“Do you want me to come in with you?” Sloane gives me a worried glance as we stand outside the darkened gym.
The cold air feels good after the unending nausea I lived with through my shift. The smell of antiseptic that I usually find comforting turned on me in the most vicious way. Even finally talking to Marina made me more nauseous than usual. But telling her to stop contacting me felt good too. I felt strong. I felt relieved knowing I wouldn’t ever subject another human to her toxicity.
Hilariously, as soon I stopped giving any fucks about what she thought of me, I stopped caring about her opinion—but today I could have hurled all over my phone from the mere sound of her voice.
“No, that’s fine.”
“I’m coming anyway.” Sloane hustles past me, our puffy winter coats brushing against each other and making a little zipping noise as she heads straight for the number pad where she inputs a code.
Sloane turns and stares at me expectantly.
“Are you going to crack some wiseass comment about me coming here to do something mean to my sister?” I ask.
Her brows furrow. “Why would I think that?”
My eyes roll in time with my arms crossing. “Everyone thinks that.”
“I think you’re a lot more likeable than you realize.” I quirk a brow at the other woman, and her head wobbles back and forth as she smiles. “When you want to be.”
I huff out a laugh. “Likeable when I want to be could be my slogan.”
Truthfully, it smarts. As though no one really likes me when I’m at my worst. I’m likeable when I put on a smiley, happy face. But what about when I crumble? Then all I get is criticism and reprimand.
“Okay, well, I just need a few minutes.”
“For what?”
“To check something on the computer.”
Sloane’s eyes go comically wide. “I thought murder was the thing. But are you stalking someone?”
I press my lips together and motion locking them with a key before throwing it away. The truth is . . . this is kind of stalkery.
But after confirming what I already knew with a positive pregnancy test this morning, I know I need to talk to Theo. Because our one-night secret isn’t so secret anymore.
I think I’m still in shock. After years of trying and failing, I can’t find it in me to be upset. I cried in the hospital bathroom while I stared at that tiny pink plus sign.
I cried happy tears.
Because no matter how unplanned this is, I can’t help but see it as a blessing. Something turning up Winter after getting shoved down so many times.
Something just for me.
And this left me with a whole other issue to face. Getting in touch.
Sloane chuckles but turns away, offering me privacy as I sneak over to the front desk and fire up the computer. My hope is that I can find Theo’s contact information listed in the gym database.
I could ask Summer, but that would lead to questions. If I contact my dad, who is his agent, that would lead to questions and awkward conversation. And I don’t want to deal with either.
I barely know Theo, but I know I have to tell him. He deserves to know, and he deserves to know before anyone else. He’s a wild card, but there’s something deeply caring about him. And no matter what our situation might be, there’s a part of me that thinks he would be a great dad.
And if he doesn’t want that, I’m okay with it too. But he deserves a choice.
I can’t think of anything worse than everyone around you knowing something this personal before you’ve even had a chance to process.
I know all about needing time to process.
It’s why I’m terrified of telling everyone this news and then losing the baby like last time. Having clothes and toys and plans. Everyone thriving on that excitement, only to have them pour on condolences that I couldn’t even cope with.
If I’m going to grieve a loss again, I want to do it privately.
Biting down on my lip, I try to navigate the software searching for . . . members. There! With a quick click, a list of names fills the page. I navigate to the miniature magnifying glass in the corner and type in Theo Silva.
Another window pops up with his information. A home address in Emerald Lake, a college lake town in British Columbia. An emergency contact by the name of Loretta Silva, which sounds like the name of a woman who would live on a ranch and is far more fitting for the wife of a bull rider who was an icon on the circuit. (Thank you, Google.)
And then I see it. His cell number. I swipe a pad of Post-its, and scribble the number down before I exit every window on the computer, wanting to make sure it looks like I was never here.
Within seconds I’m rounding the desk on the tips of my toes, like someone might hear, even though it’s completely empty in here.
“Ready. Thank you,” I whisper at Sloane as I draw near to her.
She turns now, having been totally respectful. The perfect accomplice, not pushy or nosy.
“Did you wipe down the keyboard?”
My brows knit together. “What?”
“You know. To clean off the fingerprints.”
“Are you—”
“Looking out for you? Yes. That’s what friends are for.”
I snort, because I think she’s joking. “No crimes were committed here tonight.”
“You sure about that?”
My mouth twists as I consider it. “I don’t know. I’m a doctor, not a lawyer. It might be a crime lite.”
She laughs as she resets the alarm. “I like that. Hopefully, the police appreciate your branding.”
We walk through the door and it’s my turn to laugh. Except my stomach is twisting inside. I’m not worried about the police, but the reality of what I’m about to tell a man I barely know hits me and I can feel the anxiety building in my chest.
I rub my palm there to lessen it. And even as Sloane and I bid each other goodnight, I continue to push against my sternum.
I don’t stop until I’m seated on my microfiber couch, staring down at the pale-yellow piece of paper.
What have I done? How did I let this happen? We used condoms.
And condoms break.
It’s a peculiar feeling to have all that you ever wanted, but not in the way you envisioned. I’ve been that girl since I was a child. The one who carried a doll everywhere and pushed them around in a tiny stroller. I was thrilled about having a baby sister until my mom ruined it for me.
I’ve wanted a child of my own for as long as I can remember. Desperately, with every fiber of my being. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it happening like this. Like some sort of cosmic joke.
Clomid. Legs up the wall. Bladder infections. All to no avail.
It’s like my body knew Rob was a piece of shit, even when my brain didn’t. Ha. No. Nice try, honey. We don’t want a baby with this man.
And then I got pregnant. After which, I promptly found out all the ways my husband had betrayed me.
I lost him.
Then I lost the baby.
Then I lost myself.
I’ve only admitted it once out loud—to my little sister’s best friend Willa. I confessed to her that broken as my miscarriage left me, there is a shameful part of me that’s relieved I’m not tied to Rob Valentine for the rest of my life.
I get to move on from him with no strings attached. A blessing and a curse. A guilt that eats me alive. One I have to learn to live with, because I am relieved to be free of him.
But this is different. The timing is different.
Theo is different.
I lift the phone and dial his number, taking a steadying breath as it rings.
But it keeps ringing and then goes to voicemail. His deep baritone telling me to leave a message sends a shiver down my spine. The things he said to me that night.
Filthy fucking girl. Just begging for—
“Hi, Theo. This is Winter. From . . . well, from the hotel. Or the ranch? From the coaster contract. I tracked your number down and was hoping we could chat, even though I swore I wouldn’t ever contact you again. Can you call me back when you have a moment? Thanks. Bye.”
I haven’t told him yet, but I already feel relieved. I’ll face this head on. It’s going to be fine.
My hand falls across my still flat stomach and I sigh.
I’m going to be happy.
“Hi, Theo. It’s Winter again. I haven’t heard from you and it’s been a few days. At the risk of sounding totally nuts, I checked the WBRF website and know that you’re out on the tour again. I get that you’re busy, but I really need to talk to you. I have something really important to tell you.
“Theo. Hi. I hope you’re okay. Based on the scores I can see listed online, it would seem you’re doing just fine. I’m not trying to be some clingy buckle bunny or whatever the fuck you call it. I just need to share some information with you, and I would like to tell you directly.”
Winter: Hi, it’s Winter. Is this Theo Silva? Are you getting my voicemails? I’ve left three now.
Winter: Are you aware that you have read receipts on? I know you’ve seen my text.
Theo: Yes. I’ve gotten your voicemails. I’m not interested in talking.
Winter: Listen, I’m trying not to be a full-on bitch to you right now. But can you please call me? I need to tell you something.