by Meghan Quinn
“You can’t ignore this.”
“I know.” I pick up the pregnancy test with the napkin and grip it tightly.
“When are you going to tell Hayden?” And there it is, the name I’ve been trying to avoid. After he stopped calling and texting, I thought maybe forgetting him would be easier, but it’s been the opposite. It’s been impossible because now, I have a growing reminder of the time I shared with him.
“I’m not,” I say, opening the door and trying to casually hide the pregnancy test along my wrist, tucking it in close.
“What?” Emma comes up behind me. “You have to tell him.” She pulls on my arm, forcing me to stop. “He deserves to know.”
“I understand that. That’s why when the baby turns eighteen, I’ll pin a note on their shirt and send them to Hayden to tell him. It’s much easier that way.”
“Adalyn. You have to tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Logan joins us, chomping down on an apple, studying the both of us.
I can feel the color drain from my face as Logan looks between Emma and me and then down at my hand.
“What’s going on?”
Logan is the last person I want to know about the pregnancy. He’s protective of me, maybe a little too protective and territorial. If he finds out, those basic instincts are going to kick in. He’s going to want to be a part of this. He’s going to want to be there for me every step of the way. And that shouldn’t be a bad thing, right? But Hayden hates him.
“Just talking about popsicles,” Emma says, rocking on her heels, trying to play it casually.
Logan doesn’t buy it.
“What’s in your hand?” He nods to the pregnancy test, his eyes narrowing.
“Highlighter, a pink one. I like to highlight things.”
Once again, smarter than I’m making him out to be, he grips my arm and brings it to his eyes. His face morphs into shock and then turns hard. “Are you pregnant?”
“Umm . . .”
“Adalyn, are you fucking pregnant?”
“Maybe.” I try to smile but I’m sure I look more like I’m in pain than trying to pass this whole thing off as no big deal.
Dropping my hand, his gaze bounces back from Emma to me, trying to comprehend what’s going on. “It’s Hayden’s, isn’t it?”
“We don’t have to go into details.” I wave him off. “This is no big deal. Just have a human growing inside of me. I really think we should treat this as any other normal day. Don’t you have some rounds to make? Emma, I know you have to get back to your floor.”
Logan has other plans. Discarding his apple in a trash can behind him, he grabs both our hands, leads us back into the janitor’s closet and turns on the light above us, turning the small space into an interrogation room.
“How the hell did you get pregnant? Aren’t you on birth control?”
“About that.” I twist my foot on the ground, trying to avoid all eye contact. “I might have been a little forgetful.”
“Jesus Christ.” Logan runs his hands through his hair. Why the hell is he so distraught over this? It’s not like he’s the one who impregnated me.
“You don’t have to be so upset.” I awkwardly pat him on the shoulder.
“Not be upset?” His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Adalyn, you’re one of my best friends and you’re pregnant with a man’s baby who now lives across the country. Believe it or not, you’re going to be doing this on your own, as much as you like to pretend that’s not the case.”
And reality hits me square in the chest thanks to Logan.
“You have to tell him,” Emma chimes in.
“Why?” Logan asks, looking peeved.
“Because it’s his child. He deserves to know.”
“But he took off. What’s he going to do, send her texts, asking how she’s feeling?” Pausing, Logan asks, “How are you feeling?”
Needing some support, I lean against the door of the closet. “Not well. I’ve been so sick.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Logan’s fist clenches at his side. Man, his anger goes from zero to sixty quickly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset, so . . . mad. “He’s not here, and you’re doing this all on your own.”
“She still needs to tell him.” Emma, the morally correct between all of us. She’s always been like that. Do the right thing; it’s her motto. It’s why she’s so sweet and hard to be mad at, especially when she harps on things like this.
“He doesn’t need to know,” I finally say.
“Good,” Logan says while Emma says, “What?” at the same time.
“This is just going to mess up his life. He already went through a big change, and he doesn’t need this.”
“This is messing up your life too,” Emma points out. “Why are you not putting this on him as well?”
Feeling my chest start to constrict, my eyes prickling with tears, I put my head in my hands. “I can’t see him again.” Tears start to fall, and my throat grows tight. “And Logan is right. What can he really do? His schedule is beyond crazy, and he won’t be here for me like I need him. And I hate to admit it, but his publicist was right. Hayden needs to focus on him, on his new team, on making the best of his career. This is going to throw off his game.” This is going to change my whole life.
“You’re being absurd,” Emma says, growing angry. Emma is normally slow to anger, so the fact that she’s so upset about this shows how much she cares. She’s the ultimate caregiver but can’t see how keeping Hayden out of the equation for me is the only way I’ll cope at the moment. She’s possibly right, but I’m still too raw. I had Hayden for what feels like five minutes, and then he was gone. It hurts. I hurt.
“This is not on you. You should not have to take responsibility for all of this. He was the one who didn’t wear a condom, so he was just as reckless. It’s equal responsibility. You know I love you, Adalyn, but you’re really making me mad.”
“I’m making you mad?”
“Yes.” She steps in front of me. “There are so many women who take the blame for getting pregnant when that’s not the case. You were both there when it happened, both irresponsible. He deserves to know so he can be as supportive as possible. Even if it’s from a distance.” Giving me a cold hug, she opens the door and adds, “You know I’m here for you, but you need to not be stupid about this. You’re single, you live alone, and you have a grueling work schedule. You can’t do this on your own, as much as you think you can. He deserves to know his responsibilities need to include you and his child. And he’s the sort of man, from what I know, who would not run from that. Not only that, going at it alone will make it that much tougher on you.” With a sad smile, she leaves me alone in the closet with Logan.
“She’s right.” Logan crosses his arms over his chest, his scrubs pulling tight around his arms and chest. “You can’t do this alone.”
“I don’t know how I can tell him, Logan. Emma is right, he’ll want to drop everything to help me, and I can’t do that to him.”
Lips thin, pressed tightly together, Logan shakes his head. “You don’t have to tell him, but you are going to need help. How often have you been sick this week?”
Sighing, I close my eyes, my head resting against the door. “Every morning, sometimes at lunch, and the occasional nighttime nausea.”
“Christ. Okay.” He pulls on my hand, bringing me into his chest where he wraps me up in a tight embrace. It’s comforting being supported by a strong body, and it’s times like these that I wish I was attracted to Logan. Because he is here. “We need to make you an appointment to see a doctor and then we will go from there.”
“We?”
He nods against my head. “Yes, we. You will not be doing this alone. I’m going to be there every step of the way.”
“Logan, that isn’t—”
“Try to stop me, Adalyn. Try to fucking stop me.”
Thank God Logan is here, because with every second that passes with my legs in the
se stirrups, my anxiety heightens and the need to cry consumes me.
He sits at my head and calmly strokes my forehead with one hand while the other holds my hand. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve been through this during college. They’re just going to do an internal ultrasound, make sure everything is okay, and then let us know about the blood work.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath, despite my breaths feeling shallow. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t told anyone but you and Emma and lying here, it makes it so much more real. What will my family say? The boys will want to kill Hayden.”
“We will deal with them together. As for now, let’s focus on the appointment and keeping hydrated.” He hands me my water bottle but I don’t take a sip. “Come on, Addie, please have a little.”
I shake my head. “I’ll throw it up. I’m feeling way too anxious right now, and my stomach is rolling.”
There is a knock on the other end of the door and Dr. Rose Dallas comes through the door, holding my chart. “Adalyn, how are you?”
“Pregnant,” I sigh.
She chuckles. “I can see that.” She looks over at Logan and asks, “I always thought you two had chemistry.”
“Oh, he’s not the father,” I quickly say, not wanting any gossip to spread around the hospital. “Logan is being a really good friend.”
“My apologies. Was the father not available?”
“You could say that.” I swallow hard, my mind going to what Hayden must be doing right now. Hanging out by the ocean, getting a great tan, watching bikini-clad women prance around in front of him. And here I am, about to be probed by a lubed-up stick.
Men have it so easy.
“Okay, well I’m glad Logan is with us today. It says you’ve had severe morning sickness over the last week and a half.”
“Yes, it’s been at least twice a day, sometimes three,” Logan answers for me, taking charge. “She hasn’t been able to keep food down, and hydrating has been a chore.” Smiling, Dr. Dallas gives Logan a once-over and then turns back to me.
“You have to make sure you’re drinking fluids, Adalyn. You know better than that.”
“I know.” I shut my eyes, calming my racing heart. “I’m going through a lot, and I think my anxiety is making me more nauseated than I need to be.”
“That can be a big factor in having hyperemesis gravidarum, extreme morning sickness. It’s also more common in first pregnancies.”
“How long do you think it’s going to last?”
“Unfortunately, there is no timeline for hyperemesis gravidarum. Women see a drop in nausea around week twenty, but there are the lucky women who continue to deal with morning sickness their entire pregnancy.”
“Bet I’ll be one of those lucky women,” I say sarcastically.
“It’s a possibility, especially if you can continue to stress your body with worry.”
“And what about her nursing schedule. Should she cut hours?”
“What?” I snap my head toward Logan. “I can’t cut down on hours. Are you insane? I have student loans to pay off and a child on the way.”
“But you’re working twelve-hour shifts, Adalyn. You’re not taking care of your body like you should and you’re extremely lethargic.”
“I’m going through a lot, okay? It will get better.”
Cutting in, Dr. Dallas asks, “Are you working seven to seven?” I nod. “It’s the best shift at the hospital. Just make sure you’re taking breaks, drinking as much electrolyte-replacement fluids as you can, peeing clear, and eating protein. Saltines when you’re feeling sick, but replenish with lots of protein.”
She goes over a few more things while getting the ultrasound ready. Suggesting I start taking more B6 vitamins and offering some holistic oils to help calm my anxiety, warning me if I don’t start taking care of my body, I could end up in the hospital as a patient rather than a nurse.
That’s the last thing I need.
Dr. Dallas inserts the wand, and my eyes shut as she shifts it around. Here I am pregnant, legs spread, an ultrasound tool lodged up my vagina, and the father is across the country without a care. I never expected a moment like this in my twenties, but here I am.
“Ah, look, there is it.”
Turning to the side, the screen lights up with white waves surrounded by black. Right in the middle is a tiny circle that looks more like a lima bean than anything.
“From the looks of it, you’re almost six weeks along.”
Sounds about right.
Logan squeezes my hand as I stare at the screen. Dr. Dallas is taking measurements and printing pictures, but the entire time, my mind is whirling with what I created. What Hayden and I created.
That tiny blip, that little baby is going to be born into a crazy, chaotic world. A mother completely freaked out, not knowing what the future will hold, and an oblivious father losing nothing. Life will simply go on for him, and I will eventually become a tiny blip on his radar. And I know that’s on me, but right now, I feel resentful and sad.
A tear slips down my cheek.
This baby deserves so much more.
Chapter Eighteen
HAYDEN
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I stand outside the restaurant, looking up at the neon sign.
Going in Blind.
Christ. This was a stupid idea, but when Calder told me he made me a profile a few weeks ago on the dating app, I didn’t really have an option.
I was matched with a few profiles but didn’t jump on them. I wasn’t interested. But after a few more weeks of feeling so damn alone, I decided to give it a try, if anything to at least not spend another night alone in my apartment watching Jane the Virgin on Netflix, which if I have to be honest is a good fucking show.
But I’m regretting it now. As much as I like to think I’m over Adalyn, I’m not.
I’m so not fucking over her. I don’t want to be over Adalyn. I want her to be mine. I think of her every goddamn day. I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder if I should send her flowers or lunch at work. I consider punching a wall every time I think about Logan being around her. Fucking happy as ever. When I’m clearheaded, I know that Adalyn didn’t dump me because she has feelings for Logan. But fuck if it doesn’t sting that he gets to see her every day, and right now, I’d settle for that. So, instead, I’ll focus on hating the bastard.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and tilt them to the sky. You can do this, Hayden. The profile suggests the girl was nice, she declared her love for Tom Hanks, which tells me she’s a classy lady. She could have said Zac Efron or Ryan Reynolds or some other Hollywood heartthrob, but she went classic with Tom Hanks. Leads me to believe she’s not going to be someone chasing after hockey players for one thing . . . the celebrity chaser.
Making my way through the doors, a beautiful African American woman at the hostess desk greets me. Her hair is pulled back, black eyelashes flutter, and a warm smile tugs on her lips.
“Welcome to Going in Blind. How can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah.” Hands stuffed in my pockets, I take in the ambiance of the restaurant. Fun and intimate with its modern aesthetics and exposed white brick walls, but the mood lighting creates a romantic feel. “I have a date with ShopGirl.”
“Ah yes, she’s waiting for you at the bar. She’s the blonde in the black turtleneck. Shall I show you to her?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I got it. Thank you, though.” I tap the desk and head over to the bar after the hostess tells me where we’ll be sitting for the evening. My date seems to be looking a little . . . loose. Her hand grips tightly onto a small tumbler, which she then tilts back, her head craning to accommodate the dump of liquid down her throat.
This should be fun . . .
“ShopGirl?”
The blonde spins around in her chair, her movements erratic and very . . . wobbly.
“IceBiscuit?”
When making a profile you had to choose a username. Can you tell Calder made mine?
It hits me.
Noely Clark, the morning show host whose friend tried to hook us up. What are the odds?
“Pecs,” she mutters under her breath, her eyes glossy, taking in my chest, trying to peer through my shirt as if she has X-ray vision.
Before I can ask her if she’s okay, her hand falls to my chest where she starts playing with the fabric of my shirt. Her face bright red, most likely a side effect of the alcohol she’s already consumed, she takes me in, observing my jeans, the black button-up shirt she’s playing with, to my face where she tilts her head to the side.
Realization hits her slower than let’s say someone who wasn’t chugging back what smells like a bottle of whiskey.
Shaking her hand away, as if my chest was on fire, she stands from her chair and with all the grace of a bottle of vodka, she stumbles forward falling to her knees right in front of me.
Popping up quickly, like a gymnast, she throws her arms in the air and bows to her left and right while saying, “Nine point five, not a perfect ten, but I’ll get there.” Laughing nervously, she rights her shirt, and lowers her arms. “They don’t score like that anymore, but who’s really going to say fourteen-point-two-six-seven? I mean, especially when the viewers don’t know the degree of difficulty. You know? Gymnastics, am I right?”
Fuck, I feel awkward for her, but I have to appreciate her ability to try to recover. “Uh, are you okay?”
“Yep, fit as a fiddle.” She motions with a low fist pump across her body.
“Good.” Scanning the restaurant, I say, “Never thought I’d run into you here. Are you ShopGirl?”
“I am but you can call me, Noely. Noely Clark.” Awkwardly she grabs my hand from my hip and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”
Puzzled, I laugh. “I remember who you are, Noely.”
“Oh yeah, of course.” Her face seems an even brighter shade of red now. A part of me thinks she would be humiliated if she saw how embarrassed she looks, and that’s why I don’t mention it. “This is weird. I, uh, I didn’t think I’d be matched with you, so I’m feeling nervous and intimidated. Because, you know, you’re all hot and whatnot with your hockey body and strong thighs and nice hair. And I’m sure if you turned around right now, I would see your high, tight ass.” Her hands cup together as she pretends to squeeze an imaginary butt. Oh hell.