Chapter 24
BABY’S FIRST HEADLINE
There was a game Sunday, to which Jeremy and Kate accompanied me, both of them decked out in team gear same as me.
As we ate the delicious free dinner, Jeremy scrolled his phone, showing me every instance where me attending a karaoke party at Podunk had made literal news.
Well, not me, exactly. More like the mysterious pregnant woman on Barry Wright’s arm.
This wasn’t world news, but hockey world news.
Because someone at Podunk posted two videos of Barry and me, first of us singing One Direction on the stage, and then another of us dancing and singing Dolly Parton at each other on the dance floor.
We looked exceptionally romantic, me very pregnant, his hand on my stomach, my cheeks flushed and hair falling out of one of my braids, both of us grinning wide.
We looked deeply, deeply into each other.
“Oh my God, his fan accounts are having a heyday with this,” Kate reported, scrolling on her own account. “A bunch of them put together that you’re the girl from the broadcast a couple weeks ago, so that video is resurfacing.”
Jeremy flashed his phone in my direction, already laughing. “Look at this headline, ‘Has Utah Star Defenseman found Mrs. Wright?’”
“No way people care this much.” I took another bite of macaroni salad as I scrolled through the top of the article. “This is so insane to me.”
“At least seventy people have reshared that article alone,” Kate said.
Seventy felt more reasonable than they’d both been making it sound, which was more like seventy thousand.
It’s not like millions of people cared if Barry Wright had a girlfriend, right?
Not that I was his girlfriend, but still.
“This post on a hockey gossip page has over a hundred comments. Not to mention Barry’s post, which has over eleven thousand likes. ”
Barry’s publicist and agent both urged him to post something about the baby before the rumors could get out of hand, and I acquiesced that he could make a post if he didn’t share any details.
Before the game, he posted one of the pictures he’d snapped on his phone last night—the one of us standing side by side in front of the crib, not even touching, me smiling at the camera, him smiling down at me. The caption just read, “Oh, baby!”
It was his first post since he’d been traded, and his eighty-six thousand followers quickly flipped their shit.
“Look, Han, all these girls are coming for your man.” Jeremy handed me his phone.
“He isn’t my man,” I grumbled.
“He really, really is,” Kate said.
I peered down at Jeremy’s screen, scrolling through posts mostly resharing Barry’s picture or one of the video clips with their thoughts—many just the sobbing emoji, or a picture of a very grumpy looking kitten overlayed with “HAPPY FOR YOU. REALLY.”
One account that had Barry as their profile picture called me fat, which was met by many comments defending my pregnant body, another guessed that I was an influencer, and yet another reposted asking why a pregnant woman would be out partying anyway? #Irresponsible.
“He really is kind of like a celebrity.” I don’t know why I kept being surprised that professional athletes are famous, at least to the millions of fans of that sport.
I think I could have named zero hockey players before starting my job at the practice facility, and maybe five before meeting Barry, and even then only by first name.
“As I’ve been telling you,” Jeremy groaned and snatched his phone back. “I bet they’ll put you on the broadcast again.”
“Means that you’ll be on there too.” I poked his side until he swatted my hand away.
“Are you Hannah?” someone asked, startling me away from my siblings. I looked up to find a beautiful woman with long black hair and legs a mile long eagerly smiling down at me. She was wearing a corduroy team jacket I’d never seen, NILSON 27 written on the right pocket.
“Yes?” I squeaked.
She held out a manicured hand to me and damn, she was beautiful—very white teeth. “I’m Hunter Nilson. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jacob, who’s heard a lot about you from Barry.”
“You’re married to Jacob Nilson?” Jeremy asked, like this was the coolest news ever. Jacob Nilson, Barry called him Nils, was one of the star wingers, always scoring goals.
Her eyes sparkled and she nodded.
“That guy plays good hockey,” Jeremy said with a sort of reverence.
“I would hope so—we like it here.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Your nails are so cute.”
She smiled and held both hands out so I could get a better look. Kate leaned closer, both of us pointing at our favorites of the designs. They had little Santas, wreaths, and ornaments. Cute as hell.
“Lucy—she’s another one of the WAGs—she does them. I can give you her number if you want.”
I had somehow gone unnoticed by the WAGs (wives and girlfriends) of the other players, and that had been fine with me.
To be honest, they intimidated me bad. I saw them on Instagram, and all of them were somehow uniformly, perfectly beautiful with very chic clothes and shiny hair that Kate swore was mostly extensions, but I thought looked real.
Not that I was Barry’s girlfriend, but if I was, I didn’t think I fit the WAG bill, even before I was heavily pregnant and only wearing the same pair of overalls every day—today included—a big home jersey overtop. None of them were janitors, I could guarantee that much.
“They’d get wrecked at my work, but thank you.”
“What do you do for work?” she asked, but the lights overhead flashed in the way they do when the team was getting ready to come onto the ice. I stood.
“I work in facilities at the training center,” I said. To her credit, her eyes lit up like this was really cool and interesting.
Kate took my empty plate and started clearing our spots.
“It’s so cool to meet you. Can I get your number? Would love to invite you to one of our dinners if you’re interested.”
My brain couldn’t comprehend why she would want my phone number, why she’d want to invite me anywhere—and then I remembered the videos.
If she was as plugged in to team news as Jeremy, then of course she’d seen them.
“Oh—I’m not—Barry and I aren’t together, though.”
Hunter put her hand on my arm.
“Please. I know how excited Barry is about that baby. You’re family.”
Speechless, I just nodded and took her offered phone, entering my number and name before handing it back. I felt almost shy, like the cool girl at school had just asked me to hang out in the cafeteria.
“Good to meet you, Hunter,” I said.
“You too, Hannah.” To my surprise, she pulled me into a quick hug before promising to text me soon and rushing off in another direction.
“Well, she was gorgeous,” Kate said, and I had to agree.
They did show us on the broadcast—Ron took a shaky recording of all three of us being shown on the screen, but I couldn’t make out what the broadcasters had to say about it, because Ron and Mom were talking too loudly about how cool it was to see their babies on the screen.
After two losses in a row, Barry scored the winning goal with forty-two seconds left on the clock, and needless to say, the stadium was a madhouse. Barry was interviewed after the game, and I got a recording of that, loud and clear without Ron and Mom exclaiming in the background.
When he was interviewed post- or mid-game, he was always sweaty, hair all wet, red lines on his forehead from his helmet.
He looked hot every time, which wasn’t fair because when I was sweaty I just looked red and a little sickly.
The reporter asked him how it felt to score that goal, how it felt to be on a new team, and then, squeezing one more in:
“I hear congratulations are in order! You posted that you’re expecting a child?”
A wide grin took over Barry’s face.
“I am, yeah, a baby girl this February.”
“Well, I hope she takes after you and we see her in the women’s league!”
“I hope she takes after her mom,” Barry said, smiling still.
“Congrats again. Thanks Barry.”
“Thank you, Ken.”
Jeremy and Kate teased me about that little comment for the rest of the night, cooing about how in loooove Barry was with me. I pretended not to be melted butter about the whole thing.
And when he came home an hour later, I pretended it didn’t mean anything that he got into bed with me, kissing me long and languorous before falling asleep, hand on my stomach.