Taking a forkful of pasta, Ryan smiles at me with his mouth full and a sleeping baby on his chest.
I want to speak. I want to say something about how natural he looks or how sexy it is to see him so confident with a baby, but I keep my mouth shut. I’m so afraid to scare Ryan away, to give him any reason to question me. The man abstained from sex for years because he didn’t want to give someone the chance to take advantage of him.
Because he was afraid.
But I’m equally terrified that he’ll never want the things in life I ache for and seeing him like this tonight is nothing but a reminder that it wasn’t long ago he vocalized just how differently he viewed his future from the one I want.
37
RYAN
“You’re aware that you lost last night.”
“Clearly.” I try my hardest not to roll my eyes at the reporter sitting in the third row of this morning’s press conference, but if that wasn’t the most obvious statement I’ve ever heard.
“Which means if you lose one of the next two, the Chicago Devils are out of the playoff run.”
“Was there a question in there?”
A small chuckle washes over the room of reporters. This is by far the most attitude I’ve had towards the press in my career. I’m typically even-keeled and diplomatic, but we lost last night, flew a red-eye flight home afterward, and I was immediately whisked into a press conference this morning before I even made it home.
And the last thing I need while going on no sleep and stewing over my loss is some reporter throwing out obvious statements.
“How do you feel about that?” he amends.
“Not great. That loss is on me, I know that. Coming back from my injury, I know what’s riding on my shoulders, and I didn’t deliver.”
We lost by two to Sacramento, and I was the one to miss the game winning three.
Hands shoot up around the room and the team’s media coordinator chooses the next reporter to ask his question.
“There are rumors floating around the league about a possible trade if the team doesn’t make the playoffs this season. What kind of pressure do you feel to deliver these next two wins?”
My eyes dart to Ron Morgan standing in the back of the room, arms crossed. There’s no expression on his face whatsoever, and I couldn’t tell you what he’s thinking. Is he truly thinking of trading me? The rumor mill has been spinning with that one all week.
So yeah, not only do I feel the pressure from the city and the Devils organization to finally make the playoffs, but there’s the added weight I’ve put on myself knowing my girlfriend, sister, and future brother-in-law are rooted in Chicago.
I’ve never felt more stressed about two games in my life.
“I don’t feel the pressure,” I lie. “I know what I have to do, what the team has to do in order to get the job done. And we will.”
Looking back to Ron, he gives me a curt nod of his head.
“Next question,” our coordinator continues as I sink into my seat, ready to be hounded with questions I don’t want to answer.
Dragging my suitcase through the front door, I finally make it home.
I’m dead on my feet, not sleeping a wink on the airplane as last night’s loss replayed in my mind on a constant loop. All I want to do is find Indy, pull her into my bed, and sleep the entire day away.
“Ind!” I call out, but she doesn’t answer. “Blue, I’m home. Where are you?”
I check my room and her old one, the shower, and the kitchen. She’s not home. Grabbing my phone to call her, I already have a text waiting.
Blue: I have something to tell you when I get home and I’ve been so excited to see you that I couldn’t sleep! Went to grab two coffees for us and one for Dave, just in case you’re home before I’m back!
With a smile on my face, I take a seat on the entryway bench and kick off my shoes. I’m far too fucking exhausted to stand while doing it, and I’m fairly certain I’ll be sitting my happy ass right here until my girl is home and can take me to bed.
Reaching down, I tuck my shoes under the bench, but while bent over, I’m stopped in my tracks when I find a white plastic stick with a blue cap wedged underneath one of the wooden legs. As if it were dropped there and forgotten about.
I keep my house tidy as fuck, and even Indy has gotten better about it, so something so obviously out of place is easy to spot.
As soon as my hand reaches it, I know what it is, and my erratic heartbeat has a feeling it knows what it says. All the confirmation is right there in front of me as I hold it in front of my face in utter disbelief.
This can’t be happening. How is this happening? I mean, I know how, but we’re always safe. Always cautious. She told me it would take a miracle for it to happen naturally. How the fuck did this happen? And why the fuck is this down here? To hide it from me?
Clearly, she wasn’t lying when she said she has something to tell me when she gets home because in my hands, I’m holding a pregnancy test that’s practically screaming the word positive with its bold letters.
Indy’s positive pregnancy test.
38
INDY
I nearly sprint through the front door with a tray of coffees in my hand because I haven’t seen Ryan in four days and I’m a needy bitch who wants his attention. Plus, I get to tell him that my parents booked a flight and are coming to visit soon. I can’t wait for them to formally meet face-to-face.
But I don’t have to make it far to find him sitting on the entryway bench, elbows to his knees and his head hanging low.
“Hi! I missed you!”
He draws his head back, but doesn’t look at me, instead focusing on the ceiling, those ocean eyes filled with too many emotions I can’t place.
“What’s wrong?” Setting the tray on the kitchen island, I stand between his legs and run my hand over his hair. “Are you upset about the game last night?”
He chuckles a humorless laugh but there’s no smile to accompany it. “No.”
“Okay,” I draw out. “What’s bothering you?”
He shakes his head, unable to find the words to speak.
Attempting to shift the tone of this conversation, I take a deep breath. “Well, I have something exciting to tell you!”
Hand reaching up between our bodies, he holds a small plastic stick out for me to see. “I already know.”
“What is that?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Is that a pregnancy test?”
“Clearly, Ind. How long have you known?”
Wait. What?
His eyes finally meet mine. It’s evident now that he's not angry about last night’s game. In fact, he’s not angry at all. He’s scared. As if every one of his insecurities is becoming a reality in this moment and I’m the face of them all.
I keep my tone soft. “There’s nothing to tell, Ryan.”
“Did you do this—” he begins before stopping himself, shaking his head.
Eyes widening, I take a step back and away from him, putting my hands up in defense.
“Fuck.” He stretches for me, regret in his voice, but I keep myself out of reach. “No, Ind, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Ask the question, Ryan.”