sweats, he motions for me to get moving since I’m already pushing time, and if there’s one thing that pisses Coach off, it’s delinquency.

Although right now, I might hazard a guess at something else that could really fuck up his day.

I lower my window, offering an easy smile. “Fucking roads, man.”

He lifts a brow. “At six a.m.? Did you detour via London?”

Opening my driver’s door, I step out as Sawyer backs away, and I head for the trunk, pulling out my gear. “You’re gettingcocky these days—you know that?” I tell him, closing the lid and locking my car.

He smirks but doesn’t respond, knowing I’m not far from the truth.

Turning toward the building, we both head for the entrance, the automatic doors opening as we step into the reception area.

Sawyer grabs two towels from the dispenser and throws one to me. I catch it against my chest right as one of the physiotherapists pushes through the swing doors.

Fuck.

Amelia—if I remember her name correctly—throws me a sweet smile, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear as she heads for the water cooler.

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