Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
I laughed. “Right.”
She opened one arm and rose up on tiptoe, and I gave her a hug, the most impersonal one yet. Our lower bodies didn’t even touch. “Good night,” she said. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Have a safe trip home.” Letting her go, I pulled the door open. “Take care of yourself, Mabel.”
“I will.” With a final wave, she walked out.
I watched her walk down the hall, then shut the door behind her and leaned my forehead against it. Thumped it a few times.
What. The. Fuck.
I was going to be a father.
For hours that night, I lay in bed, stretched out and staring at the ceiling. I was tired, but I couldn’t sleep. So much was running through my mind.
When I’d gotten Mabel’s message on Instagram, I’d been excited about seeing her again. Since Footsie’s wedding, I’d thought about her a lot—mostly in the shower with my dick in my hand—and every time, I regretted not getting her number. Not because I wanted to date her—or have a baby with her, for fuck’s sake—but I’d had such a good time that night. I thought it would be worth reaching out next time I went home to see if she might like to play another scrimmage.
Except that it hadn’t turned out to be a meaningless practice matchup at all. At some point, I’d gotten her pregnant.
I remembered how intense the sex had been, how hard I’d come, especially that second time. It almost didn’t surprise me that my stuff had busted right through the condom.
There were some elite athletes in the game that sort of breached the defensive line.
For a half second, I was like fuck yes, there were elite athletes in the game, but I stopped short of celebrating my genetic prowess. I hadn’t scored this goal on purpose. It was an accidental shot, a wild bounce of the puck. It shouldn’t count, but it did.
I remembered how much shit I’d given Gianni after he’d gotten Ellie pregnant. God, he was going to give it right back, and I’d have to take it. My mom would be sad. My dad would be upset. Neither of them would understand that this wasn’t my fault—I hadn’t been irresponsible. It was just bad luck.
And I couldn’t do what Gianni had done. I wasn’t going to marry Mabel or live with her or be there every day. I just couldn’t. And she didn’t want me to! She hadn’t even wanted to stay the night in my guest room. She wanted to keep things casual and friendly between us. Almost professional. Boundaries in place.
Which was fine with me.
I wasn’t going to be a dad like my father and brothers were. Hands on, there all the time, twenty-four/seven dads. It just wouldn’t look like that for me, and everyone would have to deal with it. I’d be supportive, but my priority was still hockey. I’d be better able to support them with a successful career, right? First as a player and then as a coach or maybe a commentator? Focusing on the game was best for everybody.
But I tossed and turned for several more hours and finally fell asleep toward dawn. When my alarm went off for the morning skate, I reached for my phone, hit stop, and set it aside.
Then I picked it up again and sent Mabel a message.
Hey, can you send me the date and time for the ultrasound appointment? Thanks.
TEN
mabel
“So? How did it go?” Even over Bluetooth, I could hear the anxiety in Ari’s voice.
“It went fine,” I said, cruising along I-94, Chicago in my rearview. “Maybe even better than fine. I didn’t even get the hiccups.”
“Tell me everything! Was he shocked?”
“Definitely,” I said, recalling the dumbfounded expression on his face and his insistence that it had only been a scrimmage and wasn’t supposed to count. “It took him a little time to accept the news.”
“But he didn’t question whether it was his or anything?”
“Nope. Not at all. He just seemed in denial for a bit, then really sorry, and finally kind of resigned to it, I guess.”
“How about when you told him you’re going to have it and raise it on your own?”
“He didn’t argue. He said he wanted to be supportive.”
“Wow. So what does that look like?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I said, signaling and checking my blind spot before changing lanes. “I think he means financially, but he also said he wanted to be involved. That was his word—involved. We had dinner at his apartment and talked for a couple hours, but we didn’t really make any firm plans.”
“What’s his apartment like?”
“Gorgeous. I mean, it’s kind of sparsely decorated, like no art or anything. But almost an entire wall is windows overlooking Chicago and Lake Michigan, so I guess that’s the art.”
“Is it like a man cave? Like beat-up furniture and takeout containers everywhere? Or is it like playboy cool, all chrome and leather and mirrors over his bed?”