by Maren Moore
“Yeah, well, the difference is, I’ll have to be responsible for my actions and, like always, you’ll get to skate through with no responsibility.”
I don't even wait for a response. I snatch my shoes and bag from the floor and take the stairs as fast and gracefully as I can. I've never been so angry or embarrassed in all of my life. The audacity of him.
Sitting on the deck, I don't see Hayes again until I hear a boat's engine and realize he's driving us in. I don’t know how he got it started, but something tells me he could have done it last night. Why the hell wouldn’t he do it then, before….the mistake. I don't look at him when he steps onto the deck, now fully clothed in his tux. I don't speak a word to the man who, like he's done so many times before, has made me feel less than what I'm worth.
From this point forward, I’m not going to think of Hayes Davis even a little bit. Not even at all.
Eight
Sophia
Five weeks later
A nauseating smell wafts through the house, making my stomach churn.
"Jesus, Scott. What the hell are you cooking in there?" I groan, then cover my mouth before I ruin Holly's brand new rug.
"Umm...spaghetti. Since when do you hate spaghetti?" Scott calls from the kitchen. Confusion laces his words. The aroma is enough to make me sprint from the couch into the bathroom just before I lose the contents of my stomach in the basin. I wretch and wretch until my stomach is empty and I'm exhausted.
"Soph…" Holly says my name softly as she walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
I groan and drop my head onto the arm that's braced against the toilet seat, "Don't say my name like that."
"Second time this week. It's been five weeks since...the yacht," she whispers. When I finally open my eyes, I see her holding a box that clearly reads “pregnancy test”, and the thought alone sends another wave of nausea straight to my stomach, threatening to have me puking again.
"Impossible," I mutter.
Scoffing, she rolls her eyes and opens the box. "Not at all. You have unprotected sex with Hayes and, regardless of whether your hatred for him remains…you have to do it, Soph. If you are pregnant, the doctor can prescribe you medicine for the morning sickness. Hello...I've had two crotch goblins. I know this rodeo all too well."
She's right, but I'm still not ready to admit to myself that I am most probably pregnant. Pregnant with my mortal enemy’s child—I could very well be growing the literal spawn of Satan right now.
That horrifying fact aside, this is not part of my life plan.
Not even close. Actually, not even in the same realm as the plan I had set for myself. Granted, my plan is a bit off course with my recent breakup and sudden career changes, but... pregnant? With an actual baby?
Couldn't be farther from what I imagined for myself.
Sure, maybe in ten years, when I'm happily married to the love of my life. Scott and Holly kind of love. Like, when she wants to kill him but refrains because he makes bomb-ass food and chases their kids around on Saturday mornings so she can sleep in.
Then, maybe a kid. Hell, even two.
"I can't Hol, I literally can’t."
I pull myself off the toilet and press my back against the wall, focusing my gaze on the chandelier on the ceiling.
"It's scary, babe. I get it. But you'll feel better once you know. Not that I need you to pee on that stick to know. I already know."
I snap my head forward and look at her with wide eyes, "You do not. Stop it."
"C'mon, let's get it over with." She holds out her hand to help me off the floor. I take it, grudgingly. She's right, I should be an adult and take the test. Knowing is better than not, but deep down, I know.
The past two weeks my boobs have been sore. Everything is making me nauseous. I cried watching fucking Harry Potter.
What? Dobby is a free elf. That shit gets me every time.
I have to take the test.
I have to know if my life is going to forever be tied to Hayes, ego and all. So I can mentally prepare myself for what's to come.
Holly hands me the test, and I sit and pee on the stick before putting the top on and setting it onto the counter. Holly watches it until I finish my business and pull her away from it.
"Don't look. It's like what your mom used to say, ‘a watched pot never boils.’"
"Sophia, it's a freakin’ pregnancy test, not a pot of pasta. Jesus." She laughs but pulls me into a hug, clutching me to her body.
"What am I going to do if I am, Holly? I can't raise a baby." The word feels foreign on my tongue. The only kids I've ever known are hers, and I still can’t tell you who the hell Baby Bum is or how to properly change a diaper. Once, Brady had a blow out, and Scott hosed him off with the water hose in the backyard.
Is this the kind of influence I'm supposed to look too?
Her arms tighten around me while I expel a long sigh, "You'll be fine. And Hayes would be a great dad."
I can't help the groan that escapes.
"I would honestly rather you shove me right off a cliff then be faced with having Hayes Davis's child."
"Well sister, you're going to have to come to an understanding with yourself about it, because..." She trails off, and I untangle myself from her arms, glancing down at the test on the counter.
A bright pink, positive sign. Clear as day. There's no mistaking the bold lines that are going to change my life.
I'm pregnant.
I can feel the panic rise in my chest, tightening, seizing. It wasn't as real when it was only a maybe. Now, it's real.
I'm having a child. A living, breathing, child that will depend on me to survive.
Black dots cloud my vision, and then...I'm falling.
I hear my name being called, but the comfort of my mind seems so much better right now. Everything is less...overwhelming. And I can pretend just a little while longer.
I groan, cracking my eyes open, and see my best friend and her husband hovering over me with concerned looks on both of their faces. Holly presses a damp rag to my forehead, and Scott's body visibly sags with relief when he sees that I've awakened.
"What happened?" I ask groggily.
"You fainted. Had Holly not been standing there, you would've cracked your head on the sink," Scott mutters.
My eyes widen. Shit.
"Sorry, Hol."
Holly shakes her head. "You scared the shit out of me."
I swallow thickly. I can't believe I fainted.
I sit up abruptly, remembering what, exactly, made me faint.
I'm...pregnant.
See, Hayes was already fucking my life up, and he was hundreds of miles away. What a typical thing for him to do—screw things up, and do it without even trying. Great, two people who hate each other does not exactly bode well for co-parenting.
Holly sees the moment the realization crosses my face, and she pulls me to her and whispers in my ear, "It's going to be okay. We'll make an appointment and get you in to see the doctor."
I nod.
"Somebody wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?" Scott asks. He looks so confused and I feel bad keeping him in the dark. He's as much my family as Holly is.
"Your asshole of a best friend got my best friend pregnant, Scott." Holly glares at Scott, and I can't help but laugh. Poor Scott. It isn't his fault his friend is an irresponsible dick.
"What?" he breathes, eyes wide.
"Yep." I hold up the test.
"Are you going to tell him?" Holly asks.
"Of course, I'm going to tell him. My father was never a part of my life, by choice, soI grew up not knowing what it was like to have a father. I'll still give Hayes the option to be a father if he so chooses. I won't beg for him to be a part of the baby's life, though"
"First thing’s first: let's have the doctor confirm," Holly says.
"Wow," Scott says, still in shock.
You and me both, brother.
Next thing I know, my stomach lurches, and I'm runn
ing to the bathroom once more.
This is going to be a long nine months....
Nine
Hayes
Ten weeks since the yacht trap
"Good skate, Davis," Ray, my right wing, says as we skate off the ice. He offers a fist bump then skates past me towards the locker room. We were done, but I’m just getting started. I have another hour on the ice before my muscles scream at me to rest. I’m not stopping until my body gives out.
Lately, I've been pushing myself harder than ever on the ice. I could pretend it's my sudden drive to be better, do better, work harder, and skate faster. But I knew that my impromptu trip home last month had changed something in me. It had reminded me of how much I was losing.
I can’t practice, I can’t participate in games, all I can do is fucking skate.
I shouldn’t even be on the ice right now pushing myself this hard, but I’m punishing my body for failing me.
The high I’d been chasing by partying and losing myself in random women is no longer enough to numb what I’m was truly running from. So now I've thrown myself into the ice, losing myself in pushing my body to its limits.
That's all that mattered anymore: hockey—staying in the game that I’ve worked my entire life for. I spend the next hour doing drills, working on draining my body until I’m depleted and skating until my legs feel like jelly.
Only when they burn and scream at me to stop do I skate from the ice and head to the locker room to let the hot water pull out the ache. I shower quickly and throw my dirty clothes in my bag, then I head to the parking lot and get in my truck. I’m ready to get home, ice my shoulder, and fucking relax. It was a long, grueling hour.
As I'm climbing in, I hear my name being called.
"Yo, Davis!"
Looking up, I see Greer, the rookie, is about to hop into his truck.
"What's up?"
"We're heading to the bar tonight, you down?"
"Nah, man. Gonna rest up for the game. Next time, for sure. Drink one for me." I shoot him a grin, and he nods, then gets in his truck and leaves.
He probably thinks it’s weird that I passed on going out, but despite what Kyle thinks, I’m going to try and stay out of “trouble” and not end up on the cover of any gossip magazines. I don’t like the fact that I’m so close to irrevocably fucking up my career, and with my shoulder, all I need is one more mistake to give them a reason to trade me or, better yet, boot my ass right off the team.
I drive home in silence, reveling in the quiet, until I pull through the gate and maneuver my truck into the garage—but not before I catch a glimpse of a petite blonde sitting on my front porch in the cold.
Wait.
Is that Sophia St. James on my doorstep?
I haven’t seen her since the night on the yacht when she tore me a new asshole and made me feel like a piece of shit.
What is she doing here? I ask myself.
I throw my truck into park, grab my bag from the passenger seat, and walk towards my front door.
"Hi," she says, not rising from her spot on the step. While it's not freezing, it sure as shit isn't a sunny day, and she's only wearing a thin jacket with a pair of beat-up Converse and jeans.
"Hi?" I say back, sitting beside her and setting my bag next to me. "Any reason you're on my doorstep in the fucking cold, St. James?"
She turns towards me, her eyes big and blue and filled with tears.
"Hey, hey, I was just joking. You can stalk me anytime you feel like it." I grin and hesitantly put my arm around her shoulders, noticing how she stiffens at my touch. "You drive all this way to talk about how handsome I am? Because you could've just sent me an email, you know."
"Shut up." She laughs softly, then sniffles. I remove my arm and look at her. She looks sad, and I hate that. Even though the last time we spoke, we said some hateful shit to each other that neither of us really meant, I didn't want to see her sad. I wanted to fuck up whoever was the reason for her tears. Not that I'd ever let her know that.
"I'm pregnant."
Two words.
Deep down, I’d known this was a possibility, but it still shakes me to my core. She wastes no time with pleasantries, cutting right to the chase. My body goes rigid, the breath rushing from my lungs in a harsh whoosh. My heart pounds in my chest like a drum, loud and so hard I feel it all the way to my feet.
"You sure?" I ask stupidly.
She scoffs, reaching into the pocket of her sweater and thrusting a bunch of sticks into my hands. A fuck ton, by the looks of it.
I’ve never actually seen a pregnancy test before this moment, except on the shelf of a grocery store, and never in five million fucking years did I think Sophia St. James would be shoving a bundle of them into my hands on the front step of my house.
"Pretty fucking sure Hayes." Her voice breaks, and the tears begin spilling over her eyes.
I'm in shock, I think. I look down at the tests in my hands, each one of them reading positive in bold, black, digital text. Undeniable.
I’m going to be a father. I’m having a baby with someone who hates me, wholly.
Even more now that she was to be tied to me for the next eighteen years, I was pretty sure.
"Can we talk about this inside?” I ask. “You're shivering."
She gives me a small nod and rises to her feet. My eyes immediately go to her stomach, expecting to see a bump even though, realistically, I know that she couldn't be showing already. Not only, what...ten weeks later?
The reality of the situation has yet to truly hit me. A dad? Me?
I don't have my shit together. Hell, I eat frozen dinners and wear mismatched socks ninety percent of the time. The only thing I know is hockey, and that isn’t going to help me be a father.
I pull my keys from the pocket of my sweatpants and unlock the door, disarming the alarm before shutting the door behind Sophia. I toss my bag onto the pile of shoes by the front door and lead her into the house.
Thankfully, my cleaner just left, so the place is clean. Otherwise, Sophia would be walking into a pigsty.
"Want something to drink?" I ask. "Water, not alcohol."
She nods.
I open the massive stainless steel fridge and grab two waters from the shelf, handing her one before unscrewing the cap on the other and draining it in ten seconds flat. My body needs the hydration.
"I wanted to come here to tell you in person. I didn't think it was the kind of thing I should call or text about, so I'm here," she finally says, breaking the silence.
"Have you been to the doctor…or? Sorry, I don't know how these kinds of things go."
She shuffles nervously from one foot to the other, and I can tell it's something she does when she's uncomfortable. "Um, yeah, he confirmed the pregnancy. I had an appointment at the eight-week mark. I should be about ten weeks along."
"Have you told anyone? I can't…I mean, I have to talk to my agent and publicist."
"No, no, of course not. I mean, I told Holly but that's it. I knew that you wouldn't want it to get out."
I nod, then drag my hand down my face. Fuck, what am I doing?
"So, I've been thinking. And I think what would be best for all of us, with your life in the public eye, is if we have little contact. I mean, I won’t keep the baby from you, if that's what you want, but I also don't want you to feel obligated. I mean, I can raise the baby myself. I don't need your assistance, financially, or your presence in her life."
"Her?" I ask.
"I don't know for sure, but I just kind of feel like it's a girl. Anyway, what I'm trying to say, what I came here to say, is if you want to sign away your rights, that's okay, and no one will hold it against you, Hayes. You live a very different life than I do, and I can't imagine that having a baby with someone you aren't involved with would be very easy for you."
"Sophia, stop," I bark. The sharpness in my voice causes her to jump, and I immediately feel guilty. "I'm sorry. But don't tell me I don't have to be responsible for this child. I m
ade this baby—we made this baby. I know you hate me, and that’s fine. Our relationship is rocky. I get it. But I want to be a part of this."
More tears fill her eyes, and she looks away, staring off into the living room and not meeting my gaze.
Fuck, I feel like I'm fucking this all up, and I don't know the right words to say.
"Look, it isn't the end of the world. We made a life. Even unintentionally, we made something perfect. I might not be the best father in the world, but I promise I’ll try."
Her head whips back to meet mine, and she gives me a small nod.
"Why don't you stay the night here, instead of a hotel? I have plenty of space, and you'll have your own room."
She mulls over my offer. "Okay. I need to call Holly and check in. Is it okay if I go on the back porch?"
"Of course. Make yourself at home. I'm going to go put in a call to my agent, and something tells me he is going to cuss me the fuck out, so I might be a minute. The bathroom is there to the right, and there's a fridge full of food if you get hungry."
Without a word, she walks to the double glass-paned doors and through them, out of the room.
Holy fuck.
Of all the things to happen today, this is the last thing I expected.
"You what?!" Kyle yells. I hold the phone away from my ear as he lets out a string of expletives, one of them being "piece of shit", and right now, I fucking feel like it. I get it; he's mad. He's the one who has to do damage control in my life, and all of the shit that I've put him through this last year hasn't made his job any easier.
This being the icing on the cake.
"Look Kyle, she's not a puck bunny. She's a girl from back home. You know Scott's wife, Holly? Her best friend, Sophia. I went to elementary school with her, for fuck's sake."
"Hayes, what the fuck do you expect the league to say? She goes to the fucking tabloids and your career is shot. They'll drop you, zero question. They don't want the bad publicity that you come with, and they made it very fucking clear that they would be done with you if anything, and I do mean anything, else happened. Now you've gone and knocked up a slut."