In the Crease (Assassins Book 11) Read online

  “No, I can’t. I was going to tell you tonight, that we had to break this off. For good.”

  Drawing in a breath through her nose, she shook her head. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. So listen,” he said, walking around her and to his desk, but she didn’t move as the tears gathered in her eyes. “Go get an abortion. It’s for the best. Here, this should cover it.”

  When she opened her eyes, he was filling out a check before holding it out to her. Shaking her head hard, she muttered, “I don’t want your money.”

  “Take it, Wren. Please. I can’t have this fuck up what I’ve got going for me. I’ll have more stock in this firm once I marry her.”

  Her lip started to tremble. “But I’m having your baby.”

  “I don’t want it,” he said simply. “I don’t want any of it. She will get pissed. She’s already so jealous and thinks I’m fucking around.”

  “You are!”

  “I know, but not anymore. So, please, get rid of it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Wren, come on!”

  “You can’t do this. We’ve known each other our whole life.”

  “I understand that. So please do it.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be stupid, because I’ll deny it. You fuck around. Everyone knows it, and I’ll deny the kid is mine. You’ll have to take me to court to prove it. But by the time that happens, you’ll already have it before your thirtieth birthday, so you’ll be fucked anyway. Just do the right thing. Get rid of it, Wren.”

  She wouldn’t let her tears fall. Not for this fucking douche. “I thought I knew you, you selfish asshole.”

  The words didn’t even faze him. He glared at her. “I thought I knew you. How could you let this happen? We were never serious. We were just fucking.”

  Looking down at the ground, she bit into her lip to keep the tears from falling. Yeah, he was right, but she thought she’d meant more to him than just a fuck. “Just fucking, huh?”

  “Yeah, it isn’t like we love each other. I mean, come on. You’re not even my type.”

  “Your type?”

  “Wren, come on,” he said simply, holding his hands out. “You’re not trophy wife material.”

  She was going to deck him. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Just take the check.”

  He held it out once more, and her eyes landed on it through her tears. She should take it. It really was the only option, yet she knew she couldn’t.

  Meeting his gaze, she swallowed hard as she shook her head slowly from side to side. “No.”

  “Wren, don’t be an idiot.”

  “No.”

  “You’re being fucking stupid—”

  Standing erect, she stepped over to him, her eyes burning into his and completely cutting off his words. She was sure her eyes were full of heat, full of rage because his words shook her. To the core. She wasn’t sure who this man was, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be the father of her child. Over her dead fucking body. “Fuck you, Bradley. I don’t need your money or even you. So. Fuck. You.”

  And with that, she walked away.

  With no clue what she was going to do now.

  Except for the certainty that she wasn’t killing her baby.

  Jensen Monroe’s heart was in his throat.

  And it had been there throughout the whole series thus far.

  Standing between the pipes on the other end of the ice, he watched as the Assassins trickled shots at the opponent’s goal. His heart was pounding, almost choking him as he watched the Capitals take possession of the puck before starting toward him. Dropping into his stance, his eye on the puck, he watched as a player passed it back to the defensemen, who took the shot. But Jensen saw it completely, batting it away. Unfortunately, it didn’t go to one of his players, instead to another Capital, but Jensen was there, blocking each shot as it came in.

  He had to be.

  He had to help his team win.

  The whole series up to this point in the Cup run hadn’t been easy. Everyone thought it was, though. The Nashville Assassins were being called a shoo-in, the sure winner because of how much they had dominated, but no one knew the truth. That Lucas Brooks was on one bad hip but still giving his heart. That Jayden Sinclair sat up night after night watching tapes of the other team just to make sure he could give the team the best direction. That Vaughn Johansson barely slept because his nerves were eating him alive. That Coach hardly went home because he wanted to make sure everything was right for the following day. Everyone was working, everyone was full of nerves, but they all had one goal.

  The Cup.

  And boy, did Jensen want it. With Tate being out, Jensen worked day and night, making sure he was prepared for every game. He was doing well. He could do better, though, even though everyone said he was better than great. He was his own worst critic, and because of that, he pushed himself harder to be the best. All that was in the past now; all that mattered was this game right at the moment. The game that could win the Assassins the Cup if they could beat the Capitals, and boy, did he want to. The Caps were up by one after a shitty goal that went off his back, but it counted, which meant the Assassins had to score to tie it.

  With only three minutes.

  He could do this.

  They could do this.

  The Capitals had been relentless. Being down three games to one would do that to a team. They were desperate. They wanted to take the series back to Washington, they wanted to prolong this, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  Jensen wanted the Cup.

  His team wanted the Cup.

  It was their time.

  The Cup was meant to be in Nashville.

  He watched King bank the puck up the boards to a waiting Sinclair before he got off the ice, Reeves taking his spot. When he threw the puck to the net, it was batted away just as Mason came, sending it back to the blue line. But Reeves’s shot was blocked, and when the defense tried to clear it for fresh bodies, Sinclair flung himself to the ice, keeping it in before passing it, from his knees, to Johansson. Jensen held his breath as Johansson shot with his wicked wrister, right over the goalie’s shoulder in a picture-perfect moment.

  Throwing his hands in the air, Jensen looked up at the ceiling as the Luther Arena went insane. It was so loud Jensen swore he wouldn’t hear for the next three days. Which was more of a reason why they needed to win, now. The period ran down in almost a blur. No shots on goal since everyone was battling against the boards and then lots of turnovers Jensen was sure Coach would be livid about.

  And he was right.

  When they got into the locker room, Coach reamed the team out for them. Jensen was leaned back in his locker, an ice-cold towel over his face as he inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly, almost in a meditative state. Everyone knew not to talk to him. He was busy. In his mind, he was watching the always-moving puck. He was trying to see through the bodies that almost always clouded his brain on game day, and he was trying to stay ahead of the game. It was a mental game, being a goalie, but it was a game Jensen lived for.

  Ever since he was old enough to remember, he’d never wanted anything else but to be a goalie. He could still see himself in his father’s way-too-big gear. Waddling around the house as his parents laughed. He had dreams, goals, and when the time came for him to come to the States from Canada and live those dreams, his parents didn’t even bat an eye. They found the best family to take him in and sent him off to Colorado. Their only son. But thankfully, the family they sent him to was amazing, and soon they became a part of Jensen’s family. A part of his life. He met his two best friends there, he fell in love there, and above all, he became the goalie he was right now, there.

  Because of that, he was going to win.

  For all of them.

  The fifteen-minute break was gone in a blink of an eye. Again, he was between the pipes, staring down the ice at the Capitals’ goalie, who seemed to be staring back at him. He didn’t know the guy, nor did he wan