Unexpected Daddy: A Bad Boy Hockey Romance Read online

  Unexpected Daddy: A Bad Boy Hockey Romance

  Cass Kincaid

  Published by Cass Kincaid, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 by Cass Kincaid

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information and retrieval systems, without the written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, or actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

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  Sneak Peek of: DEFENSIVE DADDY

  Prologue

  Craig

  The morning begins just like every other morning has before it for the past year and a half. Being a twenty-one-year-old college student on a hockey scholarship allows me to lead a life that consists of the same things on a regular basis—hockey, parties, a bit of studying, and a lot of women.

  Okay, so the long line of women might be a relatively new development for me—since my long-term girlfriend, Ella, dumped for me unknown reasons about four months ago—but they’ve become my favorite kind of distraction from what’s missing in my life.

  Which just happens to be her.

  But I’m almost finished my final year of college, and if my hockey career doesn’t take off right away, at least I will have a diploma in my hand, with the chance to earn my automotive technician licensing.

  That’s the thing—not only am I a damn good stick handler, I’m also damn good with my hands, too.

  Just ask the pretty blonde woman in my bed. She’s still passed out from the night before, and normally I still would be as well if it wasn’t for the dull headache starting to pulse in my head. I slip out of bed and pull my jeans on, finding them crumpled in a pile on the floor.

  Wow, by the looks of things, she and I must have been pulling our clothes off from the moment we got in the door. My t-shirt is on the floor just inside the doorway, and her bra is slung over the chair by my desk on the other side of the room. Other articles of clothing are strewn haphazardly between those two points.

  This dorm room must have been barely big enough to contain our lust last night.

  It’s too bad I can’t remember it. Or her name, for that matter.

  I know I should probably be ashamed of myself, but that would involve feeling something. Something other than the betrayal and pain from Ella’s departure. I can’t even call it a breakup because there was no breakup, just a note saying she was sorry and that this wasn’t how she wanted things to be.

  Well, that makes two of us.

  By then, she had already been to my dorm room and grabbed the few things she’d kept here for the nights she spent with me off and on throughout the school week, leaving the dorm key I’d given her on my nightstand and placing the note in the middle of my bed.

  I tried to call her, but she changed her phone number.

  I tried to track her down by calling her parents, but they wouldn’t tell me anything except that Ella didn’t want to see me and that I should respect that.

  It’s hard to respect someone who leaves you with a written note of apology, though.

  So, after almost two years of living a life that revolved around Ella Barker, I’ve managed to move on the only way I know how. More hockey, more partying, and more sex with women to try to take my mind off the pain that engulfs me when I’m sober.

  The shrill ringing of a phone makes me squint my eyes in front of the bathroom mirror. I’ve just gotten the cap off the ibuprofen bottle and I’m shaking a couple of them into my hand when the sound assaults my ears.

  “Are you going to get that?” A groggy voice speaks up from the bed.

  I retreat from the bathroom, taking in the sight of the woman in my bed, still huddled under the covers like it’s a fortress from the annoyances of the world, only her head peeking out. Her blonde hair is tousled and there are dark circles under her eyes from mascara and lack of sleep.

  Something knots in my gut. She’s pretty and can’t be older than twenty-one. She deserves so much better than the one-night stand she’s getting from me.

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “Just give me a sec.”

  She groans some kind of incoherent response, but I’m already popping the pills into my mouth and chasing them with water from the bottle on my nightstand, my eyes searching out the phone. Another loud ring alerts me to its location on the desk, and manage to answer it on the third ring, much to my bedmate’s frustration.

  “Hello?” I don’t even bother to check the caller display, too eager to make the shrill sound stop reverberating through my head.

  “Is this Craig Connelly?”

  I don’t recognize the voice on the other end of the line. “It is. Who’s this?”

  “My name is Marla, sir. I’m a nurse at the Richmond County General. I’ve been asked by Ella Barker to contact you—”

  “What happened?” Every nerve ending in my body has begun to sizzle and snap with anxiety. My brain automatically conjures up numerous reasons for Ella and the local hospital to be associated with one another. “Is Ella okay?”

  Her voice is even, controlled. She’s obviously been trained to deal with people on the verge of impending hysteria. “Ms. Barker has been in an accident, Mr. Connelly. She’s requested that we call you.”

  An accident. “I asked you if she was okay,” I repeat, growing more assertive. And more worried.

  More hesitation. “She’s currently conscious, Mr. Connelly, but it would be best if you could get here soon. We can fill you in on the details in person.”

  There’s something in what she doesn’t say that scares me more than what she does. “I can be there in twenty minutes. I’m leaving now.”

  “Take the elevator to the third floor,” she instructs me. “We’ll be awaiting your arrival.”

  I toss the phone onto the foot of the bed just as the blonde woman under the covers pulls the blankets back and sits up slowly. “Everything all right?” she asks me, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, pulling clean clothes from the dresser drawer in front of me.

  “Well, what’s going on?”

  I turn around to face her and see that she hasn’t made a move to get out of the bed. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you know?” she asks, an edge in her voice.

  I tug the clean t-shirt over my head, smoothing it down my abdomen as my eyes meet hers. “Just that you have to go.”

  Her expression falls, but she recovers quickly, only letting her raised eyebrows tell of her anger towards me right now. “Too bad,” she says seductively. “I had other plans for you and I this morning.”

  It’s all I can do to prevent myself from rolling my eyes at her. “Look—” I pause, wracking my brain for a memory, but nothing comes.

  “Bethany,” she advises me through clenched teeth.

  “Right. Bethany.” I swallow. “Something’s happened, and I don’t know what. But it’s my girlfr—
ex-girlfriend. I have to go. I’ll call you, all right?”

  She swings her legs off the side of the bed, pressing her fingers into the edge of the mattress as a sad, knowing smile plays on her lips. “No, you won’t.”

  I sigh, reaching for my keys and wallet on the desk. “You’re probably right.” I don’t have time for this, I want to add, but by a sheer miracle the words don’t leave my mouth.

  “Thanks for the honesty,” she snaps, rising from the bed in only her panties as she begins to scan the room for her clothes. “You’re obviously a complete asshole, too,” she adds under her breath.

  I run my hand through my closely cropped hair, blowing out a long breath of air as I head for the door. “You’re probably right about that, too,” I admit. “You can let yourself out whenever you’re ready.” I let the door shut behind me, heading for the elevators with only one word careening through my mind on repeat in time with my rapidly beating heart.

  Ella.

  ***

  The hospital is bustling with activity despite the fact it’s not even seven o’clock in the morning yet. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been here, not just because I’ve rarely needed to—the only times were due to a broken finger from a hockey practice and a concussion from one of the more rollicking hockey games I played in high school—but also because I despise hospitals. The sterile smell and the hushed voices and the fear that goes along with being inside those walls is not something I handle without an increasing blood pressure and a paranoid mind.

  Right now, my paranoia is at an all-time high because I don’t know what I’m walking into, don’t know what I’ll find or what happened. Every person I pass in the corridors, every face that turns toward me in the elevator as I get in and press the third button in the row—I feel like they’re all watching me. Waiting. Observing.

  I let out a long breath to steady myself as I step off the elevator without looking back to see if the other people in it are still fixated on me. I don’t want to see the looks in their eyes, don’t want to confirm whether they’re still watching with morbid fascination to see if I can handle whatever comes next.

  “I’m Craig,” I say to the nurse behind the desk. “Craig Connelly. Someone named Marla called me.”

  My estimation of taking twenty minutes to get there was accurate. Marla’s statements were just as accurate, because a nurse hurries out from behind one of the doors across from the nurse’s desk.

  “We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Connelly,” she says.

  I can see it in her eyes immediately, and my stomach plummets. No amount of training or time can eradicate a human’s ability to hide the sad truths of life and the sympathies that come with them. Something has happened.

  Something bad.

  “Where’s Ella?” My voice is hoarse, thick with trepidation.

  “Why don’t you come with me, and I—”

  “Where is she?” I ask louder. My heart is beating more wildly each second the redheaded nurse fails to answer. She takes a step closer to me, hands out as though ready to steady me. Or maybe she’s steadying herself, I’m not sure. That’s when I realize she’s wearing a nametag that says Marla. “You said Ella was in an accident,” I say, almost as an accusation.

  “She was, Mr. Connelly.” There’s a quiet, soothing quality to her voice that makes me want to scream at her to stop fucking patronizing me. But Marla continues, her tone remarkably even for a woman who can obviously see that I’m teetering on the edge of anger and frustration. “A pickup truck struck her car at a high rate of speed,” she explains. “She was rushed here via ambulance, Mr. Connelly, but her injuries were just too severe. I’m so sorry.”

  The floor seems to fall out from under me, and I hit my knees right there in front of the nurse’s desk, purely because I can’t hold myself up any longer. “No,” I whisper shakily. “Ella can’t be dead.”

  The notion seems ludicrous, and just saying it out loud makes it that much more unbelievable. I can’t breathe, can’t feel anything. Just numbness, like my entire body has shut down, refusing to feel the pain and hurt and regret that is threatening to completely destroy me.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Connelly.” Marla’s voice is closer to me now, and I can see her in my peripheral vision, crouching down to comfort me. “She tried to hang on as long as she could. She told us to contact you, and—”

  “Stop.” I choke out, on the verge of tears. “Ella’s gone.”

  “She is,” Marla says softly. “But Mr. Connelly, the baby’s fine. He’s premature, but you’ve got a remarkably healthy little boy.”

  My head snaps up and I stare at her through wide, blurry eyes. “What?”

  My confusion must be obvious, because her own eyes narrow. “Your son,” she explains apprehensively. When I don’t say anything, waiting for her to continue, she speaks again. “Ella was almost eight months pregnant. She told us to contact you...the baby’s father.”

  My mind is racing, yet it’s somehow stuck, unable to process what she’s saying. “She wasn’t...she didn’t...”

  Your son.

  If Ella was pregnant, why didn’t she tell me?

  If Ella was pregnant, why did she leave me?

  Questions catapult through my brain, but the only thing that sticks, the only thing that keeps bubbling back to the surface of my consciousness is one simple phrase.

  Your son.

  “Can...can I see him?” The question is out before I even realize I’ve said it out loud. But, in that moment, I’ve never wanted anything more.

  Marla looks reluctant, and maybe some kind of protocol or repercussion is preventing her from wanting to take me to him. But, despite the war going on in her eyes, the nurse nods her head, rising to her feet and offering out her hand to help me up. “Come with me, Mr. Connelly.”

  I let the woman help me stand. At this point, my pride and dignity mean little to me. There are tears stinging my eyes and two realizations that are taking up all the space in my brain.

  Ella is dead, and I have a son.

  I have a son, and Ella is dead.

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next, or how I’m supposed to cope with those two things. But the moment Marla leads me through the heavy steel doors of the nursery, guiding me up to the glass window that separates us from the line of newborns on the other side of it, something happens inside my chest.

  The smallest baby I’ve ever seen lays in a covered cot, a blue blanket covering his tiny legs. For a while, I just stand there, taking in the sight of him, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his little chest as he sleeps, eyes closed and face smooth with serenity.

  “He’s doing well,” Marla assures me quietly. “He’s premature, but he’s strong. He’s a fighter.”

  Of course he is, I think to myself, feeling my chest squeeze again. He’s definitely both of those things. He’s strong, and he’s a fighter. But there’s something else that makes him just as strong and determined to show the world what he’s made of, despite all odds. Something else that I know without a doubt, deep within my soul.

  He’s mine.

  Chapter One

  Ten Months Later...

  Megan

  There’s something to be said about a car that listens to exactly what you say. I mean, I did specifically say, “C’mon, please just get me to Cardon Springs.”

  When I said it, however, I was hoping for a little more than barely making it inside the town limits before my car gave up completely and died a loud, smoky death on the side of the road. I’m not even joking when I say I can see the welcome sign from my vantage point—that’s how literal my car took my request.

  Welcome To Cardon Springs! A Little Town With A Big Heart.

  How original. I’m hoping that the owner of the automotive repair shop I end up having to take this car to has a really big heart, because it’s the only way I am going to be able to get my car back considering how shallow my pockets are.

  Shallow might even be an exaggerati
on. I knew I was going to have to live on a shoestring income when I embarked on my trip to get here. Now, it looks like that shoestring has just snapped completely.

  “Aunt Nancy? Is that you?” I ask when I dial her number on my cell. It’s kind of a silly question seeing as my aunt lives alone, but the wind is howling something fierce, making it difficult to hear her on the other end of the line.

  “Megan!” she cries in her signature high-pitched squeal. “You must be getting close to here by now?”

  “Oh, I’m close, all right. Pretty much right beside the welcome sign. But my car won’t start. Any chance you can come and get me?” I feel guilty having to ask. I know how hard it is for Aunt Nancy to get around, even after her knee replacement last year.

  “We really need to get you some better wheels, Meg. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get this sorted out!” She barely gets the last word out before hanging up the phone. That’s my aunt in a nutshell—high strung on a good day, almost always in pain from osteoarthritis, but ready and willing to do almost anything for anyone at any time.

  I climb back in the front seat and slam the door to block out the wind while I wait for her to arrive. I’m not even sure what she drives, but seeing as the welcome sign of this town says the population is only fifteen hundred, I’m sure there won’t be that much traffic coming and going at this time of day with the storm that’s rolling in.

  Aunt Nancy is my mom’s sister, but she’s been just as crucial in my upbringing as my own mother. My Uncle Doug died three years ago, leaving my aunt with a void in her heart and a three-bedroom bungalow on a three-quarter acre lot to maintain by herself.

  Hence the reason she is so damn excited about the fact that I’m moving in with her. And I can’t deny that I’m just as excited to live with her as well, but it’s just not the path I had thought I’d be on in my life at the age of twenty-one.

  But a whack of student debt and the loss of a dream job will do that. I just need to be thankful that Aunt Nancy was able to help me get the journalism job at the Cardon Springs Chronicle. Judging by the population number on the sign in front of me and the lack of cars that have driven by since I’ve been stranded here, I’d say it’s probably not going to be the most exciting newspaper to write for, but a job is a job.