p a r k e r

"Yo, Captain B!" Andrew yells across the locker room. "How was Delittevole?" he smirks at me.

My brows furrow. "How'd you know I went there?" I didn't tell anyone that I went there, not even Deacon or Miles. Not that Olivia and I are keeping our relationship—friendship—a secret, but I just wanted people to mind their own business.

"I saw an article of you and that hot model," he says.

I turn to Deacon who lifts his phone into my line of sight. Sure enough, the article's headline reads New York Blaze Team Captain, Parker Baylor, Has a New Beau. I snatch the phone from his hand.

The 25-year-old NHL player was spotted with 22-year-old fashion model, Olivia Windsor, dining at Delittevole. Sparks were flying last night as the two shared a romantic meal.

At the bottom, there's a picture of Olivia and I holding hands. So much for a private table, I think to myself.

"So, you guys are serious?" Deacon asks. That's an understatement. More like expecting a baby in a few months.

Instead, I just nod. "All secretive now, are we?" he quips.

Guilt settles in the pit of my stomach. I want to tell Deacon and Miles about my situation with Olivia. It's eating at me that I haven't told them yet. It's not that I don't trust them because I know they'd take my secrets to the grave. I just don't want this to taint my reputation. I don't want them to see me as incapable of being team captain.

"Is everything okay with you, Baylor?" Deacon's wears a concerned expression.

"I'm good," I nod. "Let's just focus on practice."

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"Parks," Miles calls from the kitchen. "Can I open this bag of chips?"

"Yeah," I yell from the living room where Deacon and I lay on the couch. I already knew Miles was going to raid my pantry once we got to my condo after practice. There's no question that Miles can eat.

As a sports channel plays on the television, I contemplate revealing the news to them. It's all I could think about since Siggy brought up my relationship with Olivia. I couldn't focus at all during practice. Even Coach Matthews sensed something was off. "Get your head in the game, Parker!" he yelled at me.

Deacon and Miles are great support systems. Though we're tough on the ice, we do rely on each other in our personal lives. And it would be impossible to keep something so life altering a secret.

Miles hops onto the couch, a party size potato chip bag in hand—which will soon be empty. On an impulse, I clear my throat and they both turn their heads at me. "I need to tell you guys something."

Both of their eyebrows furrow, most likely concerned about why I'm acting weird. Miles scans me from head to toe. "Are you injured?"
he questions.

I shake my head. "No, I'm perfectly healthy."

"Well, you obviously aren't getting traded," Deacon says warily.

"It's nothing like that," I say.

"Is this about Olivia?" Deacon asks.

When I don't answer, Miles says, "Yup. It's definitely about the girl."

"Dude, spit it out," Deacon's patience deterring.

"Olivia's pregnant," I finally reveal.

In slow motion, I watch as Deacon and Miles' mouths drop, their eyes grow wide. Rather than be the concerned friends I thought they'd be, they break out into full bellied laughter. What the fuck?

"You're fucking with us," Deacon playfully smacks me on the chest.

My expression remains still. They think this is a joke—a fucking joke.

"I don't think he's joking," Miles whispers Deacon as if I'm not sitting right next to them.

They room grows silent as my friends wait for an explanation. "Remember when Olivia came to the game two days ago?"

They nod. "Well, I found out that I'm going to be a father in nine months."

"Holy shit," Miles mutters.

"She keeping it?" Deacon asks. I nod.

He blows out a long breath while shaking his head. "You're going to be a dad." Don't I know it.

I catch Miles staring at my face looking all thoughtful. "Why are you staring at me like that? Are you just finding out condoms can break or something?"

He rolls his eyes. "Duh, they're only ninety-eight percent effective. I'm not that dumb."

Deacon smirks. "I beg to differ. Last week, you literally asked us if fish sleep."

Miles chucks a pillow at his face. "I was just picturing Parker as a father." He looks back at me. "Honestly, dude, you're already like the dad of our team."

"Uhm, thanks, I think." I offer him a slight smile, not sure what he means.

"I mean, you're a great role model and leader, you're responsible and caring, and you're nice... even to Andrew, who's annoying as fuck," he says. "What I'm trying to say is, you already have the whole father shebang down. You're going to be a good dad."

Usually, the words that come out of Miles' mouth are idiotic and make me question how I'm friends with a complete weirdo. But now, I'm utterly touched and flattered. "Thanks, man."

"I hate to say it, but Miles is right," Deacon voices. "You've got this in the bag. You give your one and ten percent effort in everything you do. I'm sure fatherhood will be no different."

"I really needed to hear that, guys."

"I gotta ask—how is she going to continue modeling?" Miles questions. "I'm not saying she can't," he clarifies. "But I've never seen a pregnant woman walking a runway."

I haven't either, but if anyone model were to do so, it would be Olivia. I can see her strutting the stage, her stomach big with my baby. The thought puts a smile on my face.

"We haven't exactly discussed all of that," I answer truthfully. "We're just getting to know each other."

"Getting to know each other my ass," Deacon rolls his eyes. "You're already smitten with her." No lie there.

In truth, I really like Olivia. Since I was little, my life revolves around hockey. Getting drafted into the NHL, making it to the playoffs, winning the Stanley Cup. But Olivia—she makes me want more out of life.

"You're lovesick. The smile on your face says it all," Deacon teases. "I get it though. Remember Isabelle?"

"Ahhh, your hometown girl," I say.

"I would've run straight to City Hall for that girl," he tells us. "But I ended up with major trust issues."

Deacon avoids expressing his emotions at all costs. This girl must have really messed him up.

"Are you going to do a huge announcement?" Miles asks.

I shake my head. "I don't think we'll be sharing the news with the public anytime soon. We haven't even told our families yet."

"I know this sounds weird, but I just pictured how good looking your kid is going to be. The baby's gonna have fucking good genes. Damn, I'm jealous of an unborn child." We all break out into a fit of laughter.

We go back to watching television and munching on snacks that hockey players shouldn't indulge in. I feel my phone vibrate from the side pocket of my jeans. I slide it out and put in my passcode. I smile when I see a text from Olivia, or should I say Golden Babe because that's what her contact is saved under.

Golden Babe: Hey, are you free this weekend? I don't have any photo shoots or meetings, so maybe we could have dinner again.

I mutter a curse word. Our team is has an away game.

Parker: Unfortunately, the Blaze is challenging the Devils in the Garden State. The team was going to check out the city during the weekend, but I'd be happy to come back on early if it means I'll get to spend Sunday with you.

The little dots dance around my phone screen.

Golden Babe: New Jersey, you say... What a coincidence because my parents are hosting a family dinner that I'm required to attend. How do you feel about meeting the Windsors?

Parker: Count me in.

Golden Babe: Looking forward to it. Although, I must warn you that the my sisters, their husbands, and my nieces and nephews will be there, too.

Parker: The more the merrier, right?

Golden Babe: I don't know about that.

Parker: We'll see. Is jacket required for dinner?

Golden Babe: No, my family isn't that intense... Well, not with attire anyway.

Parker: I'm excited to meet the infamous Windsor sisters.

Golden Babe: You won't be saying that on Sunday.

I stifle a chuckle so Deacon and Miles don't give me weird looks.

Parker: See you on Sunday, Golden Babe.

Golden Babe: Okay, baby daddy ;)

Baby daddy. I like the sound of that.

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a u t h o r ' s   n o t e

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