Pro hockey star, Christian Brooks, has everything he ever needed as a starting forward Right Winger, and a three year old daughter. Or, so he thought.
When Brinley Cameron's newest patient happens to be, a star hockey player, for her favorite team'...
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"Josephine?" I stood there confused to see my ex girlfriend standing on my front doorstep, with something bundled in her arms.
"Oh good, you're home." She says, taking a step forward.
I put my hand out stopping her, "Woah. What are you doing?"
"Can I come in? We need to talk." She says, her tone serious.
"I don't know. Just say what you need to say, right here." I didn't trust her in my house. I didn't trust her anywhere.
All of the sudden the thing her arms starts crying and my eyes widen. She had a goddamn baby in her arms.
She just let the baby cry and I cringed, at least rock the damn thing.
"Christian. This is Charlotte... Your daughter."
My eyebrows reached my hairline. My what? How? I mean I knew how but, how?
I was a condom freak. I used them 24/7. Except one time. With Josephine. We'd been together for over a year, I thought I loved her, I trusted her. Apparently that was a mistake. That is, if the baby is actually mine.
"What the fuck?!" I spat out, all of the sudden needing to sit down. "How old is she?"
"12 weeks."
The timeline sounded about right, but then again, it was currently 4 in the morning.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, feeling agitated.
"I didn't want you to know." I scoff, typical.
"So why are you telling me now?"
"Well... she's sick, Christian." She says as I swallow slowly.
"What kind of sick?"
"Cancer." My breath hitched.
"Hold on, you weren't going to tell me I supposedly had a daughter until you found out she had cancer?! Why, is it just because you need money?"
"Sort of."
"What do you mean sort of?" I ask, running my hands through my hair.
She looks behind her, and it's then that I realize there is a whole bunch of baby stuff sitting in my driveway.
"I gave up custody of her. She's all yours." She says, shoving the baby in my arms before turning around on her heel.
She digs around in a bag as I look down at the little thing. She was tiny, but cute. But, I still didn't know for sure if she was mine.
"How? I have no legal rights if my name isn't on the birth certificate."
"But your name is on the birth certificate. You signed it a couple of weeks ago at a bar when you were fucked up."
Okay seriously, what the actual fuck was going on?!
She pulled out a couple pieces of paper, handing them to me. "Already got a paternity test."
My brows furrowed, "I'm sorry.. How?"
"I have my ways." She snaps.
Creepy bitch.
I read the paper, 99.99% chance she's mine.
"I know your dentist." She shrugs like it's nothing.
Crazy bitch.
"What the actual fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I all but yell.
"Christian, I have to go." She turns on her heel once more, hopping in her Ford Escape and driving away.
I stand there dumbfounded. I have a daughter. And her mom just dropped the news, the baby, and left. I look down at her as she settles in my arms.
I sat down on one of the steps, the baby cradled in my arms. Flipping through the pages, I stopped at her birth certificate.
Charlotte Paisley Brooks
She gave her my last name?
I look below her name, and there it is, my signature, and I knew it wasn't forged. I have a very distinct way of writing my name, it's very hard to master.
I pull out my phone, calling the only person I could think to call right now: my mom.
She didn't answer, so I called again, and again.
"Hello?" Her groggy voice echoes through the phone.
"Mom."
"Christian what's going on? It's 4 in the morning."
"Mom, I need your help. Can you come over?"
"What did you do?"
Technically, I did something, but I did nothing.
"Just get over here, ASAP." I hang up the phone before she can argue.
I didn't know what to do. I was confused. Angry. Sad. I honestly, wanted to cry.
Of course she tells me I have a baby, in the middle of the Playoffs.
Fuck my life.
I gently rocked Charlotte back and forth. I don't know why, she wasn't crying. Maybe I was just losing my shit.
After a good 29 minutes, my mom's red Hyundai pulled into the driveway. She turned the car off and got out. She was in a black nightgown and her hair was a mess, her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose. She looked like she was about to kill me.
She walked closer as I prayed very, very, very hard. Her brows knit together as she came up in front of me, looking down at the little bundle in my arms, her mouth gaped open, "What the fuck?"
Word Count: 840
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