“—have you told him yet?” she continued, ignoring my dramatics. “Or do we need to discreetly plant a positive pregnancy test on his desk next to the scouting reports?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
The twinkle in her eyes told me she very well might, given the chance. So much for that sweet, Southern-belle demeanor.
“We could do it tastefully,” she hedged. “Maybe tuck it into a Roasters-branded onesie.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”
“And will that be before or after game seven of the World Series?” she asked flatly.
“I don’t know,” I snapped, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry, I just— It’s not exactly something you mention in between takes of a TikTok video. I mean, what am I supposed to say? ‘Great game, coach! By the way, I’m carrying your fetus.’”
Clarke’s expression softened, just a little. Enough to remind me she was pushing because she cared.
“Well, hells bells. First of all,incredibleline delivery, though I think we can do better than that.”
I swallowed past the nausea and tried to catch my breath.
She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I know it’s scary, hon. I do, but I think it’s just going to get harder the longer you wait.”
That’s what she said.
Fuck, I had been living with Pink for too long.
“I know.”
Clarke was quiet for a moment. Then carefully asked, “Do you think he’ll freak out?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. Brooks is already a great dad, but this wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”
“Yours or his?”
“Either.”
She nodded. “Still, he deserves to know, regardless of what happens between the two of you.”
I winced. “That’s part of the problem.”
She gave me a knowing look. “Because you like him.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I stared at the ceiling, unsure whether I wanted to laugh, cry, or crawl under the couch and live there permanently. Whatever was between Brooks and me, it wasn’t nothing. But it also wasn’tsomething.Not yet. And maybe that was what scared me most.
“Why don’t you lie down for a few minutes while I grab lunch, and I’ll bring you back some soup?”
“And crackers?”
“Of course.”
“And maybe a pint of ice cream?”
She snorted. “We’ll see.”
A few minutes later, I had a folded shirt draped over my eyes like a makeshift sleep mask and one hand resting on my stomach, attempting to will my nausea into submission. The sectional wasn’t exactly designed for actual sleep, but it was horizontal, and at this point, that was good enough for me.
