"And Sloane?" Dr. Khan waits until I meet her eyes. "Ask for help. Whatever support systems you have—use them. I don’t know your situation, but if you need suggestions, I personally benefited from a support group for Pittsburgh parents of color. Let me know if I can make connections, okay?”
I'm walking out of the building, Dr. Khan's words still echoing in my head, when my phone rings. Josh's name flashes on the screen.
For a moment, I consider not answering. But whatever he has to say, I'd rather hear it now than wonder about it all night.
"Hello?"
"You're pregnant." His voice is cold, clipped. “By Tucker Stag."
My stomach drops. "How did you?—"
"How did I find out that my teammate knocked up my ex-wife?" He laughs bitterly. "He said something weird at his brother’s wedding, and then I hired the same chatty decorator he uses. I confronted him while he was crying in the shower like a child."
I stop walking, pressing my phone tighter to my ear. "Josh?—"
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to let me find out online?”
"Why would I tell you?" The words come out sharper than intended. "We're divorced. What I do isn't your business anymore."
"It is when it's with someone at my work!” His voice rises. "Do you have any idea what kind of position this puts me in? What people are saying?"
"What are people saying?" Anger flares hot in my chest. "You're worried about gossip? About your reputation?"
"I'm worried about how this looks! My ex-wife, pregnant with my teammate's kid. It looks like you used me, Sloane. Like you were just biding your time until you could trap someone else."
The accusation steals my breath. "Trap someone? Are you serious right now?"
"What else am I supposed to think? You told me you didn't want kids. We agreed?—"
"We didn't agree!" I'm shouting now, not caring who hears. "You got a vasectomy without telling me! You made that decision for both of us!"
Silence on the other end of the line. Then: "I did what was best. For my career."
"For YOUR career. Not ours. Yours." My hand moves instinctively to my stomach as I stand shouting in the middle of campus. "You lied to me, Josh. For years. I was ateenagerwhen we first discussed kids.”
"I was protecting our future?—"
"You were controlling my future. There's a difference." I take ashaky breath. "And now I'm moving on with my life. And it has nothing to do with you."
"It has everything to do with me when it's with someone on my professional sports team!"
"Then that's your problem to deal with." My voice is steadier now. "Not mine. I didn't plan this. I didn't trap anyone. And I sure as hell don't owe you an explanation."
"I should have figured you’d—" He stops himself.
"Figured what, Josh? Say it."
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No. You started, so finish. What did you assume about me?"
Another pause. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter but no less cutting. "You have no idea how to make things last. You just cut and leave when there’s a disagreement."
The words hit like a city bus. As if what he did was a silly little misunderstanding.
"Fuck you." My voice shakes. "You don't get to know about my life anymore. Not after what you did."
"Sloane—"
