by Elise Faber
There. That sounded innocuous enough.
“With what?” she asked, reaching back for her backpack and pulling it into her lap.
Apparently, too innocuous.
“With you?” he asked.
She glanced up at him, brows assuming their cute little pucker for the second time in less than ten minutes. “With me?”
He sighed, slid the car to a stop as the signal turned red. “Yes, with you, Calle. You’re going to the doctor. Is everything okay with you?”
“Yes.” She’d unzipped her backpack, pulling out a spiral-bound notebook. “It’s um . . . for the baby.”
Ah.
The light turned green, and he pulled forward, not missing the fact that her gaze had already drifted down to the notebook in her lap, or the slight crinkle as she turned pages.
“Are you—?”
He stopped himself from asking something unforgivable. He’d already pushed her into accepting his help and he wasn’t the baby’s father, so he didn’t have any right to ask the question that had been bouncing around in his brain. Apparently, he’d been around the guys and Brit in the locker room if he was willing to step over the polite, friendly conversation line and dare to ask Calle what she was planning to do with her body, with her pregnancy.
Her body. Her choice.
Even if the idea of her going through that made him a little sad.
She deserved to have everything she wanted, and someone to share it with.
Her eyes lifted from the notebook, met his, but thankfully, traffic began moving and he navigated his way through the intersection and onto the freeway.
“Am I what?” she asked softly.
“It’s none of my business,” he said quickly.
Silence, then, “Now, it’s none of your business?” she asked. “After you all but forced me to get into your car?”
“Technically, you got in of your own accord.”
“Did you forget the part where you took my phone and backpack?”
“No.”
“And keys?”
“Didn’t forget that either.”
She huffed.
He concentrated on the road.
“I’m nervous,” she said after a few minutes. “I’m going for my first appointment, and I’m worried the baby isn’t . . . I don’t know. That something is wrong, and I should have found out for sure before I called Jason.”
His heart clenched. “Does something feel wrong?”
Out of the corner of her eye, he saw her shake her head. “No,” she said. “I just started reading up on everything, and then I started seeing everything that could go wrong and . . .”
“You can’t control it.”
She closed the notebook, slipped it back into her bag. “I wrote down all of these questions, and I realized that the answers to none of them will matter if the baby is-isn’t okay.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“But how do you know?” She sighed. “Never mind, I know what you mean. It’ll be okay or it won’t, and there isn’t much I can do about it. I’m along for this fucking ride I didn’t sign up for, and I have to—”
He changed lanes, maneuvering around a slow truck. “Embrace the inevitable.”
“Yeah, that,” she said, but when he glanced over at her, her shoulders had relaxed slightly. “Also, I’m keeping it.” Her voice was gentle. “I’m guessing that’s what you were going to ask earlier but were too polite to actually finish the question.” The side of her mouth he could see turned up. “I’m not mad. I’d probably be just as nosy if the situations were reversed.”
“It’s none of my business.” He slid into the right lane, since the exit was coming up.
“Another season with the crew, and you’d have gone there anyway.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. There weren’t exactly a lot of secrets in the Gold organization.
“Plus, I’m the one who blurted out the situation to you,” she pointed out. “And it’s not like I’m going to keep it a secret. I just . . . wanted to make sure things were okay first.”
The off-ramp was backed up, so he had time to turn to her, to squeeze her arm. “It’ll be okay, Cal,” he said. “You’re healthy and smart. I know you’ll prep for this baby like you prep our offense, and you’ll kick ass doing it.”
“Thanks, Coop,” she murmured. “And thanks for kidnapping me today so I wouldn’t be late.”
“Speaking of which”—he reached into his pocket and pulled out her cell—“here.” Traffic started moving, and he spent the next few minutes navigating the road before pulling into the hospital’s parking lot.
He pulled into a spot near a set of double doors leading into the OB-GYN clinic.
“I’ll see you tomorr—”
“I’m coming in,” he interrupted. “I’ll sit in the hall and wait until you’re done.”
“Oh no,” she began. “That’s—”
“You’re running late,” he reminded. “And no one should have to be alone for this. At least not the first time.”
She sighed, glanced down at her hands. “You’re going to push this, aren’t you?”
“I’ll wait in the hall,” he said instead of committing to that statement.
Another sigh, but instead of arguing, she just grabbed her backpack and said, “Only because arguing with you about this is going to make me later.”
Four
Calle
Coop was sitting in the waiting room. Not waiting in the hallway.
This had occurred through a set of Murphy’s Law consequences that saw Calle rushing down the hall just as the receptionist had come out to start closing up the office. She’d taken one look at Calle’s no doubt harried face and smiled. “Don’t worry, honey. You’ve made it. The doctor is still here and running behind as usual. Come in, and I’ll lock up behind you guys. You can be the last of my stragglers sneaking in.”
Coop had hesitated, assured confidence from the drive fading at the sight of the female in pacifier-covered scrubs and the intense floral motif they could glimpse in eye-aching clarity behind her.
“Oh no,” the receptionist said, noticing his uncertainty. “Boys are allowed in nowadays. Just come in, grab some seats, and I’ll get the paperwork.”
“I—” He started to turn, to point over his shoulder and—
The receptionist took his arm and in a series of moves that impressed Calle to the marrow of her bone, effortlessly had Coop’s giant hockey player body through the door and into a chair.
The click of the lock had him jumping.
“Is this some horror film, and now we’re going to die?” he asked, eyes wide. “What kind of doctor locks people in a room?”
“Oh, you’re not locked in,” the receptionist said cheerfully, tucking a strand of hair behind one year. “You can leave whenever you want. More people just can’t get in.”
“Oh.” Coop’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“Fill these out, honey,” she said, handing a clipboard to Calle along with a pen.
“Doesn’t feel great to be manipulated, does it?” Calle told him under her breath.
His face screwed up. “Is this your version of pot-meets-kettle?”
“It is the perfect life example,” she pointed out.
He grunted. “And I didn’t manipulate. I just . . .”
“Forced me to do what you wanted, even though I didn’t?”
His face had drawn into a scowl, but as her words processed, it transmuted into guilt. “Shit, Calle. I’m—”
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I’m teasing.” Mostly. But he’d also been trying to do something nice and she didn’t need to rub that guilt in. She squeezed his hand. “Thanks for getting me here on time. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
He nodded.
She sighed and glanced down at the clipboard. Honestly—and not that she’d admit this—but it would be kind of nice knowing that someone was out in the waiting room, at least minimally concerned about what was happeni
ng back in the exam room. She didn’t have much of that anymore. Her mom had passed away just before she’d blown out her knee, and her dad . . . well, she supposed he had loved her, considering she was his flesh and blood. But he’d always been closer to his career and anyway, it wasn’t like she could resurrect the dead to rebuild a relationship that never was.
The team was close, holding regular events that drew out most of the roster, and she did occasionally hang out with Brit, Mandy, both Rebeccas, and the rest of their crew. But a lot of the same dynamic existed between her and Brit as it did between her and the other members of the team.
Calle was hesitant to get too close in case someone called her out for favoritism.
It was at least slightly easier with Brit, since she wasn’t involved in the decision of who played in net.
But offense was hers. She made the lines—with Bernard’s final approval, of course. Yet, Bernard hadn’t once disregarded her recommendations. He might offer a tweak here or there, but if she felt strongly about a particular combination, then he went with it.
And Coop was on offense.
So, even if there wasn’t a conflict of interest from their power dynamic—she got to decide if he played and oftentimes how much and if he started—then there was at least some awkwardness with them being at her obstetrician’s together.
She could imagine the headlines now.
Or, if not that, then she could definitely imagine the gossip train chugging right along the tracks.
Good grief.
“All set, honey?” the receptionist called, interrupting her thoughts and making Calle realize that she’d somehow filled out the forms without realizing. Quickly, she glanced back over what she’d written, was thankful that it made sense.
After pushing up to her feet, she returned the clipboard and pen then went back and sat down.
She turned to Coop. “You should probably go—”
“Calle?”
A door she hadn’t noticed on the far side of the reception desk had opened. She popped back up to her feet.
“See you after,” Coop said.
Torn between wanting to open the argument up again and not wanting to keep the nurse waiting, she hurried across the room.
“Oh, your husband can come, too,” the nurse said.
“H-he’s not—”
She smiled. “Boyfriends are allowed in, too.” The nurse glanced over Calle’s shoulder. “Come on back, sir.”
“I—”
“As soon as you get her in a room,” the receptionist called to the nurse, talking over Coop, “go ahead and take off. I know you don’t want to be late to get your Ethan from basketball practice.”
The nurse smiled. “Thanks, Leanne.” She gestured down the hall. “If you’ll just follow me.”
“Okay.”
There was a slight scuff behind her, and Calle turned, saw Coop was now standing wide-eyed, the receptionist doing another one of those arm things, and suddenly he was directly behind Calle, the door to the waiting room snicking closed behind them.
“What kind of a monster is she?” he whispered.
“Just wait until I go into a room and then sneak out,” she whispered back as they trailed the nurse to a scale.
“Good plan,” Coop whispered back.
A minute later, the nurse had her weight and had shown them to an exam room. Calle sat on the paper-covered table feeling extremely uncomfortable at having Coop in the small space with her. He seemed too big, his bulky muscled form taking up all the space, sucking out the oxygen. Or maybe that was just because it was hard to ignore the effect he had on her when he was this close.
No. It was just her nerves.
She was unexpectedly pregnant by her jerk of an ex, and now she was trapped in a room where she was expected to get naked and flash what her mom had given her to the world at large.
Not that she would be doing that with Coop in the room.
The nurse would leave.
He’d slip out and—
“Good,” the nurse said, typing a few things into the computer. “Your blood pressure and temperature are fine. You’re starting at a healthy weight. Things are looking great.” She set a paper gown and drape into Calle’s lap. “I’ll leave so you can change into these and the doctor will be right in.”
“Thank you,” Calle said.
The nurse smiled and went out the door.
Before it even closed completely, Coop was on his feet. “I’ll meet you in the hall.”
She nodded. “Go.”
He reached for the door, but there was a knock from the other side, the wooden panel pushing open, forcing Coop to retreat. A woman in a white lab coat slid through the opening. “Oh!” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you hadn’t changed yet. I’ll just wait right outside while you do. Holler when you’re ready.”
The door closed.
Calle stared at it for a long moment then turned to Coop. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
More staring, and if her expression was anything like his, then there was no shortage of horror to go around.
And meanwhile, the doctor was waiting out in the hall.
Shit. Fuck. Son of a donkey’s behind.
“Turn around,” she hissed.
He spun. She stripped and threw on the paper gown as quickly as humanly possible, lying back and using the drape to cover herself.
“Okay,” she whisper-shouted and pointed toward the chair at her side. “Come up here so you’re away from”—she waved her hand—“there.” He nodded, hurried to the chair, and she called out. “Ready!”
The doctor came through the door. “Hi, Calle. I’m Dr. Holdings.” She held out her hand, and Calle shook it. “And you are?” she asked Coop.
His eyes cut to Calle’s, and she shrugged.
He reached out and grasped the doctor’s hand. “Cooper Armstrong, ma’am.”
Dr. Holdings nodded. “Nice to meet you both,” she said and turned back to Calle. “I know you came in for a blood test to confirm your pregnancy a few days ago”—she paused, and Calle nodded—“sorry I couldn’t squeeze you in for an exam then.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Calle said. “I was just . . . nervous and wanted to know for sure.”
Dr. Holdings smiled. “Sometimes it’s hard to trust your faith to a drug store test.”
“Yes, exactly that.”
“Well, we’ll get you sorted,” Dr. Holdings said and slid a rolling stool over to the table. “Before you leave, though, I’ll need a quick urine test. I knew you were waiting and didn’t want you to have to wait to see and hear your little one.”
“I can hear it?”
“Yes,” Dr. Holdings said and pumped some hand sanitizer into her palms before pulling on a pair of gloves. “We’ll take a quick ultrasound. We won’t be able to see the baby’s gender, but we should be able to hear your little one’s heartbeat.”
She sucked in a breath.
Shit was about to get real.
“I’m going to touch you on your abdomen now, okay?”
She glanced at Coop, but he had his gaze on his lap, so she nodded. “Okay.”
The doctor began pressing different parts of her stomach, inching her hands lightly across her torso. “Did you have questions?”
She couldn’t be certain, because she could only see the side of Coop’s face, but Calle thought she could detect his mouth curving up from the slight crease in his cheek she could see on the side nearest her. In any event, her lips turned up in a smile because, hell yes, she had questions. “Only nearly a notebook’s worth of them,” she admitted.
Dr. Holding’s didn’t appear deterred. “Lob them at me,” she said. “I’ll continue with the examination. I’ll need to do a pap smear and a breast”—Calle wasn’t sure if the doctor heard Coop’s strangled groan, but she certainly did—“exam and then we’ll be able to take a listen to the baby. Sound good?”
Another glance at Coop. His gaze was still firm
ly on his hands. Mortification was a heavy blanket, and she knew her cheeks were red-hot. But what else could she say besides, “Okay.”
Dr. Holdings spread the opening of the gown, Calle closed her eyes and was torn between silently wanting the exam to be over and knowing that a pap smear was going to involve an even more intimate part of her body exposed for the world to see. When she didn’t immediately ask a question, the doctor began talking, running through the answers to some of the big questions Calle had written in her notebook. Her poking and prodding of Calle’s breasts didn’t take long, and then she’d moved down to the stool and settled herself in front of the drape.
“Scoot down until your bottom is on the edge,” she said, talking Calle through the movements and helping her get her feet settled on the stirrups. “Now, you’ll feel my fingers and here’s the speculum. Sorry, I know it’s cold. Ready?” Dr. Holdings glanced over the drape. “This will be a bit uncomfortable.”
Yeah, pap smears weren’t the most fun.
She nodded.
Dr. Holdings did her thing as Calle tried to hold back her wince. Scraping cells off an intimate part of her body didn’t exactly feel great.
Coop’s hand covered hers.
She gasped softly.
“Sorry,” Dr. Holdings said. “Almost done.”
But that wasn’t what had made Calle gasp. Coop’s hand was warm, a little rough, and had sent sparks all up her arm.
Turning her head, she saw that he’d finally lifted his gaze from his lap, deep brown eyes locked onto hers. “You okay?” he mouthed.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she nodded.
“All done,” Dr. Holdings said then picked up a device that would have looked like a scarily intense dildo if not for the next question that passed through her lips. “Ready to hear your baby?”
Calle forgot about the wand, worry and excitement spiraling through her. “Yes.”
Some pressure, a few buttons pushed on the machine, and then . . .
Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.
Wonder then fear. “Is it supposed to be that fast?”