by Sarina Bowen
Holy crap. What a wretched time for morning sickness to announce itself.
Lauren wiped her mouth on a paper towel and tried to think. Her pregnancy book had warned that nausea often hit during week six, or four weeks after conception. Standing there over the toilet, trying to decide whether or not she was going to puke again, she did the math.
She was two days into week six.
Jeez.
It took a while until Lauren was ready to venture out of the bathroom. After she was sure the awful moment had passed, she washed up again and used one of the disposable mouthwash packets provided in the fancy medicine cabinet.
She looked herself over in the little mirror. She was a little pale, and her eyes were red from watering, but otherwise she looked no worse for wear. Nevertheless, she felt exposed, as if she wore a label on the lapel of her suit jacket reading: pregnant and freaked out.
Feeling paranoid, Lauren opened the bathroom door just a crack, hoping to find her dinner companions distracted by their work or a movie.
They were distracted all right—Nate held Becca’s face in two hands, and he was whispering softly to her. Lauren held her breath, wondering if he would kiss her. But after a moment, he sat back.
Lauren eased the door shut, counted to thirty and then banged it open before emerging. Wearing her best poker face, she moved slowly back toward the table.
Nate and Becca were sitting side by side, ignoring each other again.
Of course they were.
All their entrees had been cleared away already, praise the Lord, except Lauren’s roll and butter were waiting. Without a word, Lauren sat down and tore the roll in half. Her stomach felt as empty as the Grand Canyon during a drought. And although she had zero experience with morning sickness, she knew without a doubt that bread would steady her.
Hmm. The pregnancy book had annoyed her with the number of times it had said, listen to your body. But her body demanded bread, and it wanted it right this second.
“Are you okay?” Nate asked when it became clear that she wasn’t going to volunteer any information about her violent disappearance.
“Yep.” She took another bite of the roll, and no bread had ever tasted so good.
“Is there a bug going around?”
She lifted her eyes to his and found worry. Nate was quite fastidious. During flu season he always asked her to distribute bottles of Purell all around the office, and he used it liberally. He was probably thirty seconds away from breaking out a hazmat suit and scrubbing his hands. “I’m fine,” Lauren said quietly. “You’re not going to catch a bug.”
He did not look convinced.
Lauren ate the rest of her roll in about two seconds flat. The waitress came back to ask if she’d like the gazpacho that she hadn’t gotten around to serving her before.
“No, thank you,” Lauren said, uncertain about eating something so savory. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love another roll.”
“And, miss?” Becca added before the young woman turned to go. “Do you have any saltines in their packages?”
“Of course. I’ll bring some.”
Lauren leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She felt much better now, but she didn’t trust it. When would the nausea strike again?
Another roll was delivered, and the flight attendant put a small pile of saltines in front of Becca. “Can I bring anyone a drink?” she inquired. “Mr. Kattenberger, we have several single-malt Scotches on board this evening.”
He shook his head. “Just a Diet Coke, please.”
“I’ll have one, too,” Lauren said suddenly. The bubbles were just what she needed.
Nate leaned forward in his seat. “Excuse me?”
“What?”
“You never drink Diet Coke. You called it vile, and made of chemicals.”
“I ordered it to amuse you,” she said, closing her eyes again. At this rate, her little secret would last two more days, tops. Nate was very observant, even if he did not have a clue what the early stages of pregnancy looked like.
When her diet soda arrived, Lauren took a deep pull. The flavor wasn’t to her liking, but the effervescence was nice. She ate the other roll slowly, and continued to feel better. “Should we finish up our work?” she asked her boss.
He frowned at her. “You should probably go sit in a reclining chair and try to sleep. How else are you going to kick that bug?”
Lauren shook her head. “You seriously can’t stand the thought of passing a file folder back and forth, right? You think I’m toxic. Be honest.”
“No. It’s . . . we just don’t need to finish it right now.”
Becca tried and failed to hide a smile.
“Nate, I’m not sick, okay?” She might as well just spill her secrets now, in relative privacy. “This is a bug you can never catch.”
He squinted at her, confused.
“Omigod,” Becca laughed. “It’s good to know he’s thick about a few things.” She pushed the little pile of saltines toward Lauren. “These are for you. Keep them in your bag for emergencies.”
“Really?” Lauren picked up one of the cracker packets and held it. That did make sense. Prepackaged insta-carbs. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Becca said with a smile. “My sister went through bushels of crackers when she . . .” Becca cleared her throat.
Nate was silent for another split second. But then, because he really was one of the smartest men on the planet, he made a noise of surprise and bumped his head back against the head rest. “Oh, Jesus.” Then he laughed.
“That’s Nate-speak for congratulations,” Becca said. “I’m pretty sure.”
“Sorry,” Nate chuckled. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Lauren didn’t know what else to say. “It’s really early, and I didn’t plan to mention it yet. But if I’m going to puke frequently I guess you’re going to wonder why.”
“I hope you don’t,” Becca said. “That sounds miserable. I’m never getting pregnant.”
Nate turned to her sharply. “Never?”
“Nope!” she said cheerfully.
“Seriously?” Nate regarded Becca with the familiar, undisguised intensity that he saved only for her. Lauren shoved another bite of roll in her mouth and wondered how many episodes of the Nate and Becca show she’d missed.
“Well,” Becca hedged. “Not soon, anyway. I’m waiting until science solves the problem of morning sickness, and then I’ll give it a whirl.” She gave Nate a potent smile.
Lauren closed her eyes, realizing that she might be the third wheel tonight. Maybe if she hadn’t hitched a ride to Dallas, they’d be joining the mile high club right now.
“Should we finish the briefing then?” Nate asked eventually, his long fingers fiddling with a silver pen.
“Sure,” Lauren agreed. She passed him the folder they’d put aside before dinner.
He took it, but then hesitated. “I guess the California job is probably not going to be the right fit for you, is it?”
She winced. “It’s not the best idea, no.”
His smile was warm. Warm for Nate, anyway. “Forget it. I’ll find you something in New York. We’ll talk about it when the play-offs are over. Can you still go to China at the end of the month?”
“Of course. And I’ll try not to puke at every meal.”
“Hmm. So I guess the exotic cuisine tour I’d been scoping out is off the table? Maybe now isn’t the best time to try dog, or pickled eel?”
“Nate!” Her stomach quivered.
“Sorry.” He gave her an evil grin over the file folder, and she rolled her eyes.
• • •
Lauren arrived in Dallas without tossing her cookies again. A hired car took them directly to the athletes’ entrance to the stadium, where Becca’s chirpy intern greeted them with pa
sses to a corporate box. “Y’all didn’t tell me Lauren was coming, but luckily I read the flight manifest to double-check the times and I found her name! I was able to print a pass in time,” the girl rambled.
“Thank you,” Lauren said. “I’m crashing everyone’s party today.” Becca gave her an odd look, and Lauren cackled inwardly.
“Shall we go up?” Nate asked, pointing toward a set of escalators.
“Sure,” Lauren agreed, hefting her overnight bag onto her shoulder.
Nate removed it immediately, settling it onto his own shoulder.
“Hey!” Lauren squawked. “I can carry that.”
“Nope.” He put his free arm around her. “Not this time.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“Didn’t say you were.” They walked a few paces together. “I’m happy for you, Lauren. Congratulations on your graduation, too.”
“Thank you!”
“Exciting stuff, lady. All of it.” As they stepped onto the escalator, he pulled her a little closer, so they’d both fit. And then he startled her by giving her a peck on the cheek before releasing her. But not before the sound of a rapid-fire camera shutter sounded on the mezzanine above her.
“You just got your picture taken kissing me,” Lauren pointed out. “That will probably show up in a gossip column tomorrow.”
“Great. Now Mike Beacon is going to break my jaw.”
“Bones heal, and chicks dig scars,” Lauren said, quoting Evel Knievel.
“Good to know.”
THIRTY-TWO
Beacon was in the zone tonight.
Nothing existed but the game. He squinted against the ice’s white glare, clocking the puck, calculating play probabilities like a boss. Outside the crease, the world kept on spinning. Time marched forward. People loved him, or didn’t. None of it mattered, but for eleven other players and a six ounce rubber disk.
He listened for the slice of blades against frozen water and for the slap of the puck off the boards. The crowd was a dull roar in the distance. Unimportant.
The score was tied 2–2 in the third period. His boys wanted it, though. He could see their hustle. It was going to pay off, so long as they kept it up.
There were people in his life who mattered. But during game time, they were relegated to the edges of his consciousness. A hockey game lasted a few hours, no more. When he was done here, they could have him again. Elsa. Lauren. The new baby. They’d have his full attention just as soon as this game was in the bag.
Dallas made an attempt on goal, their center rushing the net while the left wing attempted to disguise his hopes at a wrister.
Denied. He flicked it away like a bad idea.
His boys took it off his hands on the rebound and pressed it down the ice. And this time Dallas’s defense wasn’t ready. Finally, finally, Trevi sank it. And that was that—the end of the overtime period and the end of the game. They now led the series 3–2, and Dallas couldn’t close the gap.
One game closer to the Cup. One more win.
We’re still fucking in it, he told himself as his teammates swarmed after the buzzer. We’re still alive.
He liked to think he appreciated it a little more than the younger kids. Nobody knew when their number was up—not in hockey, and not in life. The best you could do was live hard and be grateful.
After the handshake line, he followed his sweaty teammates to the dressing room. He showered in a tired daze and put on his suit. Then, unfortunately, Georgia corralled him onto the dais for the press conference. There went another half hour.
The win was awesome, but if his teammates decided to do some hard drinking tonight, he was going to sneak out after the first beer. There were just two more games left in the season. Then he could spend more time with his girls.
He couldn’t wait.
Publicity finished, he walked through the mobbed hallway. Players, families, and journalists all crowded the place. He wove carefully through the crush of bodies, locked on the exit like a heat-seeking missile.
But someone grabbed his arm a few paces before he reached the door. When he turned, he saw the best sight ever. Lauren, with a smile on her face. “Hey! You came!” He grabbed her into a hug. “I thought you had to work.”
“I hitchhiked with Nate.”
“Yay!” He gave her the first kiss of the evening, and it was every bit as happy-making as winning the game. “Let’s go,” he said, suddenly twice as impatient to leave as he’d been before.
“Are you going to ride the bus?”
He shook his head. “Let’s walk. You can catch me up on your day.” He took her by the hand and led her outside, where the street curved past a couple of restaurants and office buildings on the way to the Ritz-Carlton. “So you rode on Nate’s Gulfstream? What is that like?”
She groaned. “Well, I spent some quality time puking in the jet’s very fancy little bathroom.” She filled him in on her nausea woes.
“And I thought my day was hard,” he joked, squeezing her hand.
“Maybe it won’t last very long. I’ll ask the doctor next week.”
Next week. It sounded like the distant future. By then, the Cup would be won or lost. Although the world would keep turning on its axis either way. “Tell me about this doctor visit. Will they be able to tell us the baby’s sex?”
“Oh, I’m not going to ask.”
“What?” he stopped walking, and she turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Seriously?”
“Sure. In the olden days, nobody knew. They survived. I don’t want to know until the baby is here and healthy.”
He snorted. “People survived in the olden days, huh? Unless they got the plague or tuberculosis. Embrace the progress, baby. I want to know if I have to repaint the nursery.”
“Hmm,” Lauren mused, squeezing his hand in hers. “That’s a good point. I suppose we’d want to repaint before the baby comes.”
“Right? Paint fumes would be bad for the baby. Very bad.” He was probably overselling it, but he was desperate to know if he’d have a daughter or a son. Either one would be grand, but every new kernel of news was exciting to him.
“Okay,” she said, and his heart leapt. “Let’s paint the nursery white. That way it won’t matter.”
Beacon threw back his head and laughed. “You kill me.”
“Shh!” Lauren said suddenly, squeezing his hand, and stopping on the sidewalk. “Look!” she whispered.
“At what?” he asked, sotto voce.
She pointed.
Ahead of them, the sidewalk passed the curved facade of an office building, with a nearly deserted plaza outside it. A couple had paused there under a street light, the man’s hands on the woman’s waist. As they watched, he leaned forward to give her a lingering kiss.
Lauren made an excited little squeak beside him. “That’s Nate and Rebecca!”
“Uh-huh,” he agreed. “But honey—I knew they were a thing.”
Her glance cut toward him. “What? How? You didn’t tell me!”
“You’re the one who knows Nate best,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “I just assumed you knew. But remember that night I, uh, let myself into your hotel room in Bal Harbour?”
She gave him a smile. “How could I forget?”
“The next morning when I snuck out of your room and let myself into mine, he was sneaking out of Rebecca’s.”
“No way!” Lauren giggled. “Finally!”
“Finally,” he agreed, but only because he could see the hotel in the distance. “Is it safe to keep walking now?”
Lauren squinted toward Nate and Rebecca, who were now walking toward the hotel, hand in hand. “Looks like it.”
“Good. Because I’m going to take you up to my room now, and nobody is sneaking out afterward.”
She wrapped an arm around his back. “Sounds perfect.�
��
And it was.
THIRTY-THREE
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
There was a delay boarding the team jet in St. Louis.
The Bruisers were in the middle of a six-day road trip, so the players weren’t feeling bent out of shape by the holdup. They weren’t racing home to their girlfriends or families. Tonight would mean another hotel bed and another team dinner.
Beacon was feeding quarters into a claw machine, trying to win a stuffy for Elsa. “Trevi—it’s going to work this time. Are you ready?”
“Sure, man,” he chuckled, holding up Beacon’s Katt Phone. “Go.”
The video was for Elsa’s benefit. Because he’d finally figured out how to position the claw properly before lowering its metallic jaws toward the toys. She’d freak if this worked.
He fed in the quarters and began the work of angling the jaw into the corner where the toys were piled the highest.
“It’s a tough angle,” Trevi narrated for the video’s benefit. “But he’s a skilled competitor . . .”
“And . . . now,” he said to himself, dropping the claw.
“Go, baby!” Trevi enthused. “YEAHHH!” the kid whooped as the claws closed around something. “Will it be the pink pig? Or that blue thing . . .”
The mechanical arm jolted, lifting not one but two toys in its steel teeth. Unbelievable.
“Looking good as he heads into the dismount,” Trevi said. “This could be a world record . . .”
Unbelievably, both the pig and a little blue bulldog dropped into the corner where the chute was. Mike yanked them out and laughed.
“It’s a podium finish,” Trevi said, pointing the camera in his face. “And . . . the phone is ringing. Whoa. Your very pregnant wife is calling.” The kid tapped the screen to stop the video and handed it to Mike.
The screen read Lauren. He answered quickly. “Hey! Everything okay? How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling like my water broke.”
“No! Really? Are you sure?” She wasn’t due for another ten days.
“Oh, I’m sure. Luckily I didn’t flood my office. It happened when I . . .” She laughed.