Those Three Little Words
: Chapter 8

“How was last night?” Posey asks as he takes a seat next to me at our lockers.

The locker room is almost empty. Besides a few guys coming in and out from the training room, Posey and I are pretty much alone.

“Painful but it ended well,” I answer. Before every game day, I come in an hour early before our morning skate, just to get my head on right, chat with the boys, and mentally prepare for the night ahead of us.

Today is no exception.

“So what happened?”

Stick in hand, I start taping it, carefully preparing it for tonight. I always start on the butt end, making sure the grip up top is to my liking.

“I moved in.”

“You . . . you what?” Posey asks.

After everything that happened yesterday in Penny’s office, Posey almost looked more shell-shocked than me. He took off once he felt like Pacey wasn’t going to be a threat anymore—not that I’d need the help, but I understood his concern—and when he got back to his place, he texted me to see how I was doing. I shot him a quick reply, telling him I was sorting things out, but kept it at that.

“I moved in with Penny.”

“Uh, did Pacey watch over you the entire time?”

I shake my head just as the locker room door opens and Pacey walks in. His eyes land on me as he walks toward his locker, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs a hair tie for his hair from his locker and then heads back out toward the training room, where I’m sure he’s getting his legs rolled out and prepped.

“Wow, that was fucking chilly.” Posey smacks me in the chest.

“Hey, what the fuck was that for?”

“For clearly ruining the equilibrium in our fivesome. What were you thinking sleeping with Penny?”

“I wasn’t,” I say, now staring down at my stick. “I’ve wanted her since the first day I met her, and I kept that under control for two years. There was something that night with her, something that snapped within me, and no matter what I said to myself, it wasn’t going to stop me.” I look up at Posey now. “And she wanted me too.”

“It was stupid and careless. Pacey has said on multiple occasions that she was off limits.”

“I know,” I groan. “There is no use talking about it now. It already happened. Can’t change the past.”

“But what are you doing to fix it now?”

“Taking responsibility,” I answer. “I’ll be damned if Pacey has to even think twice about whether or not I’m in this.”

“Is that why you moved in with her? And she was okay with that?”

“Apprehensive at first, but she accepted my reasoning, and honestly, she looks just as terrified as I am. I don’t think she wants to be alone, so she said yes. I offered to sleep on the couch, but she said I could sleep in her bed.”

“Really?” Posey’s eyes widen. “Are you, you know . . . starting something up?”

I shake my head. “No, neither of us want to be in a relationship. She made that really clear the night we hooked up. But we did agree on being friends.”

“That’s good. So you’re friendly.”

“Eh, not really.” I snap the tape apart and smooth down the edge. “It was incredibly awkward last night. She showed me around, and then since it was late, we just got ready for bed.”

“And how was sharing the bed?”

“Just as comfortable as you’d imagine it would be. I almost think I’d have gotten a better night’s sleep on her sofa with my feet hanging off the edge. I kept waking up to make sure I wasn’t on her side or hogging the blankets. I barely got any sleep at all. And then she woke up early this morning feeling nauseous, so I sat next to her while she held a bucket. We didn’t really speak. It’s a real fucking one-eighty from how our one-night stand went.” Despite how awkward it started and how nervous Penny was, it had been the most fun I’d had with a woman in forever. I’d felt relaxed as if I could be myself without the expectation to be the super-god hockey player most women expect me to be. I was just Eli. But that’s possibly too deep to share with Posey right now. I glance around to make sure no one is listening in and lower my voice. “I’ve been inside the woman, I’ve kissed her all over her body, yet being with her now in her place feels like I’m rooming with a complete stranger.”

“Then maybe you replace a way to get to know her better. You have a long way to go before that baby is born, so you need to replace a way to make it work.”

“I know. I just don’t know how. It’s like dating someone you have no intention of actually dating. The small talk, the get to know you crap, the sharing . . . it’s not my strong suit.”

“You share with the people you care about. Don’t forget that,” Posey says just as the door to the locker room opens and Taters walks in with Holmes. When he spots me, a huge smile spreads across his face.

Oh hell . . .

“You know, for the longest time, I thought I was the one who was going to be the screwup of the group,” Taters says. “It was bound to happen, but here I am, completely outdone by the resident nice guy.” Taters claps. “Getting Pacey’s sister pregnant. Wow, man.”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” I hiss at him. “Jesus Christ, we’re not telling anyone.”

Halsey Holmes, the quiet but thoughtful one of our group, pushes Taters, and says, “I told you not to fucking say anything.”

“I didn’t listen.”

“Clearly.” Holmes takes a seat next to me, and asks, “You good?”

“Not really,” I answer.

“Lawes is fuming,” Taters says, pulling up a chair to close off our circle. “He’s in the training room, huffing and puffing, making a show of it.”

I scratch the side of my jaw and then pick up my tape again. “He doesn’t need to be. I’m taking care of it.”

“Really?” Taters asks. “So you’re going to marry her?”

“What?” I nearly squeak. “No, we’re just going to be friends, but I moved in to help her with whatever she needs.”

“Friends?” Taters shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t see that happening. You’ve been crushing on her forever, man. There’s no way you’ll stay friends.”

“I don’t want anything serious, and neither does she, so friends is the only option. And I’d rather be friends with my baby’s mom than not even talk to her.” I let out a huge sigh. “Okay, I’m done discussing this. I need to get my head on straight for the game tonight, and sitting here gabbing about my personal life is not going to do that.”

“Yes, but your personal life just got very interesting,” Taters says, the ever-present instigator.

“If you’re that interested, go get someone pregnant yourself.”

“Nah, I’m good. I just settled down from the crazy personal life. I don’t need to rock the boat now.”

Taters, or Silas Taters, also known as Potato, broke up with his girlfriend a little while back. They were together for a very long time, so long that Silas was considering proposing, and then, when we all least expected it, they broke up. We still don’t know the reason. Taters never said why, but he took it really fucking hard, and it seems like he’s finally out of the dark cloud of his breakup and now torturing me.

“Well, if you need anything, we’re here for you,” Holmes says before patting me on the back and going to his locker.

I know for a fact I’m not the only guy in the league who accidentally got a girl pregnant, but what I want to know is how they handle it because right now, as much as I try to focus on the game, my head keeps swinging back to Penny and what I’m going to do. If I’m going to be good enough.

If I’m going to follow through.

My dad never did.

I lost my mom at twelve.

My foster family, well, they were counting down the days until I turned eighteen. They didn’t hate me, but I knew they didn’t love me either.

So how the hell am I supposed to handle all of this when I’m not even sure how to be a parent? How to act like one this baby deserves?

Looks like I need to call my therapist. We have a lot to unpack, especially with playoffs around the corner. I need to focus if we’re going to have a run for the cup this year.

THIS IS WEIRD.

Coming home after a game to a new building, a new hallway, and a new front door. None of it belongs to me, and none of it is familiar. None of it feels like home.

And home is important to me. It’s my safe space, my grounding zone, a place I know will never disappear on me. But that has all changed now.

I slip out the key Penny gave me, and I unlock the door only to quietly open it. I’m not sure about Penny’s schedule. Couldn’t tell you if she was an early-to-bed kind of girl or a night owl. I don’t want to be too loud just in case she’s sleeping, but it also takes me a few hours to wind down from the adrenaline of a game, especially after a brutal loss like we suffered today.

Four to one.

It was embarrassing.

You don’t have to be in the know to realize something was going on between Pacey and me or that neither of our heads was in the game. Letting four goals go by is very unlike him. But it wasn’t all his fault. I couldn’t get my head out of the clouds fast enough to catch up to the offense and do my job, so it was almost as if Pacey was down a defenseman. You could only imagine how mad he is now.

It wasn’t pretty in the locker room after the game, to say the least.

When I step inside the apartment, I’m surprised to see the lights on and my game day suits scattered all over the living room and kitchen. Every single suit I own.

I glance around the space and replace Penny standing in the middle of the living room holding a steamer in one hand and the vest of my maroon three-piece suit in the other.

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d be home so soon,” she says, eyes wide. “I thought that maybe you’d take a bit longer.”

“I skipped the weight room today and settled with just flushing my legs out on the bike.” I set my bag down in the entryway. “What, uh, what are you doing?”

She glances at the steamer in her hand and then the vest. When her eyes return to mine, she says, “Stress steaming your suits.”

“Stress steaming?”

“Yes, well, you know, it was stressful watching your game tonight. I had to keep myself busy, so I unpacked your clothes, which I know is a huge violation of privacy, but I couldn’t just let them sit there in your suitcase all crumpled up, especially your suits. And when I pulled them out, I realized they needed a solid steam, so I set up a system and started steaming. One suit led to another that led to another, and honestly, I’m glad you actually arrived because I’m pretty sure your boxer briefs were next.” Her eyes widen. “Not that I noticed much about your boxer briefs. I mean, I did touch them but not in a creepy way, but in a these need to be put away kind of way. It was minimal touching of your private garments. They’re shoved in a drawer.” Her eyes widen even more. “Oh God, did you not want to be unpacked? I mean, that’s really presumptuous to move you in like that and give you a few drawers in my dresser. It’s not like a you’re my boyfriend dresser drawer. I just thought you would be more comfortable—”

“Penny, take a breath.” She collapses on the couch and drapes her arm over her eyes.

After a few seconds, she finally says, “You guys were atrocious tonight, and I know it’s my fault.”

Seeing where this is going, I move to the couch and take a seat, making sure to keep an appropriate distance. “We did suck tonight, but it was not your fault. It takes a team to lose a game, not a baby mama.”

She glances over at me. “I hate that term. Can you not call me that?”

“Should I call you the woman carrying my child?”

“You can just call me Penny.” She sits up. “Your head wasn’t in the game, and neither was Pacey’s. I knew this was going to happen. This is why I wanted to wait to tell you two, but then Blakely, with her horrendously thought-out ideas, came swooping in and convinced me to tell you now rather than after the season.”

“After the season would have been too far out. It’s probably best that you told us now.”

“And ruin your chances at the run for the cup? Sure, that seems like a great idea.”

“Penny, it was one game.”

“Yeah, well, one game will turn into many, and before we know it, you’re packing up your locker in May rather than getting ready for the next game. Everyone will hate this baby because you know the media will catch wind of it. It’s bound to happen, and then what? All of Vancouver hates on little Jimmy John or Johnny Jim or Peggy Leggy.”

“Peggy Leggy?” I ask, my nose curling. “Please don’t name our child Peggy Leggy.”

“You know what I mean. I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t. Stop saying that. We both made this baby. It was one game. We’ll replace our stride.”

“Sure you will.” She gets up and goes back to steaming my vest, continuing to work through the wrinkles. She doesn’t say anything else. Her concentration is solely focused on the tweed fabric of my vest.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, unsure of what else to do.

“It’s fine.” And she continues to work.

You could cut the tension with a fucking knife. It’s thick. It’s unruly, and it’s extremely uncomfortable.

Normally after a game, I’d hit up the weight room with the guys, stop by my favorite late-night sub shop to pick up an Italian special with extra veggies and meat, and then go home and relax on the couch while tuning into the latest show I’ve been bingeing. After a few episodes, I usually settle into bed once the adrenaline has worn off.

Or . . .

I go pick up a girl after the game and wind down with sex.

Today, well . . . today my entire routine is off. Instead of my favorite sandwich, I settled for one of the to-go meals the team provides, scarfed it down in my car, and then drove here as quickly as I could to make sure everything was okay with Penny.

I’m not sure why I rushed now.

It doesn’t seem like she wants anything to do with me.

Clearing my throat, I stand. “Well, at least let me help you get these suits out of the living room.”

“That’s okay. I have a process of where I’m putting them.” She glances past the hanging vest and says, “You can, uh . . . go out if you want. I know you like doing that.”

Is she insane?

Go out?

When she’s pregnant?

No, my random one-night stands have been terminated for the time being. The only action I’ll be getting is probably in the shower.

“I’m not going out. That would be disrespectful to you,” I say.

She scoffs. “We’re not seeing each other, Eli. It’s not like you can’t date anyone.”

“I’m not going to date anyone. You know I don’t date.”

Her eyes connect with mine. “I mean, you know . . . have fun with other women.” She glances away, avoiding all eye contact with me. I’m not sure what’s going on—if she’s trying to push me away or attempt to fix a problem that’s not there—but whatever it is, I’m not falling for it.

Instead, I say, “I’m just going to get ready for bed.” Even though I’m not even close to being tired.

I grab my bag from the entryway and head back to the bedroom, where I unpack it, toss my dirty clothes in the corner that is currently my “hamper,” and then I sit on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hand.

I type up a text and send it to the boys . . . well, minus Pacey. Not sure texting him about his sister would be the smartest decision at the moment.

Hornsby: Things are really awkward over here. I don’t know what to do. Help me.

I rest my arms on my thighs as I check out the rest of the scores for the night, waiting for some responses. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long, and my phone vibrates in my hand.

Posey: Describe awkward.

Taters: Yes, we need to know what we’re dealing with before offering advice.

Holmes: It’s probably not awkward. You’re just feeling like it is.

If only they knew. I slip my suit jacket off my shoulders and drape it over the edge of the bed before texting them back.

Hornsby: I came back to Penny’s and found her frantically steaming every suit I own. When I asked her what she was doing, she went on some rambling spree about the team sucking because of her, named our child Peggy Leggy, and then told me to go out and replace a chick to fuck.

That about sums it up.

I’m about to hit send when I stop. This is Pacey’s sister I’m about to gossip about. If I had a sister, would I want all her quirkiness tossed around between my best friends? That would be a no. Not only that, but these guys have known her as long as I have, and they respect her, especially for how good she is at her job. I don’t want them thinking she’s a nutcase.

Fuck, but I need their opinion. And they know me. They know I’m a desperate fuck who is so far out of his comfort zone, I’ve forgotten what it looks like. And it’s only night two.

I hit send and hope that the guys don’t hate on me.

Holmes: Yeah, that’s awkward.

Taters: Peggy Leggy? What the fuck is that?

Posey: You know . . . Peggy Leggy could go either way. Charming or terrifying.

Taters: Nothing is charming about Peggy Leggy. She is the deranged doll in your grandma’s attic that was never loved but somehow lost an arm anyway.

Holmes: Can’t jump on board with Peggy Leggy. Sorry.

Posey: I don’t think we’re being fair about Peggy Leggy.

Hornsby: ENOUGH WITH PEGGY LEGGY!

Taters: Dude, you can’t throw down a name like that without telling us you vetoed it. Can you imagine Peggy Leggy Hornsby? Woof.

Posey: Hey, don’t you dare woof at Peggy Leggy. She might be a tattered shell of a baby, but she’s still Hornsby’s lineage.

Holmes: Did you veto the name?

Hornsby: Jesus Christ, of course I did. Peggy Leggy Hornsby is not happening.

Taters: At least he didn’t lose his common sense, boys.

Hornsby: Can we get back to the advice? Christ.

Holmes: Let’s remember this is Pacey’s sister here and our colleague. Respect. Men. Did you tell her she doesn’t need to steam your suits?

Hornsby: Of course I did. But she said something about a process. I don’t know. After she told me to go out and replace someone, I decided to call the conversation quits.

Taters: Hear you, Holmes. Let’s pretend for a moment that we don’t know her? Did she say you could go out and replace someone in a nasty tone?

Posey: Oooo, good question. Tone is very important. And yes, I can pretend.

Hornsby: Thanks, Holmes. I don’t want to disrespect her, either. As for the tone, she didn’t. She said it in more of a nervous tone. Like she was unsure.

Posey: I’m secondary sweating for you right now. Sounds wretched.

Taters: Yeah, that’s uncomfortable.

Hornsby: I KNOW! What should I do?

Holmes: I’d just go read a book, let her work through it herself.

Taters: You also don’t have a life.

Posey: I don’t think crawling into his own shell is the way to go on this, Holmes. Sorry. He has to live with her. Clearly, there’s awkward tension between you two. Try to break it.

Taters: It pains me to say Posey is right, but he is.

Hornsby: How do you suppose I break it?

Posey: This is Penny Lawes, Hornsby. Not some chick you just met. She lives and breathes hockey, is a master of all things social media, and around anyone else on any other day, she is sweet, funny, and NOT awkward.

Hornsby: So the problem is me?

Taters: Yep, dipshit. But if you’re still lost, it’s called Google. Stock up on questions and ask some. And when she talks, actually listen rather than thinking where you can stick your dick in her.

Holmes: She really is sweet, and listening is key.

Posey: And the not sticking your dick in her is second to the listening.

I’m about to text back when the bedroom door creaks open, and Penny comes in with three suits in hand. When she spots me on the edge of the bed, my shirt undone, she gasps out loud and spins toward the wall where she pins her head against the white surface.

“Oh my God, I forgot to knock. I’m so sorry. You must be horrified.”

I’m really not.

“Penny, you’ve sat on my dick, and I’ve watched you bounce up and down on my lap. Pretty sure walking in on me with my shirt undone is nothing compared to that.”

“Th-That was different,” she says, still shielding herself. “You meant for me to see you naked.”

I exhale loudly. “Can you please just turn toward me?”

Hesitantly, she turns around. That’s when I stand from the bed, walk up to her, and take the suits from her grasp. “We need to learn to live with each other, and acting skittish is not the way to do it. You’re going to see me without a shirt. I like to sleep with it off. Last night, I wore one because I didn’t want to scare you, but it was uncomfortable. I’m sure you’re going to want to walk around in a towel, or well, I don’t know what women do, but I think if we’re going to make this work, we try to act as normal as possible.”

She swallows hard. “I don’t know how to be normal around you without alcohol, and I can’t have alcohol because of Peggy Leggy—”

“Jesus, please don’t call her that.”

“So this is the person you get. Awkward, weird, and someone who steams and cleans when they’re stressed.”

I press my lips together, attempting to figure out how to make this better. Holmes wasn’t wrong. This is Penny. I’ve known her for a few years, and I’ve liked the fuck out of her for just as long. She said I make her nervous, so how can I stop that without alcohol?

“How can I make this better?”

“You can’t. I’m just weird, and this is how I deal with things.”

Right, maybe I can try just talking about all things hockey another night. Tonight is not that night.

“Okay, then, I guess . . .” I look around. “What, uh, what else can we steam? Did you do all of my suits?”

“You don’t want to steam things.”

I really don’t.

I want this nightmare to be over.

I want to be at my house with my favorite sub watching the latest season of Ozark. But instead, I’m in a completely new-to-me apartment trying to navigate the clumsy waters of sharing a space with someone I barely know.

“I don’t have experience in steaming.” Or cleaning, for that matter. “But you can show me. I have some jeans we can steam.”

“You don’t steam jeans.”

“Okay, well, you mentioned my boxer briefs. Do you want to steam those?”

That pulls a smile from her lips, and she finally relaxes her tense shoulders. “I’m actually pretty tired. I think I’m going to get ready for bed.”

“Same.” I clasp my hands together and look around. “Should we, uh, take care of my suits then?”

“Yes.” And then she walks toward her closet, where I hear her hang the ones she just took from me. Without another word, she walks out to the living room and grabs more. Shit. And this is my new fucking normal.