“I’d like to do an ultrasound today if you have time,” she continues. “Given how far along you are, we should be able to see quite a bit.”
“Today?” My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else. “I… yes. Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m staring at a screen, at a tiny blob with a flickering heartbeat that’s somehow already shaped like a person. A tiny, perfect person growing inside me.
“There’s your baby,” Dr. Wheeler says softly. “Baby has a strong heartbeat and I was correct. We’re measuring at about eleven weeks and everything looks good so far.”
Tears stream down my face as I watch the screen, reminding myself that this is real. This is really happening.
Holy shit.
I’m going to have another baby.
Connor is sprawledon the rug in the living room, building something elaborate out of Legos that looks suspiciously like an arena with questionable structural integrity. The TV is on low as he watches one of his favorite shows while Harrison and I finish the dishes. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching our son for a moment like he’s trying to memorize every detail of him and all I can think about is how I’m going to tell him that I’m pregnant.
That I’m having another one of his babies.
I’m halfway through loading the dishwasher when he says quietly, “I’ve been thinking about retirement.”
I go still.
Like, fully freeze with a plate in my hands and turn slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I glance into the living room quickly to make sure Connor didn’t hear before whipping back to Harrison. “Retire? From hockey?”
What the fuck?
Where did this come from?
I’m pregnant!
You can’t retire!
What if something happens and I can’t keep working?
Shit.
But what if something happens and he gets injured?
Fuck!
What do we do?
How am I supposed to tell him now?
He nods once, like he’s already decided and just now letting the words catch up. “Not tomorrow. Maybe not this season. But…you know…” He shrugs like I know what he’s trying to say.
I tilt my head, watching him for any clear hint of meaning. “Next season?”
He doesn’t answer, which tells me all I need to know. The plate in my hand slips just a little before I set it down and step closer to Harrison. “You’re only thirty-two, H.”
“I know.”
I’m pregnant!
“You’re a top defenseman.”
