“Night.”
They don’t question it. I’m not the guy who stays for round two anyway. But I feel their eyes track me as I head to the elevators. They probably think I’m quiet because of the game, and maybe part of me is.
But most of me just needs to hear her voice.
The hallway is quiet by the time I reach my room. I close the door behind me, drop onto the edge of the bed, and hit video call.
She answers after a few rings. Curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, make-up off and hoodie on, eyes tired. The light behind her is soft, and I soak her in like a sponge.
“Hey,” she says softly, eyes scanning. “You look like shit.”
I huff a low breath and lean back against the headboard. “Feel it too.”
“You okay?”
I shrug. “We lost.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, adjusting her blanket. “I saw the highlights when I got out of work. I’m so sorry, Reid.”
I nod, but she’s still watching me, as though she’s holding something back.
“What?”
She hesitates, looks down, and clears her throat. “You don’t think… what I told you had an impact?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Don’t even go there.”
That insinuation hits me harder than the rebound that ended the game.
“I just hate to think I’ve distracted you,” she says quietly. “And I just—”
“Carina.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean to as I lean forward. “You told me I’m going to be a dad. That doesn’t distract me; itgroundsme. Don’t ever think this is something I’ll regret.”
She goes still, face softening. “Okay.”
Exhaling, I settle back against the headboard, watching as she tucks her knees up tighter under the blanket.
“I’ve scheduled a check-up scan.”
I stiffen a little. “Yeah?”
“Just an early one,” she says. “It’s not the twelve-week scan, that’s still a few weeks off, but I’ve seen too many missed ectopics and failed pregnancies to wait that long. I just… I need to know everything’s where it should be.”
“Can I come?”
She blinks. “You want to?”
Want to.Christ.
“I’m not missing a second of this, Havoc.”
“Okay.” Her mouth twitches, just slightly. “It’s next Friday morning. I’ll text you the time.”
Something gnaws at me because I don’t want her texting me important things. I want her to betellingme—in person. While we’re lying in bed, or when she gets home from work. While I’m massaging her shoulders on the couch. Over breakfast in the morning. When I kiss her goodbye before her shifts or my away games, and tell her how proud I am of her. After I point out a rainbow in the sky.
But while she’s still uncertain about us, I’ll take her any way I can get her, even through a screen.
She tucks the blanket tighter around her middle, and my eyes linger there. I clear my throat.
