Dirty Baller: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (13 page)

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I say to her. I slam the door shut and pull on my seatbelt. “You know where the doctor’s office is?” I ask her.

Alison turns her blinker on and eases into traffic. “I don’t, but my phone does.” She glances at me. “You doing alright?”

I nod. “Yeah. Getting a lot of work done, thankfully.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Alison says with a pointed look. “And you know it.”

I don’t answer her. She’s asking about how I am concerning all this baby stuff. I don’t know how to answer that question. I pull open my phone and pop open a browser window from earlier. It’s of a British tabloid site. I turn the screen so Alison can’t glance over at it and tell me to stop doing what I’m doing.

I refresh the site like I’ve done a hundred times before in the last few weeks. There is plenty of news about some member of the royal family streaking down the high street of her native village. And there’s news about a former reality television star being pregnant with some newscaster’s baby. But that’s it. Nothing about Ryan. Not a peep of information.

We pull into the parking garage of the doctor’s office and I sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I
am
.

Alison holds my hand in the waiting room. An old woman seated across from us with a tattered magazine in her hand scowls.

“She thinks we’re lesbians,” I whisper to Alison.

Alison laughs and puts her other hand over mine. “Good,” she says. “I’d love to give a bigot like her something to scowl about.
Honey
.” She says the last word loudly.

I laugh and put a hand over my mouth. “I’m glad you’re here,” I say earnestly. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Alison smiles. “Oh, I know.”

After an hour-long wait, I’m finally taken into the back room after they make me pee in a cup. Alison tags along and helps me into a cloth exam gown. I sit down on the crinkly paper and kick my heels against the metal table.

The room smells like alcohol and latex, and the analog clock on the wall with a prescription brand name emblazoned on it is thirty minutes slow. The minute hand ticks along slowly.

Alison pulls open a celebrity magazine and thumbs through it.

“Oh,” she says, hastily closing it.

“What?” I ask. “Did you see a nip slip or something?”

Alison shakes her head. “It’s…it’s an old magazine. You and Ryan are in here. From that night you had dinner.”

My stomach turns over and my cheeks burn. I wave my feelings away with a flick of my hand. “It’s fine, Alison. I can handle it. I’m a big girl.”

The door to the exam room opens and the doctor walks in. He’s tall and has a bit of a gut along with a grey mustache. “Ms. Childs. I’m Dr. Weaver,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I say. “I’m taking prenatal vitamins and I’ve been getting good rest.”

That last part is a lie and I know the circles under my eyes betray me. I’ve been almost unable to sleep, tossing and turning and thinking about Ryan.

“She’s lying,” Alison chimes in helpfully. “She’s not sleeping well.”

Dr. Weaver pulls a stool over and checks my chart. “That’s normal in the first trimester.”

I don’t tell him why I’ve not been sleeping. It’s not entirely relevant, after all. It’s not like he can change the reason I can’t sleep at night.

Ten minutes of examination later and I’m on my back. Alison’s holding my hand again. The doctor squirts cold goo onto my stomach and I clench from the sensation.

“It’ll warm up in just a second,” the doctor says softly, moving the wand and staring at the ultrasound screen. “I’m just taking some measurements here to try and see when date of conception was.”

I nod and breathe through my nose.

The sound of a heartbeat fills the room.

I burst into tears.

The doctor pats my leg and Alison squeezes my hand. “That’s right. Those are your baby’s heartbeats.”

I look at the ultrasound screen for the first time and see my baby. It’s like a little peanut with a nose.

Ryan’s nose.

I cry some more, and Alison actually has to wrap her arm around me.

“Ms. Childs,” the doctor says, wiping off the ultrasound gel and snapping off his gloves. “You are just over eight weeks along. Looks like you’re going to have a healthy little baby.” He pauses and looks at Alison. “Will you and your partner-“

“She’s my sister,” I say through sniffles. Alison hands me a tissue. I accept it gratefully.

“Right. Will you and your sister be finding out the sex of the baby?”

I take a moment to answer. I hadn’t thought about that yet at all. “I’m…I’m not sure.”

He nods. “Well, you have time to decide. I want you to work on lowering your stress levels. Take a yoga class, learn some deep breathing. You need your sleep. Even if you are just laying down with your eyes closed, that’s good rest. Do more of that, okay?”

He leaves the room and Alison hands me my clothes. She rubs my arm affectionately. “You doing okay?”

I shake my head and my lower lip trembles.

“Oh, Hays,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “I promise you, everything is going to be okay. Everything. I swear it.”

Back in the car, Alison asks me where I want to go for lunch.

“Anywhere is fine. Maybe someplace with sandwiches,” I reply.

Within fifteen minutes we’re ensconced in a booth at a deli with turkey sandwiches in our hands.

Alison has something to say. I can sense it.

“What?” I ask her.

“You need to tell Ryan about the baby. He has a right to know.”

I scowl at her. “It’s none of your business whether I tell Ryan or not,” I reply.

Alison shakes her head. “He has a right to know, Hayley. I know you don’t like hearing that, but it’s the truth.”

“He doesn’t want kids, Alison. I’ve told you this. There’s no point in letting him know.”

Alison raises her eyebrows. “I think you’re scared. That’s what I think. I think that
you
think you’re playing this safe. If you never tell him, he can’t reject you and the baby. Then you’ll always have that sliver of hope that he would want to be with you and the kid. But if you
do
tell him, you’ll have to be faced with the answer.”

I put down my sandwich. She’s right. She knows it, and I know it.

“You’re a journalist, Hayley. Since when do you
not
want to have an answer to a question?”

That seals it for me. “I need to tell him,” I say. The words are final.

Alison smiles. “You need to tell him.” She wipes her mouth and grabs her purse, excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

I pull out my phone, unlocking the screen and seeing the tabloid site is still where I left it; open to the front page. The site refreshes without me clicking on anything.

A new item pops up.

FOOTBALLER FIST FIGHT: MACK ATTACKS IN OLD HAUNT

Bile rises in my throat as I click on the article.

It’s Ryan.

Just like I knew it would be.

He’s back to drinking and fighting again.

My eyes well up with tears but I blink them back.

I have my answer now.

I can’t tell him about the baby. Not when he’s like this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RYAN

“I’m sorry I’ll miss the cup,” I say to Ivan as I pull my suitcase out of the back of his car.

“You focus on getting better so we can win next season, alright?”

I nod and smile. “Thank you for all of this,” I say.

He claps me on the back. “Of course. You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, son.”

The word
son
hangs between us. I feel oddly emotional but I fight back my tears of gratitude. “Drive safe back to London,” I say.

Ivan hops in the car and waves as he drives away.

I’m left standing outside of this old stone building near the seaside. I hope that the place looks less grim on the inside than on the outside.

I walk up the moss-covered steps as a seagull screeches overhead and shits on my t-shirt.

Perfect. I hope that isn’t a sign of things to come.

I take a deep breath and pull open the door.

This is my new adventure. I have one goal: get better.

My life depends on it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

HAYLEY

“You’re finally getting fat,” Alison says to me from her kitchen.

I’m lying on her pink sofa, pillows shoved under my head and lower back. “Thanks, sis,” I say sarcastically.

“I mean, you can’t tell that you’re pregnant. You’re just…softer.” She dials her phone. “I’m guessing you want
two
pizzas?”

I hold up a middle finger and she laughs while she places the order.

Soon enough, we’re chewing on authentic New York pizza. A nice, thin, chewy crust, hot cheese, and perfect slices of pepperoni with crispy, salty brown edges.

“I’m glad you ordered two,” I say after my seventh slice.

Alison laughs. “I told you so, sis. I wish you’d listen to me more often.”

We sit in silence enjoying our impromptu dinner.

Alison hands me a wad of paper napkins. I wipe my greasy fingers on them.

“Did you see the news recently?”

“No,” I say. “I’ve been trying to keep my stress levels low. Part of that is ignoring the cacophony of the internet.”

Alison looks at me nervously. “Ah.”

“Spill, Alley Cat,” I say, using the nickname I gave her when we were younger.

“It’s…it’s Ryan,” she says.

My heart stops beating for a full second. “Is he alright?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

“He’s fine. He’s actually in rehab,” she says slowly. “Or so the British press is reporting.”

I chew over her words. “Good for him.”

Alison stares at me intently. “So you’re going to call him?”

“Way to be subtle, Alison.”

“What? I’m just saying, he’s getting his life together. I know the reason you said you weren’t calling him is because of the fact that he was getting into trouble again. He seems like he’s really trying.”

My cheeks burn with a combination of embarrassment and annoyance. “New subject, please.”

Alison sighs and drops her body into the fullness of the couch cushions. “Dad wants us over for dinner tonight.”

“Both of us?” He usually takes Alison out on dinner and lunch dates. He hardly ever takes me.

“Yes, both of us. Why would you even ask that?” Alison frowns at me.

“Because you’re his favorite and we both know that,” I reply.

Alison rolls her eyes. “You two are too similar. That’s why you don’t get along so well. Dad loves you as much as he loves me, Hayley.”

“There’s a difference between loving your kid and liking them. I know that Dad loves me. He just doesn’t like me as much as he likes you.”

Alison maneuvers the subject to a different territory. “Mom’s out of town visiting friends in Florida. So it’ll just be the three of us.”

I groan. “So I don’t even get Mom as a buffer. Great.”

Alison picks up one of my feet and starts massaging it. “If I rub your feet will you stop complaining?”

I can’t refuse an offer like that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

RYAN

I drop my duffel bag in the foyer of my house. It’s been a month since I’ve been here. Mail is piled up on the floor. The mailman just kept stuffing envelopes through the mail slot. I pick up the top layer of envelopes and drop them on the counter in the kitchen.

I flip the lights on. Everything is exactly as I left it with the exception of the thin layer of dust coating every surface. I never got around to calling a maid service before I left. I make a mental note to do that soon.

I open the fridge purely out of habit and nearly gag on the smell. I left a half-empty carton of milk on the shelf. Pinching my nose with one hand and picking up the container with the other, I pour it out into the garbage disposal.

I run hot water as the loud grinding of the disposal echoes through the house. Finally, the putrid smell dissipates. I open up a cabinet to grab a water glass and I see a brown glass bottle.

Alcohol.

I pour it down the drain and go on a hunt to find more bottles. There’s even vodka stashed under the sink behind the drain cleaner. I get rid of all of it. Every last drop.

I carry the recycling out to the curb and when I step inside the house again, a flash of white catches the corner of my eye. There’s a piece of paper on the end table in the sitting room.

I pick up the thick, letterpress card and realize that it’s Megan’s.

I’d forgotten about this.

I wander into the kitchen and sit on a bar stool, sipping from my glass of tap water and thumbing the card repeatedly. I pull my phone out of my pocket and type in the phone number.

It sits there on my screen and I stare at it so long my phone goes to sleep and locks itself again. I head upstairs to shower but I still can’t get it out of my mind.

At a quarter till eight that night, I finally hit the call button.

It rings five times and I nearly chicken out and hang up.

“Hello?” Megan’s voice sounds tired. I hear the sound of children yelling in the background. “Knock it off, will you? Mummy’s on the phone! Who is this?”

“It’s…it’s Ryan. Ryan Mackenzie. I was hoping we could maybe talk?”

Megan sighs and speaks louder. It seems the kids have increased the volume of their noise instead of decreasing it. “Sorry, who is this?”

“Ryan! Mackenzie!” I scream into the phone. My voice sounds strange echoing through the walls of my own house. It’s like the walls aren’t used to human presence after my long absence. “Your half brother!”

I hear the clicking of high heels on hardwood and the kids’ voices diminish. A door clicks shut and the sound of the children is a distant memory.

“Ryan. I’m so happy you called. So sorry that my banshee children nearly ruined things just now. How are you doing?”

I clear my throat. “Fine. How…how are you doing?”

“Well enough. I’m a bit tired. You know, working and raising kids isn’t as easy as you might think it is.” Sarcasm laces her voice and I laugh.