She blinks. “You can?”
“Of course. I said all along that I didn’t want more, and it was true.”
She sniffs. “Callan…”
“It was true, up until I met you.” I sink to my knees, and put my arms around her, giving a gentle kiss to her stomach. “I want us to be together forever.”
“Callan, no.”
I look up at her. “What?”
“I don’t want you saying these things because I’m pregnant. I know you’d never turn your back on our baby, but I don’t have to come with the package. You don’t have to do the noble thing.”
“I love you, Gemma. I fucking love you. I want to be with you forever. I want us to raise this baby together, have more. Fill our house with kids. I want us to be a real family.”
She drops to her knees in front of me, tears falling down her face. “I love you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says. I open my mouth and she puts her finger to it. “Don’t ask me to marry you.”
My heart falls into my stomach. “Gemma?”
She smiles. “Not here, not like this. My God, this is not the story I want to tell our kids.”
Warmth and love move through me. “You’re right. I’ll make it special.”
“Every day with you and Kaitlyn is special, Callan. I’m so crazy in love with you both.”
I shake my head. “This is so not how I thought tonight was going to go down,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“If you have any doubts about my love, you won’t once we get home.”
“What did you do?”
“I had a special night planned, because I was going to spill my guts.” I’m rewarded with a big laugh. “But it’s all ruined.”
“It doesn’t have to be ruined,” she says. “Let’s give our statements, call my parents, and then call Kaitlyn, tell them all the good news.”
“I’d love that.”
“Then we can go home, and you can show me just how much you love me.”
I put my hand on her cheek. “I like the way you think.”
She puts her hand on my cheek, her eyes slowly moving over my face, a careful assessment. “You good, Callan?”
“I’m good, Gemma,” I say and this time I really and truly mean it and she really and truly knows it. “I’m really good, thanks to you.”
“Right back at ya, Callan.”
“Good, now come on. Let’s go get the rest of our lives started.”
Afterword
Thank You!
Thank you so much for reading, Single Dad Burning Up, book 3 in my Single Dad Series. I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it. Keep reading for an excerpt of The Playmaker, book one in my Players on Ice Series.
Interested in leaving a review? Please do! Reviews help readers connect with books that work for them. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative.
Happy Reading,
Cathryn
The Playmaker Nina
Fat drops of spring rain pummel my head, wilting my curls as I dart through Seattle’s busy traffic to the café on the other side of the street. My best friend, Jess, is inside waiting for me, undoubtedly hyped up on her third latté by now.
I step over a pothole and search for an opening in the traffic. I hate being late, I really do. I totally value other people’s time, but when the email came through from my editor, asking me to write a hot hockey series, my priorities took a curve. I’ve worked with Tara for a couple years now, and I know her like—pardon the pun—a well-worn book. To her, hesitation equals disinterest. She’s a mover, a tree-shaker, and it wouldn’t have taken long for her to offer the opportunity to another author. She wanted a quick reply and I had to give it to her.
I got this!
Yeah, that was my response, but what did I have to lose? I’ve been in such a rut lately, thanks to my fickle muse, deserting me when I needed her most. I swear to God, sometimes she acts like a hormonal teenager. I need to whip her into shape so I don’t lose this gig. The royalties from a series will help make a sizeable dent in the bills that are piling up high and deep.
High and deep.
I laugh. One of those self-derisive snorts that crawls out when you’d really rather cry. Yeah, that pretty much sums up the I got this response I emailed back. High and deep, like a big steaming pile of—
A car horn blares, jolting me from my pity party. With my heart pounding in my chest, I step in front of the Tesla and flip the guy off. I safely reach the sidewalk and once again my mind is back on my job, and off the impatient jerk in the overpriced car.
I step up on the sidewalk and lift my face to the rain, the cool water a pleasant break from this unusual spring heat wave we’re having. Pressure fills my throat. The hum of traffic behind me dulls, leaving only the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. Panic.
Why the hell did my editor think I, former figure skater turned romance novelist, would want to write a series about hot hockey players? Yeah, sure my brother is an NHL player, but that doesn’t mean I’m into the game. I hate hockey. No, hate is too mild a word for what I feel. I loathe it entirely. But you know what I don’t loathe? Eating. Yeah, I like eating. Oh, and a roof over my head. I really like that, too.
I draw in a semi self-satisfied breath at having rationalized my fast response.
Except my reply was total and utter bullshit. I don’t got this. In fact, I…wait, what’s the antonym of got this? All that comes to mind is, you’re screwed. Yep, that pretty much describes my predicament.
Why didn’t I just stick to figure skating?
Because
