Page 88 of Shots Fired

I’m a shit liar, and I’m even worse at acting chill. Heat creeps across my entire face, burning the tips of my ears. “I have. He’s one of my brother’s closest friends. I speak to him on nights out sometimes.”

Biting on her bottom lip, Julia studies me in the way her son does. They’re so alike with the same eyes and dark hair, but also in their mannerisms.

I can sense she wants to say something but is holding back, and I wonder if Archer has spoken about me. Maybe he hasn’t mentioned my name but told her there’s a girl he likes.

“He’s a good man,” she finally says. “Since the minute he left the womb, he’s always known what he wants and gone after it. I think that’s what makes him one of the best goalies to ever grace the NHL—his determination to follow his dreams.”

In isolation, her comment is kind of abstract, but there can be no doubting now that she isn’t talking about hockey. She’s talking about me; her eyes confirm it.

Julia reminds me of my mum with her maternal instinct; it’s never pointed her in the wrong direction. I hope I have the same gift when it comes to our child.

“Anyway …”

As if snapping back to reality, she clicks her tongue and takes hold of the door handle behind her, spinning to face me once more. Her warm smile is still there, and although our encounter was spontaneous and brief, there’s nothing weird or uncomfortable about it.

“Enjoy the game, Darcy,” she continues. “I really hope to see you around again at some point.”

And as quickly as I fell into the restroom, she exits, the door closing behind her with a click.

Me: I know you’re on the ice now, but I just met your mum. She’s like the double of you in every way possible. But in spite of that, I like her. A lot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

DARCY

“Well, fuck me.” Kate Jones, wife of Jensen Jones and an all-around badass woman and lawyer, stares down into her glass of Pinot Grigio.

When I asked my mum to meet for lunch, I wasn’t anticipating Kate to come too. In hindsight, it’s probably not a bad thing. Kate and JJ—the nickname she has for her husband—fell pregnant with their twins unexpectedly a few years back, and I guess I could use her advice. Although, at this point, all she’s said is three words.

We’d been in the restaurant for all of five minutes before I blurted out the news. The second Mum started talking about grandchildren and her desperation for them, I dropped the bomb, which has left her open-mouthed and with a green olive in hand, suspended midair.

I reach across and take it from her, popping it into my mouth before grabbing a napkin and disposing of it.

Bleurgh. Another food fallen victim to this pregnancy. I used to love olives.

I take a sip of water to rinse my mouth, and both Kate and I look at Mum.

“Say something,” I breathe, trying to remain calm.

Still silent, Mum rises from her chair and rounds the table. I can already feel the tears as they prick in the corners of my eyes as I stand and she wraps her slender arms around my shoulders, and everything nearby fades to a blur.

Ten, maybe twenty seconds pass with me held in her embrace. I can smell her familiar perfume and coconut shampoo, and I realize this was exactly what I needed. Not her words, but her touch.

Pushing back her chair, Kate comes to stand beside us, and Mum opens her arms out for her to join the hug. We must be attracting attention in the restaurant, but I couldn’t care less.

After a few more beats, Kate breaks from the hug and steps back a pace. “Okay, so practical-talk time. Is Liam back on the scene?”

I part laugh, part sniffle. “Umm, no,” I reply and take my seat, Kate and Mum doing the same. “I mean, he’s been in contact, and he wants to talk, but if you’re asking if the baby’s his … it isn’t.”

Mum hands me a tissue, and I dab at my eyes. She takes a sip of wine and places the glass down carefully on the pristine white tablecloth.

“Who is the father, honey?” Her voice is soft and encouraging, and I wipe at my eyes again.

Kate sits back in her seat, arms folded across her chest. Then she flicks her hair over a shoulder. “Well, if Emmett Richards is the dad, then you’re good. With the injury he sustained on the ice earlier, I’d say he’ll be out for the season. He sure took one for the team to secure a Blades win.”

I shake my head. His knee injury looked serious, and I hope he’s okay. “It’s not Emmett’s. I’ve barely spoken more than a few words to him.”

Kate leans forward, arms braced on the table in front of her. “Girl, I could barelylookat my husband, and he still put twins in me. That means nothing.”

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