by Sarina Bowen
“Whoa! I get your pin. Cough it up, big guy.”
“What?” He adds another roll to my plate and follows it up with a pat of butter the size of a hockey puck. “I didn’t say the b-word.”
“You did!”
“Babe isn’t the same.”
“A dozen Christmas tunes beg to differ.”
“Fine, baby. Take it.” With a smile, he kisses me on the forehead. “But if it wasn’t for your little technicality, I would’ve won big. The word baby isn’t even in my vocabulary.”
A gasp of dismay erupts from the other side of the room, and I don’t have to look to know who made it.
We carry our plates to the seating area, and Blake sets us up at a table with a couple of chairs left. “I’ll get silverware,” he says after I’m seated.
But before he’s taken more than a few steps toward the kitchen, his pregnant sister grabs his elbow. “What were you thinking?” Brenna hisses.
“I was thinking I’d get my girlfriend some silverware and a glass of water.” Blake removes his arm from her grasp, an indignant look on his face.
Her glare is deadly. “Your timing sucks, bro. A baby shower is when you decide to spring the girlfriend on us? With Molly watching? She’s very vulnerable right now.”
Blake’s jaw hardens. “It’s been five years, Bren. Do I look vulnerable? Cheezus.”
He stomps off, and I’m still staring at the doorway where he disappeared when I realize someone across the table has said my name. “Jessica.”
My gaze snaps over to find Mama Riley watching me. “Sorry, what?” Did she just bust me watching the Riley Family Drama?
“Don’t worry about that,” she says, waving a hand as if swatting away a fly. “My daughter is all hopped up on pregnancy hormones.”
“Oh, erm,” I stutter. “I have a big family, too. Five siblings. There’s always one drama or another.”
“Do you, now?” She sets her glass down, and I see her chill toward me thawing a little. “Tell me about yourself. What are your plans for the future?”
“Uh, I’m a nursing student. I study all the time. That’s pretty much it.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you’re dating my son, who’s friends with your brother.”
“Right,” I say quickly. “My brother is married to Ryan Wesley. They live in the same building as Blake.”
“Ah.” Mama Riley looks happier. “Good arm on Wesley. Excellent reflexes.”
“Yeah…” Now we’re talking hockey? I have whiplash, I think.
Blake sits down again, and he’s his usual buoyant self. The food is, as Blake promised, terrific. I tell Mama Riley this, and she beams.
Playing the part of the good girlfriend, I gather our dishes when we’re through. “I’ll just pop these into the kitchen, honey,” I offer, laying it on a little thick. “Do you need another beer? Or coffee?” Does Blake drink coffee? Fuck. I should have done my homework.
“I would love a cup!” he says. “Black, of course.” He winks.
“Of course!” I jump up and take my leave.
In the kitchen, I rinse our plates and pop them into the biggest dishwasher I’ve ever seen. Then I pour two cups of coffee from the big urn on the counter. Just around the corner, a tearful conversation catches my ear.
“It’s hard,” someone sniffs.
“I know, I know,” another female voice soothes. “Your baby would have turned four just next month. They would have been cousins.”
A chill climbs up my neck. Could she mean…?
Grasping the cups carefully, I walk off, keeping my back to the whispering women. But I can’t resist. When I’m a safe distance away, I turn my head.
Sure enough, it’s Molly and Brenna, their heads bent close together in conversation.
I have a million questions, at least. But for some reason the first one that pops into my mind is: Will Brenna now forfeit the collection of game pins on her dress?
17 The Godzilla Roar
Blake
Sweet Cheezus, I’ve almost done it. If this baby shower were a baseball game, then I’d be stretching my legs toward home plate right now.
Sure, there were a couple hiccups getting to first, second and third. Like the fact that Molly was glaring at Jess all afternoon. And the suspicious looks my mom kept throwing my way. And I may have pissed off Brenna a wee bit. But I rounded those bases and now I’m sliding to home plate, about to be free of the tension that’s been coiled up inside me since—
“Blake? Can we talk for a second?”
Shitballs.
I almost dive back into the bathroom when I find Molly waiting for me in the hall. Fuck. Why did I have to duck inside to take a piss? I should’ve just held it until I got home. Or used that empty Gatorade bottle on the floor of my Hummer. Jess would’ve probably thrown up, but the fast getaway would’ve been worth her repulsion.
But now I’m stuck, and Molly’s staring at me with that sad, doe-eyed look she’s perfected over the years.
“Ah…Jess and I need to take off,” I say awkwardly. “Can we do this some other time?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”
I guess we’re doing it now.
Swallowing my annoyance, I try to think of a suitable answer. Why didn’t I tell her I was seeing someone…
Well, first and foremost, because it’s none of her fucking business.
But that’s too harsh. Right? Too harsh?
Maybe…because we broke up five years ago?
Damn it. Still harsh.
Because I’m not an angry guy, but every time I see you or hear your name I want to Hulk out and smash an entire metropolitan city.
Okay, even worse.
There’s nothing I can say that’ll appease her. The best I can come up with is, “It’s new.”
“Six months isn’t new!” Her cheeks redden when she realizes she’s yelling. She quickly lowers her voice. “A heads-up would have been nice, Blake. You knew I was going to be here today. I would have appreciated a warning that you were bringing someone,” she says tightly.
My voice is equally terse. “No offense, Mol, but I don’t owe you any warnings. It’s been five years. Shouldn’t be a shocker that I’m dating other people.”
Her lips part in dismay. Then she blinks, rapidly, and I prepare myself for the inevitable tears.
“You don’t have to be”—blink blink—“cruel about it,” she whispers. Blink blink blink. “After everything we’ve been through”—blink blink—“I deserve more than that.”
And cue the tears. They cling to her dark lashes for a second before slipping free and streaming down her cheeks. I pray that none of my sisters walk in right now, because they’re all super protective of Molly. If they saw that I’d made her cry, they’d kick my ass to next Sunday.
“Molly.” I shove both hands in my pockets. I’m not going to touch this woman. Not going to comfort her. “You need to move on.”
Her tear-filled eyes widen. “I have moved on.”
“No, you haven’t. But it’s time for it, honey.” My hands slide out of my pockets and dangle at my sides. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this right now. Take care of yourself.”
Then I lumber past her without a backward look. Am I an asshole? Maybe. Do I fucking care? Nope.
Molly is lucky to be here. One word from me and there’d be no more invites to these kind of events. If my family knew what she’d done, they wouldn’t even let her approach the front door.
Jess is waiting for me in the parlor, toying with the end of her ponytail. She looks up at my approach, sees my face, and asks, “Everything okay?”
“’S’all peaches and cream. Come on, we’re outtie.” We already said our goodbyes to the fam, so there’s nothing stopping me from taking her arm and dragging her toward the truck.
“Chill out,” she grumbles, shrugging my hand off. “I know how to walk by myself.”
I practically fling myself into the driver’s seat and have the engine running and the ge
arshift in drive before Jess has even buckled up. Her seatbelt snaps into place as I leave my parents’ house in my dust.
The sight of my childhood home in the rearview mirror pisses me off. I love that house. It’s mine. Total bullshit right there, that Molly is driving me away from my own house.
“Blake, slow down. You’re going too fast.”
I ease up on the accelerator. Shit, I’m all riled up. Riley’d up, if you will. I chuckle at the new phrase I’ve coined. Or maybe it’s not a chuckle so much as hysterical laughter.
“Okay, now you’re just freaking me out,” Jess announces. “Pull over. I mean it.”
I do it. Maybe it’s her tone of voice. It’s sharp and commanding, like when my mom used to order me to clean my room or else she’d stop paying for my hockey gear.
I park at the curb and stare straight ahead. We’re at the end of my parents’ street, and I hope nobody from the party drives by and stops to ask what the hell we’re doing.
“Get out,” Jess orders. “I’m driving.”
Again, I listen to the lady. And I don’t even ask if she’s capable of driving such a powerful machine, because I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize she’d slap me silly for being sexist.
We switch seats, but Jess doesn’t start the engine. She studies me silently before letting out a heavy breath. “I know what’s going on here, so you don’t have to pretend.”
I furrow my brow. “What are you talking about?”
“I know why you’re upset,” she clarifies.
“Sorry, babe, but I doubt it.”
Jess stubbornly juts her chin. “I do know. Or at least some of it.” A sheepish look crosses her face. “I overheard Brenna and Molly talking in the kitchen.”
Every inch of me goes rigid. Including my neck, which suddenly throbs with pain. Damn it, why won’t that goddamn kink go away? I asked the team trainer to work on it after last practice, but it’s still sore as hell.
“What did you hear?”
“Not much,” she admits. “But enough to put a few of the pieces together. She, um, got pregnant, huh? When you two were together?”
I clench my teeth.
“And then she lost the baby.” Jess’s tone softens with sympathy. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you two went through.”
Another choked laugh flies out, making her eyes widen in alarm. Then they turn to thunderclouds.
“You think it’s funny?” She releases my hand and stares at me in disapproval. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Jess.” I clear my throat a couple of times. “Look. I appreciate your concern. And the sympathy. I know it’s coming from a good place, but trust me, it’s misguided.”
“Misguided?” she echoes. “Your ex-girlfriend lost your baby and my sympathy is misguided?”
“There was no baby!” I shout.
She freezes. Silence falls between us, a long, tense silence during which I want to smack myself for opening my big mouth. Fucking hell. Why’d I have to go and say that?
Maybe she didn’t hear?
Yeah, dumbass, she didn’t hear the Godzilla roar that just rocked the Hum-hum.
“What do you mean, there wasn’t a baby?” Confusion etches her pretty features. “But…I heard your sister say that your baby would have been four next month. And how Brenna’s kid and Molly’s kid would have been cousins. I swear I didn’t mishear that, Blake.”
I exhale slowly. “You heard right, okay? But you heard wrong.”
“Is that a riddle?” She sounds exasperated. “I don’t understand. Why would—” Jess gasps so loudly that I actually jump in my seat. “Oh my God! She’s lying to your family?”
“Can we please drop this?” I lean over and tap the steering wheel. “Just drive us home already.”
Jess isn’t listening to me. She looks aghast, biting her bottom lip as she studies my face. “Why does your family think you and your ex were going to have a baby?”
“You’re really not gonna let this go?”
“No.”
I clench my fists against my knees. “They think it because that’s what Molly told them. Because that's what she told me. The start of my rookie year in the pros, she told me she was pregnant.” I fix my gaze out the windshield. “And she lied, okay? She wasn’t preggers, but she said she was three months along, and, you know, that’s when you’re allowed to start shouting it from the rooftops, so I told my family right after I found out. Mol and I were engaged at that point, so they were as thrilled as I was.”
“You were engaged?” Jess blurts out.
“Had a date set and everything.” I snort. “But I guess that wasn’t enough of a commitment. Not to her.”
“I…don’t get it.”
“Not much to get,” I mutter. “She didn’t like all the attention I was getting from other broads. You know how it is—hockey players are gods. It’s like a buffet of hot girls. Not that I ever sampled the buffet.” I swallow down a wave of bitterness. “I’m not a fucking cheater.”
Jess wrinkles her forehead. “Did Molly think you were cheating?”
“She was scared I would. Didn’t matter how many times I reassured her, she didn’t believe I’d keep my dick in my pants. We were getting married, for fuck’s sake, but nope, she still couldn’t trust that I’d stick around.” I fight my rising anger. “So she came up with a way that I’d have to stick around.”
I stop abruptly, pissed at myself for laying all this shit at Jess’s feet. It’s ancient history, and there’s no reason to dredge it all up. Molly and I aren’t together anymore. So what if I still see her around sometimes. So what if I’ve told my family a lie or two. As long as I don’t think about it too hard, it can’t make me angry.
“When did you find out she wasn’t pregnant?”
“She said she had a sonogram appointment. I was supposed to be on the road, but a snowstorm in Vancouver meant our flight couldn’t take off. So I surprised her at the doctor’s office.”
“And she wasn’t there?” Jess guesses.
“Oh, she was.” I can still picture the freaked-out look on her face when I walked into that waiting room. “But there was no sonogram, because there was no pregnancy. She’d made an appointment to ask her gynecologist for fertility meds.”
Jess gasps. “She’s infertile?”
“No idea?” I throw my arms up. “All I know is that she was trying to make her lie into a reality. As soon as she started sputtering excuses, I knew what had happened. I’d gotten a weird vibe off her when she said she wanted to stop wrapping the weasel.”
“Wrapping… Oh.” Jess rolls her eyes.
“She pulled the goalie.” Five years later, I still almost can’t believe it. Who does that?
“Who does that?” Jess asks.
“Someone who is willing to lie to me.”
“So what did you do? How could you not dump her on the spot?”
“Because she’s…was…family. Molly and I didn’t get together until freshman year of college, but I knew her before that. She’s Brenna’s best friend. They were inseparable in high school and she was always over at our place.” I blow out a breath. “My whole family loves her.”
“Would they still love her if they knew what she did?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But just because she hurt me didn’t mean I wanted to tar and feather her, or cost her a lifelong friendship with Bren. So yeah, I ended it, but she begged me not to tell my family about what she’d done. We told them she had a miscarriage, and then a couple of months later we ‘broke up’—” I use finger quotes “—and told everyone that our relationship couldn’t survive the emotional trauma. But we were dunzo the day I learned the truth.”
Jess is visibly horrified. “Blake! That’s insane! Why wouldn’t you set your family straight? Now they all view her as some innocent victim who got dumped by her fiancé after she miscarried their baby.”
“What else
was I supposed to do?” I counter. “Embarrass her? Make Brenna—her best friend—hate her? I was trying to protect her.”
“She doesn’t deserve that!” Jess screeches. Then she takes a calming breath. “Cheezus, Blake, you’re either a saint or the biggest idiot on the planet.”
I finally crack a smile. “Babe.”
“What?”
“You just said cheezus.”
She looks flustered. “I did not.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Agree to disagree.” She shakes her head at me. “I can’t believe that happened to you. Fake pregnancy? A web of lies? That’s soap opera shit right there, dude.”
“Tell me about it.” I can’t believe I just unloaded all of that on her. Then again, Jess is studying to be a nurse. Maybe she doesn’t mind wading into other people’s shit storms.
We go quiet for a beat. Jess turns the key in my macho mobile.
“You totally said cheezus,” I mutter under my breath.
“Did not,” she scoffs.
“Did so.”
“Did not.” She looks over her shoulder to check for traffic and then pulls out and guns it.
I stop arguing because I’m too busy watching a pretty girl drive my truck. At least one thing went right today. In a pretty blue dress that shows off her curves, Jess Canning handled my nutty family like a champ.
If I was ever gonna trust a woman again, she’d be the top seed of the tournament.
18 We Stand on Guard for Thee
Jess
The next two weeks of my life are crazy.
I pass all my anatomy quizzes by never leaving the library except for classes and to sleep. Clinical observation work continues, too, and lately we’re visiting a geriatric home. They taught us to take vital signs, so now we even touch the patients sometimes. The cases there can be sad, but not kids-with-cancer sad.
My friend Dyson works with geriatric patients, and when we chatted on the phone, he gave me a tip. “Sing Ella Fitzgerald,” he said.
“What?”
“Learn some Ella tunes, and sing one if the patient isn’t cooperating. Trust me. And your voice doesn’t even suck.”