Page 37 of Let Me Love You

943.555.4227

He’s STILL too good for you. Poor, pathetic little Ashlyn.

376.555.9445

We stand with you, Ashlyn. Colt’s a jerk.

What. The. Hell?

I sit up fully, resting my back against the headboard as I continue scrolling through the cryptic messages when Blake’s name pops on the screen with a text.

Blake

Hey. Not trying to freak you out or anything, but did you know about this? www.getpucked.com

I click the link.

IS THE RECENTLY CROWNED SEXIEST HOCKEY PLAYER ALIVE A DADDY?

Many fans have been begging for months to call Center Colt Thorne their daddy, but Ashlyn has held the title for quite some time. At least, it’s what the new Lions player would like you to believe.

But it seems our up-and-coming golden boy has a naughty streak. And this time, the repercussions might be more than Ashlyn Peterson bargained for.

A photo of me standing outside SeaBird last night is splashed among the article. The image makes me look like I’ve seen a ghost or something. My eyes are wide, and my skin looks almost pale as I stare at the camera in shock. Yeah. Not my most flattering photograph. I shake off my annoyance and scroll past it. The words from the article blur together as a picture of a baby comes into view. My breath hitches. He can’t be more than a year old, with soft brown curls and a baby blue onesie. He has long, straight lashes and an adorable smile too. But his eyes... His eyes cut me, making my body recoil. Because they look familiar. So damn familiar. Same shape. Same color. Same little flecks of yellow around the irises.

I scroll back up to my picture and read the rest of the article, too stunned to speak.

This can’t be real.

Is this true?

It can’t be true.

Colt told me it was a rumor.

But this doesn’t look like a fucking rumor.

Hedoesn’t look like a fucking rumor.

Anger and sadness battle for precedence as the phone slips from my fingers, and I bring my knees to my chest, letting the sheets fall to my waist. Numb, I stare out the master bedroom window, unsure what to do. What to think.

The curtains are pulled back. The morning light filters through the glass. The trees are green, and so is the grass below. Ducks are swimming in the small, glassy pond. An old couple is feeding them bread. It’s beautiful. All of it. The skyline. The promise of a beautiful day.

And yet here I am, my world falling apart.

It’s funny. How insignificant we really are. All of us. Me. Colt. His baby.Ourworld is unraveling at the seams, yet the real one is still spinning. Still moving forward. And here I am. Stuck in bed. Paralyzed. While wearing one of Colt’s favorite T-shirts. I bring the collar to my nose and cry as his woodsy scent washes over me.

This can’t be happening.

The front door opens with a quiet squeak, but I don’t move. I simply stare out the window.

This can’t be happening.

Heavy footsteps sound from the family room, moving closer with every passing second, and I lean my head against my knees.

This can’t be happening.

A shadowed figure standing in the doorway hits my periphery. But I don’t look at him.