IMPACT: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (14 page)

Chapter 25

Olivia

There was a party scheduled this afternoon. My
goodbye
party.

I still couldn't quite wrap my head around it.

Kyle and I had agreed that I would be the one to give my notice first, so I wouldn't be burning any bridges inadvertently. When the CFO asked my reason for quitting, I just smiled and said I was taking a risk that I hoped would pan out.

I sounded a lot more confident than I felt.

"This is a terrible idea," I whined to Candace as we huddled inside of the fondue place she loved. She had insisted we celebrate my last day in the office by avoiding the office as much as we could.

Today was also her last day before her maternity leave started, and she was grouchy as hell. "It's a great idea and for the love of god will you stop worrying?" She scratched her hands, then looked down, irritated. "PUPP rash. As if still being two weeks out from my due date weren't annoying enough, there's actually a rash you can get from being
too
pregnant. Did you know this?" she slammed down her water glass. "No one told me this."

"I did not know this either," I said sympathetically. Then I glanced back at the kitchen. "Do you think our food is coming out yet? I'm fucking starving."

"Didn't I just watch you devour the entire fruit appetizer by yourself?"

"Oh sorry, did you want that?"

"No," she groaned. "There's no room in here for food anymore."

"Good," I exclaimed. "Because I could eat a fucking horse." I wrinkled my nose. "Actually not a horse, that sounds nauseating."

When the waitress came, I nearly clapped my hands in glee, but then when I looked down at what was actually in front of me...."Wait, this is what I ordered?"

"You did," Candace confirmed, sipping her water again. "Why, is something wrong with it?"

"No," I said, leaning over and sniffing. "It just... kind of smells weird. Does it smell like dill to you? Why would they put dill in Swiss cheese?"

"It doesn't smell like dill. You're crazy."

I sniffed again. "It smells like dill," I said decisively. "Like, way, way too much dill." I burped into the back of my hand. "Like, I'm getting nauseous from how much dill they used." I waved down the waitress. "Excuse me?"

She hurried over. "Is everything okay, miss?"

"No," I said, gesturing to the fondue in front of me. "The dill in this cheese sauce is so strong it's overpowering everything else."

She looked from me to the sauce and back again, very slowly. "Ma'am, there's no dill in this recipe."

"It reeks of dill."

"Would you like me to send it back?"

I was mortified. I had never sent a dish back in my life, but I was ready to vomit over the dill-stench. "Yes please." My stomach growled. "Just, bring me like... a whole loaf of bread or something."

She looked at me like was a crazy person.

Candace was staring at me like she agreed with her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just really hungry, that's all." I closed my eyes. "Like, it's making me dizzy how hungry I am."

She made a small, mirthful sound. "Damn, You sound like me in my first trimester."

I scowled. "You shut your whore mouth with that kind of talk."

My best friend laughed, but a faint alarm bell sounded in my head.
My period. It should be here right now, right?

My period tracker was a little calendar app I had built myself three years ago. Of course, being me, I had made it as obnoxious as possible. The week of my period was covered in graphics of sharks and red tidal waves. "Shark Week!" it screamed, in bright red, dripping letters.

Those letters were right smack dab in the middle of this week. Wednesday.

Today was Friday.

I was two days late.

"Liv?" Candace was watching me.

"It's fine. I was just...checking."

"Liv, I know what you're checking. Your period tracker is visible from low-earth orbit."

"Yep! I'm not ashamed to be bleeding."

Candace leaned forward. "And... are you bleeding?"

"Can you tell by my foul mood?" I hedged.

She leaned back. "True. You're being more of a weird bitch than normal."

I raised my glass, inwardly panicking. "That's right. Cheers to menstruation."

This doesn't mean anything,
I told myself.
I'm just late.
I've never been late in my life, in fact, you could set your watch by my period, especially being on the pill like I was.

But then again, I
was
early last month. Had I thrown myself off? Had I forgotten to take my pill? Brad had stopped using protection entirely, trusting me to take care of things and....

My mind whirled.
I could grab a test with Candace, then go pee at the office....

Or -
better option
- I could just ignore this.

I took a deep breath. "Maybe I should be ordering the chocolate fondue," I joked. "That's what this occasion calls for."

It was bound to be coming, any second now. I was on the pill, for god's sake, I took it religiously. I had been taking the pill since I was fourteen years old. I never missed it.

I was not pregnant. There was no way.

*****

"Hey baby!" Brad sounded surprised to hear from me.

Fair enough. I was fucking surprised I was calling him. "Hey," I said, as casually as I could.

"Liv? Are you...in the bathroom?"

"I'm not going to the bathroom while I'm talking to you, Brad, no. I don't think we've progressed to that stage in our relationship yet."

"Good," he chuckled. "I hope we never do." He paused. 'Well then, why are you all echoey?"

I looked around. The stall was closed and I had triple checked to make sure I wasn't in the one with the fucked up lock. "Because I actually am in the bathroom," I sighed.

He made a disgusted noise.

"But I'm not pooping or anything!" I clarified.

"Yes. Because we're never ever getting to that stage. We just went over this."

"I'm just..." I took a deep breath and pointedly looked away from the box that sat on top of the toilet paper dispenser. "I wanted to hear your voice, I think. It's been a while."

"I know it has."

"How was last night's match?"

"Kicked their asses."

"Good."

"Thanks."

Why did this feel like pulling teeth? "You like being captain?"

I could practically hear him shrugging. "Eh. It's okay. Ref last night was a dick."

I was nodding. I felt like I had to listen very carefully, lest I missed something, anything that I could hold on to before I did this. Something that would tell me how he'd react if the test turned out positive.

"Is it...a lot of responsibility?"

"Not too bad."

"Are you...happy about being in charge? Making like, decisions and shit?"

"You know I like to be in control, Liv. In... certain situations."

I felt a flush across my cheeks. "Certain ones, yeah. Hockey is one of those situations?"

"Guess so."

This
is why we never talked on the phone. It was awkward as fuck. "Okay."

"Why are you sitting in the bathroom?"

"I'm hiding."

"Isn't your goodbye party right now?"

"Indeed. That's what I'm hiding from."

"Liv! Go celebrate. Don't be calling me on your special day."

I felt something strange in the side of my chest. "You don't want me calling you?"

"No, that's not what I meant and you know it. I'm saying go enjoy your last day there."

"I don't really give a fuck about my last day. Once I put in my notice, I was completely mentally done with this place."

Brad seemed confused. "Okay then."

"You don't sound too happy to hear from me."

"Liv, of course I'm happy. I'm just... not used to it."

"Do you miss me?"

"Of course I fucking miss you, what the hell is this?"

I had no idea. "You're coming home soon, right?"

"Yes. I'll be home tomorrow. Just like I said."

I took a deep breath. This panic that was setting in, it made me sound like a crazy person. But I
felt
like a crazy person.
Just take the test so you'll know.
"Okay," I said. "I'll see you then."

"Bye, babe." He hung up before I had a chance to embarrass myself any further.

I looked back at the box and the sweet, curving feminine script that promised accurate results in three minutes.

Three minutes.

Three minutes and then I would know if I was pregnant with Bradley Scott's baby.

I turned my back on it and stared at the wall instead.

Chapter 26

Brad

"What the hell?" I asked my phone.

My phone, unsurprisingly, had no answer for me.

I looked up and around at my teammates, but they were all too busy lacing their skates and psyching themselves up for the game to explain to me why my girlfriend sounded so strange on the phone just now.

We were on in ten minutes. No time for me to replay the conversation in my mind.

I'll call her after
, I decided.
She needs something and she's too stubborn and prideful to ask. I'm going to have to drag it out of her.

I grinned.
What I do best.

That smile carried me out onto the ice, where we won the coin toss.

But that was the last time I smiled that night.

This was the first time we'd faced the Springfield Razorsharks this season and it was clear something had changed since the last time we'd been up against them. Somewhere over the summer, they'd acquired a new coach who had completely changed their style of play.

Last season, they were defensive players, parking their asses on the ice and worrying away at us, denying us plays but not advancing on our goal until the clock ran out. That was the style we were expecting from the tapes and that was the style that I was prepared for as captain.

That was wrong. I was wrong. I should have watched one of their more recent match-ups, from this season.

Because these fuckers now played
dirty
.

It was a melee. All around us, they circled like sharks in a feeding frenzy, living up to their team name. Waiting, watching the refs closely.

And the second their attention was elsewhere, the Razorsharks took us down.

We scrambled for every inch of ice, bringing the game to a 3-3 tie with thirty seconds left in regulation. I was exhausted, and more than a little pissed. They were getting in my head, exactly where they wanted to be. I was starting to take this game personally, which was always a death sentence.

Right as I started to get myself back in the game again - ready to push this shit into overtime, take these fuckers down in a shootout - everything suddenly went to shit. 

"Fuck!" Blondie shouted, clasping his face. Blood streamed through his fingers. His nose was clearly broken, but it had happened so fast I didn't even know who'd hit him. Ian picked a random Razorshark and charged him, ready to lay the smack down as enforcer.

I rushed over and grabbed Ian by the back of his uniform. "Don't fight him!" I shouted.

Ian threw my arm off, his eyes wild. He looked just as frustrated as I felt. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Ian, your knee! We can't afford to lose you if you fuck it up completely."

Ian looked like he wanted to deck me instead. And just for a second, he might have - if Blondie hadn't skated way too close to us on his way to the bench. Trying to overhear.

Ian glared at me, then took a deep breath and skated off, his head down.

I'd embarrassed him in front of the team - in front of Blondie - basically calling him old and injured to his face. I was going to catch hell for that after the game.

And what was worse was that when play started again, the Razorsharks had control of the puck.

Blood roaring in my ears, I gave chase, only to see them pass to one of their wingmen. He crossed the blue line at least three feet before the puck did.

I breathed a sigh of relief and we fell back, waiting for the call. Oswald stood up, watching for the ref to stop play.

The call did not come.

Baffled, Oswald scrambled. But the puck slammed past him before he could collect himself, bringing the score to 4-3 Razorsharks.

I threw down my stick and skated over to the ref. "Hey, that guy was offsides," I called, trying to keep my anger in check. I wasn't a hot head like Ian. In the few games I'd captained, I kept things pretty even, accepting a few bad calls here and there in the hopes of finessing things into our favor later on. And it had worked.

Up to this point.

"No penalty," the ref grunted, moving to wave his hands.

"Hey!' I could feel my teammates all staring at me, waiting. There was no mistaking it, we had all seen the guy go offsides, it had been clear as fucking day. "Could you go ahead and take a look at the replay? He was offsides. That goal shouldn't count."

"No replay," the ref grunted again, sounding just like a pig. And it made sense, he even sort of looked like one. With these beady little pig eyes. They had the mocking gleam of a bored DMV worker or a sadistic gym teacher. The worst kind of petty authority figure.

I looked over at the box. Coach Randall was watching me, his face a terrifying shade of maroon. "Are you b-blind?" I bellowed to the ref, my voice starting to betray me.

"Watch yourself," the pig-eyed ref cautioned.

"Y-you just fucked the g-game for us!" I shouted, trying like hell to relax my vocal cords. But I was fucking furious - and embarrassed.

His piggy mouth quirked. And I knew it. He was laughing at me. "What? Could you repeat that? I didn't get it."

"Fuck you."

"Watch your mouth."

"Give me a p-penalty," I snarled, getting in his face. "I don't give a sh-sh..."

That was it. My words were gone.

He raised his finger; stabbing it in my face, "Don't tempt me."

Unable to speak, I just smacked his finger away.

"That's it!" He looked triumphant as he blew an ear-piercing whistle blast in my face.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd, then the cheers went up. I could feel my teammates watching, appalled at how I had failed them, and all of the air seemed to go out of the room.

Blood thudding in my ears, I went to the box for my penalty, which last just long enough for them to run out the clock on us and win the fucking game.

And it was all my fault.

*****

"You win some, you lose some," Ian said, pressing his pint glass to his sweaty forehead, before draining half the glass. "You tried."

"Tried," I snorted. "Fat fucking good trying does. That was a bad call."
And I couldn't fucking speak up for us because I started stuttering like a goddamned middle schooler,
I didn't say. Deep shame burned across my cheeks. I pounded my beer, hoping to cool down the heat.

"You're not wrong," Ian said. He was trying to make me feel better by taking me out for a drink afterward. But I could tell he was pretty irritated, though he was trying not to show it.

"And I should have swung it our way," I reiterated. Like I needed to pick at this wound. "I told you, I'm not cut out for captain, okay? I get out there and try to stay calm so I don't stutter, and these guys see my calm as weakness and just run right over me." I slammed my hand down on the bar. "It's fucked."

"Yeah," Ian said evenly. "It is."

"Thanks a fucking lot." I seethed, staring out over the bar.

"You tried to do your job. You could have at least let
me
do
my
job," Ian said.

"Ah, thank you. I was waiting for that."

"I'm fucking
fine
. Doctors gave me the go-ahead to play. I wouldn't be on the ice if I wasn't healed."

"You really believe that? You limp every day. I see you, Ian."

"Fuck off. What do you care?"

"I'm your friend?"

"Right. You're my friend. Not my mom. Or my wife. Back off, Brad." Ian drained his beer. "Stay in your lane, do your captain job right and let me enforce what needs to be fucking enforced. That shit needed to be enforced tonight. They should have paid for that cheap shot."

He headed to the men's room, leaving me to seethe. He was right, of course. When Ian was captain, he would have cracked open some skulls, made the other guys pay for fucking with us the way they had. There was justice that needed to be served on the rink. And it hadn't been served because of me.

I drained my beer, feeling shittier than I thought possible, feeling like I should go back to the hotel and rip the 'C' right off of my uniform. Maybe I'd go back to my hotel anyway. Staying here in this bar just prolonged this shitty stint in Springfield.

I couldn't wait to get out of here. We left for home tomorrow morning. All I wanted to do was sleep in my own damn bed, and see Olivia, in my own damn bed. I needed to get Marcus out of my fucking apartment first. Maybe I'd buy him a night at a hotel.

As I brooded, I looked around the bar, and randomly locked gazes with a beady-eyed man across the way. He ducked his head, but not before I saw the piggy little gleam in his eyes.

Or the fact that he was sitting with the captain of the Razorsharks.

"Are you shitting me?!" I exploded, launching up to my feet. Blind rage propelled me across the bar, fists already itching. "Is this it? Is this why you didn't call them offsides?"

"Hey, back the fuck off, Scott," the Razorsharks captain barked.

But I swatted him off like he was an annoying fly and grabbed the ref by the collar, hauling him to his feet. "This is all it takes to buy you?" I thundered, reaching out and knocking all of the emptied pint glasses to the floor. "Shitty drinks at a shitty bar? You come that cheap?"

"Get your hands off me before I have you suspended!" the ref stammered, but I could tell he was bluffing.

"For what? I didn't do anything except catch you in a breach of ethics," I said.  "And I'm going to have your ass hauled before a committee and see just how many bad calls you've made on behalf of your friend here."

"You are, huh?" the ref taunted. "How are you going to do that?" He screwed up his face, his piggy lips spraying spittle with each mocking word. "I suh-suh-swear that suh-suh-something b-b-b-bad is g-g-going on!"

My fist caught him across the jaw, snapping his head to the side.

He went down - as boneless a jellyfish - to the floor and stayed there, a trail of blood leaking slowly from his mouth.