by Abby Brooks
The longer he sits there without saying anything, the harder it gets for me to stay rational. But I sit, and I wait, and I fight down all the voices that say I should have just lied and figured out what to do on my own.
Hudson runs a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. “I thought you were on the pill.” His voice sounds wrong.
“I am.”
“I thought I could trust you to be responsible with it.”
My eyes go wide. “I am responsible with it.”
Hudson purses his lips and draws his eyebrows together. It’s not a nice face. “Sure. Obviously you’ve been quite responsible.”
Fury rises in my chest but I bat it down. As much as I hate being blamed for something I didn’t do, I can understand why he’s upset. “I take my pill every day at lunch. Every. Day.”
He shakes his head. “What the fuck, Maya?”
I don’t have a response for him, so I just sit quietly and wait for my Hudson to come back. I don’t know this version of the guy sitting across from me.
His eyes darken. “This was all part of the plan, wasn’t it?” He stands, his chair darting out from beneath him and rocking back on two legs before clattering back onto the tile. “You’re a fucking master.” He’s pacing now, his hands balled into tight fists.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I hate the way my voice sounds. Small. Desperate. Afraid.
“You can drop the act.” Hudson turns to me, his eyes burning with rage. “You’ve got me now.”
A series of cracks shatters across the surface of my heart. “I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He’s pacing again. “I didn’t expect it from you, of course. The surgeon with her shit together. So distant at first, pushing me away whenever I tried to get close. You might be a genius, you know?”
“Hudson.” I wait for him to look at me and he never does. “What are you talking about?”
I want to go to him. Put my hands on his arms and make him stand still so he can look me in the eye and see how much I love him. How much he’s not making sense. How much he’s scaring me right now. But I don’t. The man in front of me is big and scary. He’s six foot five inches of anger directed right at me.
He stops pacing and slams a hand on the table. I jump.
“I’m talking about your grand plan to get out of your job without having to worry about letting down your family or going bankrupt trying to pay off your school loans. Get the professional football player with the monster paycheck to get you pregnant then hit him with a law suit or you’ll go public. Or hell, child support alone should set you up nicely for the rest of your life.” He shakes his head, his lips curling in disgust. “You said you loved me.”
“I do love you.” My voice quakes and quivers and I can barely see him through the tears standing in my eyes.
“Bullshit.” He spits the word at me and I jump again. He’s off and pacing. “I’ll fight it, you know. I’m sure I’ve got better lawyers.” The revulsion in his voice is more than I can handle. Without a word, I stand and gather my things. Pull open the door and run down the hallway. Stab the button for the elevator and thank God that it opens immediately.
While the doors close in front of me, Hudson slams his door shut. The sound hits the cracks in my heart and shatters the damn thing to pieces. My knees buckle and I slide down the wall. My ass hits the floor and I drop my forehead to my knees. The tears come, sorrow roaring through my open mouth in a low keening wail.
Chapter Nineteen
The last thing I expected from Maya was something like this. I thought what we had was real. I thought she meant it when she told me she loved me. I sure meant it, for fuck’s sake. I am such a goddamn fool.
They warn you about this kind of thing. The older players with all the experience. They tell you about the women who look at you and see dollar signs.
Wear a condom, they say. Always. Tie the damn thing off and take it with you if you have to because the last thing you want is a pregnant woman coming after you with a lawyer.
Well, fuck me because here I am.
I thought Maya was different. I thought she was real.
I stalk my apartment, punching pillows, then the sofa, and then eventually the damn wall because hitting soft stuff isn’t getting it done. The plaster splinters under the impact and the skin on my knuckles splits open. And I still feel like shit. I’m just so fucking mad. And hurt. And mad because I’m hurt.
She played me and I fell for it hook line and sinker.
The next week is awful. I don’t sleep. I get up angry. I work out angry. I get on the field angry. Coach notices and tries to talk to me about it but I only get angrier and straight up walk away in the middle of the conversation. I fumble the ball in the end zone and cost the team the game and fans actually boo me. Me! The golden boy with the dimples. I don’t remember a time I’ve been lower in all of my life.
And to make matters worse, I miss her.
I was going to give her a key to my apartment the night she sat me down and showed me her true colors. That’s how much she means to me. That’s how much I trusted her. That’s how much I wanted her in my life.
It was a royal punch to the balls to find out she was just another slut looking for an easy way out of a hard situation. I should have known this was coming when she kept talking about how much she hated her job. I should have known.
It’s the worst at night, when I’m lying in bed, trying not to remember all the times she was right here beside me. Trying to ignore the fact that I wish she still was. And in those quiet moments right before I fall asleep, this tiny little voice pipes up somewhere deep in my mind. A voice that tells me Maya is for real. That she’s not after my money. That she does love me and somewhere, she’s hurting and scared and wanting me in the same way I want her.
I don’t listen to that voice. I was a fool to let myself love her in the first place. I’ll be damned if I let her get under my skin again.
After the shittiest week of my life, I blast into my apartment and drop my gym bag on the floor. Chalk today up to yet another shitty practice. I played fine. In fact, I was on my game today, channeling my rage into something useful. But I guess an angry Hudson Knox who lives with a glare on his face instead of a smile really puts people off. Players I’m not even close with were coming up to me asking me what’s wrong.
I’ll be damned if I tell anyone. There’s no way in hell I’m admitting that I fell for this bullshit. This is mine to bear and mine alone. A lesson for me, wrapped up in a pretty little bow and hand delivered in the shape of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Well, consider this lesson learned. I will never, ever give my heart to someone again. Not while I’m playing ball and I’ll be playing ball until I’m too old and wrinkled for anyone to care about my fucking dimples.
I stalk past the hole in the wall on my way to the bathroom. I should probably have reported it to management, but it’s going to stay there for a while because it’s a nice little reminder of how dumb I was to believe her. I see that before I head down the hallway to bed each and every night. I focus on it instead of thinking about how much I still wish she was in my bed beside me.
The shower feels good. I let the warm water race down my body, stream through my hair and down my face. The powerful jets pulse into my shoulders, working on the tension that just lives there lately. I need a release. I need some fun. I need to stop focusing on Maya and figure out a way to get back to myself.
I need out of this apartment. I need music and dancing and drinks. I need women hanging off my every word, making their stupid surprised face when they squeeze my bicep. I need to laugh. I need to flirt.
I need to fuck.
I wrap a towel around my waist and grab my phone. Send a text to Sloan Anderson, the one guy on the team who won’t ask too many questions. He’s a douche. A womanizer who almost lost his spot on the team last year because he decided to take his womanizing in the form of assault. He�
��s dialed it back a little since then, but he’s still the kind of guy who’ll fuck a chick in the bathroom only to have another hanging on his arm before the first one’s even pulled up her panties.
All of which means he’s exactly the kind of guy I need to hang out with right now.
Chapter Twenty
Every time I think I’ve cried my last tear, that I couldn’t possibly have any fluid left in my body, I surprise myself by crying some more. I’ve never hurt like this. I’ve never had my heart ache and cry out for someone hour after hour. I’ve never sat on my floor and cried until I couldn’t sleep from the headache. I’ve never gone days without eating. I’ve never spent days in bed, too broken to even wake up.
Until now.
I don’t even know how many days have gone by. How many texts I sent to Hudson before I finally gave up. I don’t know how I’m going to face the decisions that lay ahead of me. And I certainly don’t know how to face the rest of my life.
There’s no way I can be a single mom and finish my residency and there’s no way I can have an abortion. That would devastate me in ways that my poor shattered heart isn’t prepared to handle. Every time I look down into one of the twins’ sweet faces and think of the baby growing inside me, every time I think about my realization that I want to have kids and raise a family, I grow ever more set against abortion as an option for me. I stopped going to Chelsea’s because it hurt too much to look at those sweet babies and know the choice I’m considering.
And yet the question remains. How can I get through this alone?
The answer is clear. I can’t. But I can’t tell my family because they’ll tell me to get a lawyer and go after Hudson and that’s the last thing I want to do. It will only solidify what he thinks he knows about me. I can’t handle the thought of him thinking I was after his money.
He’s the first person I’ve ever let myself love. The first person I’ve ever let into my heart. I’m not ready to push him completely away. Not yet. Not when I still wake up every morning hoping that he’ll come to his senses and reach out.
The urge to run away is a constant companion, but I don’t have anywhere to go.
I stare into my cereal this morning as it slowly turns to mush, poking it with my spoon from time to time before letting it clatter into the bowl. Pushing it away, I study the clock, trying to make sense of the time and what it means to me. Apparently, it isn’t even morning. Hell, it isn’t even afternoon. It’s edging closer and closer to full on evening.
I run my hands up into my dirty hair and close my eyes. Maybe I should just go back to bed. Or, maybe, just maybe, it’s time to talk to someone. It’s been two weeks now and Hudson hasn’t returned even one text. Acknowledged even one phone call.
But who? Dakota is somewhere in Australia right now and I feel like this is the kind of conversation that I need to have face to face. Mom and Dad are just out of the equation all together. I don’t really have anyone at work that I’m close to. Not enough for this conversation. That leaves Chelsea, but not only is she busy with her own life, she’s not exactly the most understanding person in the world. She sees one right way and that’s it. There’s no wiggle room for mistakes. I know what she’ll tell me to do and I don’t want to hear that right now.
I don’t want to hear it ever.
But I do need to talk. My shattered heart keeps cutting fresh wounds inside me and I’m afraid I’m going to emotionally bleed out if I don’t get it taken care of. I throw on a hat and drive straight to Chelsea’s before I have a chance to talk myself out of going. I won’t like what she has to say, but I need someone to hear me. I need to get these thoughts out of my head before I go insane.
I get to her house on auto-pilot. It’s like I blink and I’m there. My mind occupied with the weight of missing Hudson and the gravity of the choices that lay in front of me. I ring her doorbell and wait, listening to the squall of the babies inside. This was a bad idea. She doesn’t have time for me. Her life is full to the brim as it as.
I turn and head down the walk towards my car, tears forming in my eyes. I’ve spent my whole life taking care of myself. Being stuck between my sisters and their larger than life personalities meant I’ve always been somewhat invisible. I don’t know what made me think I needed someone to help me now. I’ve made it this far on my own. I can keep on keeping on.
Except I can’t. The tears come fast and hard and I sag onto the hood of my car, unable to hold myself upright any longer.
“Maya?” Chelsea’s worried voice comes from behind me followed by the cries of Kayla and Lucas.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, wiping furiously at my face, forcing myself to stand up. “I shouldn’t have come.”
Chelsea rushes down the walk to my side. “What’s wrong, Sweet May?”
I dissolve into tears again, the comfort of my childhood nickname pulling open the tourniquet on my heart. “Everything,” I manage, the word mangled by my sobs. “Everything is wrong.”
Chelsea wraps her arm around me, pulls me towards the open door of her house, warm light spilling through onto the porch. I pull away, my desire to leave suddenly stronger than ever.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “You’ve got enough on your plate. I need to go.”
My sister takes my hand. “Bullshit. Look at you. The only place you need to go is straight inside to pour yourself a drink.” She holds up her hands. “Better yet, let me pour you one. You need someone to take care of you.”
I let her bring me into her house. Max appears, cradling an infant in each arm. He takes one look at me and calls for Charlie.
“Keep me company while I drive these nuggets to sleep,” he says, when Charlie appears at the top of the stairs.
Chelsea reaches for the wine as her family gets bundled up to give us some alone time and I hold up my hand. “None for me, please,” I say.
My sister studies me, her delicate brow creasing. “It looks like it’d do you good,” she says. “Take the edge off.”
“Really.” I look her straight in the eyes so she can see just how serious I am. “I don’t want any.”
I stare at my hands while Max kisses Chelsea goodbye and promises to text before coming home. He drops a heavy hand on my shoulder and Charlie gives me a giant hug and then they’re out the door, lugging Kayla and Lucas in their carriers.
“Okay,” says Chelsea as she pulls out a chair across from me. “Spill it.”
“I really fucked up,” I say, still not able to look her in the eye. “And I need to tell you, but I also really need you not to get all judgmental on me. There’s an obvious right answer, but it’s not the right answer for me.”
“Maya.” Chelsea’s tone is biting. “What’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly while I finally meet her gaze. “I’m pregnant.”
Chelsea’s eyes light up. “Really?” I watch her initial excitement fades as processes what that means for me.
Not trusting my voice, I just nod as my eyes fill with tears again.
“What does Hudson think?”
I drop my head into my hands. “He thinks I orchestrated the whole thing in some weird ploy to make money off him.”
Chelsea’s jaw drops open. “What? Does he know how many men you’ve brought to meet Mom and Dad?”
“You mean does he know that he’s the only one?” I shake my head. “No. But I don’t think it would help if he did.”
“I assume you’ve called him…”
“Of course I’ve called him. He doesn’t answer. Or return my texts. Or acknowledge that I even exist at all. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
Chelsea scoots her chair over to sit directly next to mine and I lean my head on her shoulder. “That man loves you. I’ve known it for months now. We couldn’t get through a single therapy session without him going on and on about you.”
“And I love him.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “But he doesn’t want me now.”
“We’ll come back t
o that. Because want you or not, he might not deserve you anymore.” Chelsea stands up and goes about making us some coffee. I’ve never seen her sit still through a problem. Ever. She’s always up and moving, pretending like she can solve everything if she just moves fast enough.
“This hurts, Chels.” I drop my head onto the hard wood of her dining table and I really don’t care if I ever get up again. “I feel hollow and raw.”
“Don’t even go there.” Her words rake over my tender heart, her tone harsher than I need right now. I pull my head off the table and find her scooping coffee into the filter at a frantic pace. “Now is not the time to wallow in emotion.”
I sit back, stunned. “If now’s not the time, then when is?”
Chelsea drops the lid on the coffee pot and leans against the counter, arms folded over her chest. “Judging by the way you look, I’d say you’ve spent at least the last week wallowing.”
“You know what? Fuck you,” I say as I stand up. “I should have known better than to come to you with a problem.”
“Maya.” Chelsea barks my name and I freeze on my way to the door. “Sit down.”
“Since when do you get to tell me what to do?”
“Since I was born first and you’re being ridiculous.” Chelsea unfolds her arms as she walks to me, steers me back to the table. “Let me help you.”
“This is what you call help? Offending the hell out of me?” I try to sound indignant, but I just sound wounded as I sit right back down in the chair I just left.
“We’ll come back to all the painful stuff. I promise. But right now, wouldn’t it feel good to find a path and move forward on it?”
The coffee pot gurgles and hisses while I sigh. “There is no path. I’m stuck in the middle of quicksand.”
“There’s always a path. Sometimes you have to get a little dirt under your nails to find it.”
The bold smell of strong coffee fills the small kitchen. Chelsea always makes hers with an extra scoop or two. I like mine a little milder, but maybe I need a little of my sister’s oomph tonight. “I don’t know what to do.”