Every December [Soon to be Self Published]

Chapter 11

Austin

The press conference tonight will end my lies. God. It's unavoidable. I rub the back of my neck, the muscles stiff and knotted with the inevitable bomb I'm about to drop. But I don't want to drag this out. Nor do I want to ruin our last day together.

Light cuts through the windows, touching my bare chest. I exhale slowly, my blood pulsing wildly, thinking about how I didn't pull my gaze away from her body in the bathtub--her breasts strained against her bra. The silky glide of her smooth skin. Legs slightly parted like her mouth.  Yeah...can't get that image out of my mind. The glitch of hesitation in her voice had kept me in line. Barely. But helping her up? That was a selfish excuse to touch her. 

Lowering my hand...brushing it over my semi-hard cock. I could work through my tense thoughts the old fashioned way, but I force my thoughts in a colder, safer direction. Here I am. Doing the one thing I promised myself I wouldn't. Spending December alone was my plan. Every day she's here, things are changing. I watch Christmas movies and make bets. We are going to a tree farm.  

The year I won the Junior Midwest Golf Championship, my father and I spent the holiday in Tampa. After that win, everything changed. Holidays became hotel stays and restaurants on Christmas Eve. My dad and I flew to wherever the sport called. Golf became the most important thing to us and winning became everything. 

Winning meant doors opened. Constant invites for Christmas Day cocktail hours rolled in. Not once had I thought, I am missing out, I need to be home. My father vacationed away from me. Maybe with that woman Coco he's always mentioning. I didn't care about missing Christmas back then, but now, a hollow ache fills my chest like the golden sunlight washing over the bedroom. Something has been lost. Something I can't get back.

"What the hell?" My eyebrows crinkle in surprise at the sheer number of texts and missed calls from Brielle. Forget the time zone difference, I call her with a hefty dose of grumbling and internal annoyance. This has nothing to do with a celebrity bent on getting his way. This is a guy telling his ex-girlfriend to stop calling.

"Austin," Brielle answers with a snide tone. "You called back."

"What's so urgent?" I spit the words out.

"There's something important you need to know before it gets out." Her voice carries a dramatic hitch. "I tried telling you before you left. But you're ignoring me so now I come off as the psycho one."

I rip off the covers and get to my feet. "Of course I'm ignoring you. You slept with Hartley." 

"I said I had more to tell you, but you just tossed me in the car and dropped me off at McDonald's."

"There was no tossing. Don't try to pin that on me. And I'm not interested in what you want."

She lets out a heavy sigh. We're all but missing the drum roll. "I'm pregnant."

I'm pregnant. Her syllables shatter on an indifferent heart. Staring out the window at a cluster of trees, wishing I hadn't called her. This is how low she's going.

"Austin, you still there?" she says frantically.

I turn around and stalk past my bed, hitting the corner of the mattress. "If you're waiting for congratulations, keep holding your breath."

"The baby is yours."

Hostility flies through my veins, followed by abrupt laughter. "Oh. Come on. You expect me to believe that?"

"I'll get a flipping DNA test to prove you wrong."

No. Way. Not buying one bit of this. "Play the paternity card on Hartley. I'm sure he's interested."