Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  “Every day?” the doctor pressed, lingering on the edge of skepticism. Her thin brows rose a tiny fraction and my doubts set in.

  Could I have missed a day? The idea wasn’t that far out there, but there were no instances that came to mind. Taking my birth control had become one of my morning rituals. Like getting dressed or brushing my teeth. Habitually, I just did it. No thought required.

  As I left the health center and walked to my car, my focus scattered all over the place. The drive home passed in a blur of asphalt and sensations. A humming below skin level that had taken on an uninvited life of its own. At home, I cradled my cell phone in the palm of my hand before digging deep for the courage to let someone else share the burden with me.

  The helplessness I’d carried home with me only intensified when I heard Marilyn’s voice, and I came right out with it. I wouldn’t’ve known how to delay the news anyhow. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Come again?”

  “I’m pregnant.” My heart thundered, and my fingers shook. “I just got back from seeing the doctor.”

  “Hang on one sec.” The line went relatively silent and then a door slammed. “Why were you at the doctor? Did you do a home test?”

  “No. I haven’t been feeling great for a while now and thought it could be stomach flu or a UTI.”

  “Except it’s baby flu?”

  I dropped my head into my hand, sighing. “How the hell did this happen to me?”

  “Really? You want to have that conversation right now? Think it’s a little late for that, sis.”

  “I’m on birth control.”

  “You must have slipped up. It’s happened before. You wouldn’t be the first person, and you won’t be the last.”

  “Marilyn, what am I going to do?”

  “What do you mean, what’re you going to do? You’ve got your own home, you’ve got me, Julian’s making bank—”

  “I’m in my second year of college and Julian is a rookie in a football league that offers no long-term security whatsoever. A baby now would cripple him. It would cripple me.”

  “Angel…” A nervous energy bloomed in Marilyn’s voice. “Why do you sound like you’ve made up your mind already?”

  I dodged the question and asked, “What would you do?”

  She inhaled a thoughtful breath. “It’s not a desirable situation to be in but, you could make it work. It doesn’t have to mean the end of your life.”

  “Doesn’t it?” I wasn’t so sure about that. It was an effortless statement to make when you weren’t the one whose future had just been upended. “This is so bad,” I muttered, more to myself than to be heard. “I’m not mentally prepared for this. I don’t have the headspace.”

  “You know what you should do? Call your dad and speak to him.”

  The disgusted sound cannonballed from my mouth. “Could you have come up with a more grotesque suggestion?”

  “What’s grotesque about it? He had you young, he might be able to help—give you some advice. This could be what bonds you for life in that father-daughter relationship you’ve always dreamed about.” There was the Marilyn I knew and loved. Sarcastic witch. “Okay, that last part was mostly a joke to lighten the mood. But on the real, you should tell him. He’s your dad, he’s been through it.”

  “I hate her guts, but I’d rather speak to my mom. My dad isn’t reasonable. He can’t help me. Bring me more stress, for sure.”

  “Stress is very bad. Do not get stressed.”

  “Being pregnant is very bad.”

  “When are you going to tell Julian?”

  Not any time soon. “I don’t know. When I’ve had my scan and I know how far along I am. Jesus.” I sighed, loud and deep, “I feel like I’m talking about someone else. It’s going to take a good while before it sinks in that this is happening to me and not some random idiot.”

  “Nope, sorry, chica. You are the random idiot.”

  I laughed weakly. “You’re telling me.”

  “I’d be right there with you if I could.”

  “I know, and I wish you could be. I’ll call you soon.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Love you—and call your dad. It’s about time he stood up to his duty to you.”

  “Right,” was all I said. It’d take more than Marilyn to talk me into calling him.

  After we hung up and I swore I’d consider telling my dad, I took myself into the bathroom to run a bubble bath—something I never did. Showers were the only way to go for me, but passing the stretched seconds was essential. Relaxing didn’t seem like a reality I could easily achieve, but I’d put everything into attaining it and grasping onto a way to think and plan coherently.

  Fastening my hair on top of my head, I sunk into the hot water and scented bubbles. My hands snaked their way over my wet, flat stomach. You’d never know there was anything in there other than a few vital organs. But there was a baby in there. Not even a baby. A fetus. A tiny blip of a human that would grow bigger and bigger. Big enough to eventually hold in my arms and inevitably take over my entire life as I knew it.

  I lay my head against the back of the tub and closed my eyes for a minute. Tears slipped out free and fast, salting my lips and mixing with the bath water. I let them fall, soundlessly staring at the tile wall behind the gold taps. If I had an idea of how Julian would react to the news, that would be a start. I’d know which way to steer the conversation I so didn’t want to have. How would I bring myself to potentially ruin his career with just a few simple words uttered? Where would I get that strength?

  Stepping out of the bath and wrapping a towel around my dripping body, I froze in front of the mirror, the pounding of my heart slamming into my ribcage, the palpitations felt all the way in my throat.

  What was it Julian had said in the interview for Sports Illustrated? I couldn’t remember every word, but something along the lines of “plan for a family” and “don’t rush”. Nothing he’d said indicated he wanted children now or anytime soon. And I’d stood by him on that, completely agreed. Julian did not want kids. He wouldn’t want this baby.

  How on earth was I going to fix this?

  If anyone had asked me how today had gone, I’d say like this: I’d heard, I’d listened, and I’d interacted, but skin deep had never held so much meaning or relevance. I’d taken long, detailed notes in all my classes and then forgotten every word I’d been told once I stepped off campus. I was physically present and on an emotional vacation. Trapped in my own head, lost in a winding maze.

  If I’d been asked me how the next two days after that had gone, the answer would be downhill. Stuck in a ditch of depression and hopelessness. Wedged so deep in the thick metaphorical mud, I took Marilyn’s advice and called my dad.

  “Angel.” He said my name like it was the answer to a question. A question he’d been asked over and over and still bored him to this very day.

  I sat on my two-seater couch, trying to ignore the turbulent swirling in my stomach. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. I’m in my office, running game tape for this weekend. Why?” he asked, suspiciously.

  I took a breath that didn’t quite reach my lungs. “You’re my dad, right? I can tell you anything?”

  His silence was all the answer I needed. I worried I’d made a mistake calling him.

  “Jesus Christ… you’re pregnant, aren’t you? Tell me you aren’t pregnant.”

  However much I hated myself and my situation before, my dad had just quadrupled that amount with bells on. I needed someone’s help and guidance, even it was from the last man I thought could provide that. People had been proven wrong before. He’d proven me wrong before.

  “I’m pregnant,” I said on a shameful whisper.

  I’d never heard silence brimming with so much judgement and disappointment.

  “Are you there?” I quietly hoped he’d hung up or fainted from the news.

  “I’m here.” The air had punctured his sails and I heard myself pulling in an unsteady breath while I wa
ited for him to continue. “How could you let this happen?”

  I was more puzzled that he didn’t sound annoyed, just confused.

  “I didn’t mean to, and I don’t know how. I’m still trying to figure that one out myself.”

  “All right… well… don’t stress. Just make an appointment and I’ll cover the cost of the procedure. There’s no need to get all panicky.” Who was panicking? “You can still reverse this?” The worry that was previously lacking seeped through the cracks.

  “I can’t reverse anything,” I said, drawing my eyebrows together. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “An abortion, Angel. Can you still get one?”

  I was stunned into losing my voice and my ability to breathe. What else had I really expected him to say? He was renovating one of his spare bedrooms into a designer nursery?

  In my heart of hearts, I’d known telling him would be difficult. Still, it hurt that there was no other option to him. No other way he could see fit to help his daughter. His possible grandchild.

  “Unless you had plans to raise him or her on your own. That wouldn’t be an issue because you’d have dropped out of college, and you can kiss good-bye to qualifying as a figure skating instructor. You can’t work full-time for minimum wage and muck about as a rink rat at the same time. So file that one under ‘pipe dreams’. And I don’t want to upset you or come across as the villain in all this, but Julian, he can’t help you or support you other than with his wallet. His career isn’t one you give up for a girl with a baby bump and stretch marks. That’s one future most athletes would run a mile from, and wisely so.”

  “But I should tell him,” I said, when I could finally get a word in edgewise.

  “No, you shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t have this baby. You shouldn’t even be considering it. Look, I know you’re young and you’ve only got yourself out there in Dog Town. But come home and let me handle this.”

  “I am home.” Really? That was all I had?

  “Home to Boston. Don’t speak to Julian, I’ll get you an appointment with the best doctors in Massachusetts. Angel, if you put this on him when he’s got the rest of the season ahead of him, you’ll only regret it. He’ll lose his focus, make rash decisions that he’ll later blame you for. That is, if he doesn’t cut his losses now and set you up with eighteen years’ worth of child support as your consolation.”

  “He has a right to know,” I feebly argued. But he did have that right. That would be one secret too deceitful to keep.

  “Does he? What does it matter if you aren’t planning on having it? Even if he decides he doesn’t want a baby right now, that weight will bear down on him and there will be pressure on your relationship that you might not be able to work through. Or, say you tell him, and he’s overjoyed. Fast track to five years later and he’s still traveling all over the country while you’re housebound, filled with resentment for a life you missed out on. Which sounds worse to you? Because both sound considerably traumatic to me.”

  There was no arguing with that.

  Using myself as a reason why I should give having this baby more thought died the minute the idea was born. My dad didn’t need to say he wished my mom had a termination when she found out she was pregnant with me. He could lie and I’d still know the truth. Give him all the clocks in the world and he’d turn each and every one back to a time before my mom was ever in the picture. Before he knew the first letter of her name and what her hair felt like between his fingers. He’d erase her in one swift stroke, taking me with her.

  I swallowed down the tears building behind my eyelids, but wetness striped my right cheek then the left, tracking over my collarbone and disappearing into my shirt. I was sick of crying, sick of feeling upset and tired of the world turning the wrong way on its axis. A domino effect of so much shit going wrong, I was holding out for the last piece to fall and be done with it.

  Just bring on the destruction already.

  “I need to think about this,” I said to my dad as I rubbed at my eyes, smearing the pain defiantly out of them. “And whatever I decide, I’m doing it here. Boston isn’t my home.”

  “Don’t have this baby, Angel. Finish living your own life first.”

  “I’ll take that on board.”

  I didn’t say bye, there wasn’t any time. I raced to the bathroom, flung up the toilet seat with a clatter and threw up in the bowl. My stomach was aching and hollow as I dressed for bed in an old t-shirt. I brushed my teeth and cleaned up after myself, the conversation with my dad going ’round in my head. Sitting on my bed staring at nothing, my phone rang. I heaved out a long breath and picked up my cell, forcing a smile into my voice so Julian wouldn’t pick up on my mood and worry before it was necessary. I could handle this.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Hey. So, Taj and Mom are flying out for Thanksgiving, is that cool?”

  “I’m upset you think I’d say no.”

  “Nah, I know you wouldn’t. But I like you to know what’s going on.”

  If only I had the same morals.

  I fished for information. An in on what I was potentially dealing with. “I was thinking about the Sports Illustrated shoot earlier, and your teammate… Garth?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Did his wife have the baby yet?”

  “It’s weird you asked that. Leban got a phone call on Tuesday and left practice early because Raynor had been taken into hospital complaining about cramps. I don’t know her due date, but it’s too soon for that to be happening. Leban left in a calm mess.”

  “And have you heard anything more?”

  “Just that the baby’s still in there. So, I guess that’s good.”

  “She’s still in hospital?”

  “Last I heard. Leban’s keeping Coach up to date. The baby’s still in there now, but no one knows for how much longer. Her waters broke the day she was admitted. I’m no baby expert but, I don’t know, isn’t that supposed to happen when you’re in labor?”

  “Uh huh. Maybe it wasn’t all of her waters.” I didn’t even know if that was an actual thing or I’d made it up. I may possibly know less than Julian on the subject. He had someone in his life who’d miscarried their baby—he’d been there for that. Supported her through it. He’d experienced the ugly side of pregnancy and what can go wrong—and does go wrong—for so many women out there. Women who don’t deserve that kind of tragedy. Women who didn’t ask for their babies to be taken away with no explanation or reason.

  How did anyone get over that? Recover from losing another person that you’d created and were looking forward to one day meeting?

  Death before birth.

  Choice or punishment.

  “Angel?”

  “Huh?” I said, the persistence in Julian’s voice taming my wild thoughts.

  “I asked you what day you’re flying out, so I can book your ticket. I don’t want to leave it too close to the holidays.”

  “My Tuesday class has been cancelled, so the twenty-second? Where are you playing the weekend before?”

  “49ERS, at home.”

  “The Rams on the twenty-seventh,” I said with a smile. “Here at the Coliseum.”

  “What jersey will you be wearing? Here’s where you show your loyalties.”

  “Yours, of course. Screw the Rams,” I said, laughing along with Julian. “What day’s your mom flying out?”

  “Wednesday night. I’ve already booked her tickets.”

  “I can’t wait to see Taj. He hasn’t been texting me, what about you?”

  “Nah, not so much. While he’s here I want to find out what’s going on with him. It sucks ass being so far away while he’s going through his therapy.”

  “Don’t feel too bad. He’s getting the therapy because of you.”

  “He’d have gotten it if Dad had paid.”

  “True, but your money didn’t come with strings attached. Your money came from generosity and a genuine love and want to help.” I leaned over my knees, trailing my
fingernails over my anklebone.

  “I’ve been on the grind most of my life to make it to the NFL. I’ve worked for what I’ve achieved in football—when I wasn’t pissing around.” I heard his smile. “But, you… I didn’t do anything to deserve you. Later, there could be a day I’ll tell myself I made a mistake dropping my senior year and passing up on completing my degree—”

  My fingers stilled on my foot and my eyes went to the television’s black screen, my own reflection staring back at me. “You think about that?” He’d never talked to me about school before. It’s always been football. Real life doubts would tarnish his God-like armor.

  “Not that often. I’m getting paid unbelievable money to do what I love, and I’ll keep getting paid for as long as I can and as long as I don’t fuck up. When football’s done with me, I hope I’ll still be enough for you. Enough for myself.”

  “Julian, that’s crazy. I never cared about football. If you remember, I disliked you for you. Not the position you played.”

  Rich laughter rumbled over the phone. “True.”

  “You won’t fuck up,” I assured him.

  “Because you wouldn’t let me. You’re my permanent good side.”

  Because I won’t let him. That responsibility’s on me.

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  I got off the phone and messaged my dad. Delaying could lead to a change of heart, and there was no room for indecisiveness. I had to keep it together for Julian. Nothing— not a damn thing—could get in the way of his job, his future. I’d support him first and worry about myself after.

  Get me an appointment here in LA. As soon as you can.

  My phone rang, my dad showing as the caller ID.

  “Are you sure?” he asked when I answered, relating to my text. “I think it’s the right decision. But, do you?”

  “All I know is, it’s not the right time for Julian. And without Julian, it’s not the right time for me. Text me the appointment times and where?” I choked up, a visceral reaction to my decision taking shape and pricking my skin with perspiration. “I need this taken care of before I fly out to Miami on the twenty-second.”