by Kendall Ryan
“What’s the occasion?” I smile, plucking the spatula from his hand and then removing the pancakes from the pan. He forgot to add cooking spray.
“You’re home.” Dad chuckles. “That’s an occasion for me.”
I pause my rummaging through the cabinets in my search for something to grease the pan, and turn to give my father an apologetic frown. I know how distant I’ve been the past few years. I’d blame it entirely on Jason, but that wouldn’t be the whole story.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say, taking a step toward him. “I felt like I had to do everything myself, you know? I just wanted to be independent.”
“I suppose I taught you that,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling, so I’ll call that a win. “C’mere.”
My dad pulls me into a bear hug and squeezes me so hard, for a second, I can’t breathe.
“Sorry.” He grins when he releases me. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I say softly, reaching up to gently squeeze his shoulder. “Now, let me get back to the pancake crisis over here, and then we can sit down and catch up.”
• • •
“You’re sure?”
I nod, biting my lip.
My dad’s array of reactions to the story of Jason’s misdeeds varied. Anger, to sadness, and finally to a deep disdain. But now that I’ve told him about the little human growing inside me? His expression is unreadable.
This is exactly why I haven’t been telling people. Even after I knew, and half the hockey wives and fiancées kept calling to express their support after the video of Jason and me leaked, I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone the rest of my news. I just accepted their support and stayed quiet about my pregnancy, like maybe if I didn’t say it out loud, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this yet. Because the truth is, I have no idea how to deal with it.
Sadly, I know that’s not the way this works. Ready or not, I’m going to have a baby.
“I took two pregnancy tests. I was thinking about visiting Dr. Hao while I’m here, if she has any openings.”
Dr. Hao was my mother’s ob-gyn, and mine. Well, during high school and before I moved away.
“I can call her. I saw her at the rally a few months ago, and we chatted.”
My heart swells three times its normal size. First, because my father is still participating in our town’s awareness campaigns for drunk driving. For my mom. And second, because my father had a conversation with an attractive woman, something he couldn’t do for years after Mom passed. And third? Because I can’t find a hint of anger in his voice about my pregnancy news.
“You’re not mad?” I ask tentatively.
Dad reaches across the table, taking my small, smooth hand in his big, scratchy one. “Ana. I couldn’t be mad. I’m so proud of you. Proud that you left that piece-of-crap ex of yours. Proud that you’re taking care of yourself. Proud that you’re going to be just as excellent a mother as your mom was. And proud that you’re making me a granddaddy and giving me another human to love unconditionally.”
The tears well up in my eyes so fast, I have to blink them away to see clearly.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I whisper, so grateful to the universe for putting such a kind, sensitive, loving soul in my life. “You don’t know how much that means to me. You’re going to be the best granddaddy ever.”
• • •
At my appointment the next day, Dr. Hao confirms that I am indeed pregnant, which comes as no surprise. Dad comes back in the room and squeezes my hand at the news. When the appointment over, I promise Dr. Hao that I’ll find an obstetrician and schedule an ultrasound when I return to Seattle, and Dad promises her that they’ll go get coffee soon and catch up.
Back at home, I head into my room while Dad makes himself busy with a crossword puzzle. I pick up my phone and call the first person I think of.
“Hey, babe! How’d it go?” Georgia chirps on the other end.
“Good, I guess. The doctor said everything seems normal.”
“Oh, that’s a relief. This whole thing is crazy. How are you even pregnant?”
“Well . . .” I want to crack a joke about the birds and the bees, but I’m feeling uninspired. I can only joke to a certain extent when my reality is . . . this.
“I just can’t believe you’re going to have a baby,” Georgia says, her voice almost a little sad.
My chest clenches painfully. Will things change between us once there’s a kid involved?
“I know, me neither.” I close my eyes tightly, praying that our friendship won’t be affected by my new reality.
“Well, thanks for calling, babe. Keep me updated, okay?”
I sigh, a little relieved, and also a little surprised that she’s cutting the call so short. But she seemed interested, so she’s still invested, and that feels like a good sign to me.
“Of course.”
We say our good-byes and I roll over on the bed, scrolling for the next contact on my list.
“Hey,” Grant says, his voice rumbling pleasantly in my ear.
“Hi there,” I say, pretending not to notice the way my heart skips a beat when he speaks.
“What did the doctor say?”
Ah, straight to business.
“That I’m definitely pregnant. And everything looks fine.”
“What do you mean, everything? You and the baby?”
“Apparently, yes.”
“Good.” Grant lets out a sigh.
His relief is contagious, so I lean back against the pillows stacked on my bed and smile.
“How are you feeling?” he asks after a moment.
“I’m okay,” I say firmly. He spends way too much time worrying about me. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the attention sometimes.
“You sure? No dizziness or anything? Nausea?”
“I’m sure. I feel so much better than I did the other day. I’m even holding down my dad’s pancakes.”
“That’s good to hear. And how is your dad? With everything?”
I chuckle, suddenly imagining a meeting between my dad and Grant. Talk about worrywarts.
“He’s being very supportive. I told him all about Jason too. About the breakup, anyway.”
“Oh?” There’s a hint of something in Grant’s voice, but I can’t make it out.
“Yes. He, um, thinks the baby is Jason’s. And I didn’t tell him otherwise,” I say carefully.
“Right, makes sense,” Grant says on the other end, and I can imagine him nodding solemnly like he does whenever he has something more to say.
“My dad wants to kill him,” I find myself saying, unsure why I’m sharing this. “I’m pretty sure he wants to hunt him down and make him suffer.”
“He’s not the only one.”
I roll my eyes. Men.
“Have you told him yet?” Grant asks.
“Jason?”
“Yeah.”
“Not yet. But I need to, soon. It’s the right thing to do.” I scratch at a spot behind my knee. I’d rather never talk to Jason again, but he needs to know that I could potentially be carrying his baby.
“I guess so.”
I frown. Grant clearly has something else to say, but as always, he’s self-censoring. I’d be aggravated if I weren’t so sure that he’s putting my feelings first.
“So, you’re getting enough to eat?”
I grin. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“When are you coming home?” Grant asks next.
I think we’re both surprised by the use of the word home to describe Grant’s condo, because a silence falls over the call.
“Uh, well . . .” I stammer, eager to banish any awkwardness. He could just be talking about Seattle in general. “Probably the day after tomorrow. I don’t work again until later this week.”
“All right, well, let me know. I can pick up some groceries, and we’ll have dinner.”
I chew on my lip. When are you going to stop using Grant, Ana?
“Sounds good,” I
say, feigning enthusiasm. It’s just dinner.
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“You bet. ’Bye, Grant.”
“’Bye, Ana.”
I hang up, tossing my phone on the bed beside me and closing my eyes for a moment. The sigh that comes out of me is tired and weak.
How nice would it be to simply rest in the assurance that Grant will take care of me? I touch my belly. Of us?
But I know myself, and I know I can’t let him put aside everything to do that. I can’t derail his entire life just because mine is messed up.
I won’t.
18
* * *
Unexpected Action
Grant
The ballroom is decked out in elaborate bunches of sunny yellow balloons that arch over doorways, and huge bouquets of yellow roses in the center of each round table. Tonight’s gala is meant to raise money for a domestic violence safe house here in Seattle, and it looks like the turnout is great.
Coach Dodd thumps me on the shoulder as I pass, giving me a thumbs-up, but I don’t pause to talk with him. I weave my way through the crowd, scanning for Ana.
She may be staying at my place, but I haven’t seen much of her since she returned from visiting her Dad last week. A midweek trip to the Northeast kept me away, and this week I spent several days in Canada for a series of away games. I’ve been looking forward to the chance to see her tonight, eager to check on her and find out how she’s been feeling.
I had to be here two hours early for a photo shoot, which meant even though Ana agreed to come as my date tonight, we didn’t arrive together. And I’m starting to get a little itchy in this tuxedo, because the party started twenty minutes ago and I still haven’t seen her.
Reaching into my jacket pocket for my phone, I check the time again and note I don’t have any missed calls or texts from her.
“Grant, over here!” I hear Jordie call from across the room.
I follow the sound of his voice and spot him standing beside a table filled with my teammates and their wives and girlfriends.
When I get closer, I realize Ana is there too, and for a moment, my size thirteen feet stop working.
God, she looks beautiful.
I can’t help my gaze from wandering the length of her, or the way it lingers over her stomach, which is still flat. Her golden hair is down tonight and has been straightened, lying in a silky sheet over each of her shoulders. Her brown eyes are lined with mascara and that other stuff, eyeliner maybe? A simple black sheath dress that falls to her knees and a pair of black heels complete her look. She looks classy. Sophisticated. Beautiful.
Her gaze meets mine, and my breath catches. Then a smile slowly spreads across her face.
“Grant,” she murmurs, lifting on her toes when I bend down to hug her.
“Damn. You look gorgeous.”
She chuckles, patting the lapel of my jacket. “You clean up nice too. Did you shave?”
I grin, running one hand along my jaw. “Yeah. I figured it was time.”
She leans in a little closer. “I’m not sure what I like best. Scruff or no scruff.”
Jordie watches our interaction with an amused expression. But thankfully, everyone else seems too engrossed in their own conversations to notice me basically losing my shit over how gorgeous this girl is.
“Who wants wine?” Elise, the fiancée of my best center, holds up two bottles.
Jordie hands me a glass, and I hold it out, accepting a pour of red wine.
Elise holds up the bottles. “Ana, red or white?”
Ana makes a face, and I can tell she’s debating whether to tell everyone she’s pregnant. It’s early still. From what I read, women don’t usually begin sharing the news they’re pregnant until later in the first trimester. Something about the chance of miscarriage being higher. There’s a lot of scary shit I read, to be honest.
“Ana?” Elise asks with wide, eager eyes.
Ana smiles demurely, still thinking it over. “Surprise!” She lets out an uneasy laugh. “I’m expecting. Which I realize is a little, well, unexpected, but . . .” She shrugs. “Yeah.”
My teammate Owen’s wife, Becca, who is also pregnant, takes Ana’s hand and squeezes. “This is amazing news. Everything happens for a reason.”
Ana nods. “True. It was a bit shocking at first, but I’m excited.”
“How far along are you?” Elise asks.
“When are you due?” Becca says next.
“Just six weeks, and um, mid-June.” Ana’s cheeks are pink as she answers these, and other questions, like about how she’s feeling and what she thinks about natural childbirth, and if she plans to breastfeed.
It’s a lot. Based on Ana’s surprised reaction, I’m not even sure that she knows the answers to some of these questions yet. I love my teammates, but their wives can be a bit much.
Exchanging an uneasy look with Owen and Justin, I shove one hand in my pocket. They have no reason to suspect the baby could be mine. And since now is not the time, I decide not to bring it up.
I lean in close while the excited chatter continues around Ana. “Can I get you something to drink?” I ask her in a low voice, hoping to save her from any further embarrassment.
She flashes me a grateful look. “Grapefruit juice?”
“Of course.” I make my way over to the bar and place her order.
“Sorry, sir, we don’t have grapefruit juice. We have orange, pineapple, or cranberry.”
“Thanks anyway.” On the way back to the table, I intercept a busboy, stopping him with a stern look. “Hey, kid, can you do me a favor?”
His eyes widen. “You’re Grant Henry.”
I nod, fishing my wallet out of my back pocket. “Run to the corner market, and this is yours.” I flash him a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
“Uh, sure,” he says, nodding. “What did you need?”
“Grapefruit juice. Bring it directly to me. I’ll be over there.” I point toward the table where Ana is now sitting between Elise and Becca, nodding along to something one of them is saying.
The busboy dashes away, and I rejoin my friends at the table. Ana’s too immersed in the conversation to notice that I’ve returned without her beverage. But less than five minutes later, the busboy comes through.
“Thanks, man,” I say, tipping him.
“Can I, uh, get your autograph?” he asks, handing me the bottle of juice.
“Sure.” I scrawl out a quick signature on the back of the receipt and hand it to him.
Jordie gives me a strange look as the guy saunters away, but I ignore it. Twisting off the top of the glass bottle, I pour Ana’s grapefruit juice into a glass and hand it to her.
She pauses in the middle of her conversation about breast versus bottle feeding and gives me an appreciative look. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” I murmur.
Ana takes a sip and makes a little pleasure-filled sound that I feel down in my balls.
Awesome.
Unease tightens inside my chest. I’m going to need something stronger than wine. I don’t know how it’s not obvious to everyone at this table the attraction I feel toward Ana. Hell, maybe it is, and I’m terrible at faking.
“Jordie, what are you drinking?” I ask, tipping my chin toward the bar.
“I’ll walk with you,” he says.
Out of earshot of the rest of our friends, he wastes no time digging in. “So, you and Ana?” he asks as we pause beside the bar, waiting our turn to be served.
I give him a blank look, hoping my lack of enthusiasm for this topic will be a clear signal. Sadly, Jordie is undeterred. His mouth twists in a wry grin. Clearly, he’s enjoying my discomfort.
“When did this all happen?”
“Nothing’s happening.” My expression says to leave it alone, but of course Jordie’s not going to do that.
“But . . .”
“Just drop it, Jordie.” My tone is biting.
“Dude. You can’t just shut me out. I have so
many questions.”
“Well, I don’t have answers. So, like I said, drop it.”
The bartender approaches, and Jordie orders a beer while I request a gin and tonic.
“Top shelf, if you have it,” I say, sliding the bartender a large tip.
“Certainly, sir.” He nods.
With our drinks in hand, we start back toward the table.
“But you don’t date,” Jordie says with a raised brow.
“We’re not dating,” I mutter without meeting his eyes. Because she’s not looking for a relationship, my brain helpfully reminds me.
I know Jordie’s had questions ever since that night he brought over the pregnancy tests. And now that Ana and I are here together, and she’s just announced her pregnancy, it’s only natural that he’s asking. But I meant it when I told him I don’t have any answers. Shit, his guess is as good as mine about what’s happening between us.
I take a deep breath. “Listen, it’s not going anywhere, okay? She’s staying with me for a bit, that’s it.”
He makes an annoyed sound. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
Now, I’m the one feeling annoyed. I don’t need him giving me the third degree I about this, especially because I don’t have any answers. “Besides I don’t like dogs,” I blurt out.
He smirks. “Uh huh.”
“Fuck off Jordie. I’m serious.”
He turns to face me, and his normally playful expression has been replaced by a somber one. “I saw the way you looked at her.”
“Yeah, and how did I look at her?”
He meets my eyes. “Like you wanted to protect her. Take care of her.”
Fuck. I guess I was more obvious than I thought. My Adam’s apple bobs in my throat. “I do. I am. It’s the decent thing to do.”
“I guess so.” He nods.
We’re almost back to the table and, thankfully, done with this conversation. I take a long swallow of my drink, hoping it will extinguish some of the anxiety stewing inside me.
19
* * *
Sweet Relief
Ana