10. Jinx
CHAPTER TEN
Jinx
I sink into the plush couch, stretching out with one arm draped lazily over my head, my eyes tracing the faint patterns on the ceiling.
The house feels oppressively silent, an emptiness echoing through the rooms usually filled with laughter and banter.
I’m not used to this solitude, not after the whirlwind of noise and energy that comes with the guys.
It’s surprising how quickly I’ve adapted to our shared chaos: Rowan’s gruff grumbles during physical therapy sessions, the playful ribbing in the kitchen, Thomas’s endless stream of conversation, and Bruno’s intense, brooding stares or late-night reading times that have long lost their intimidating edge.
And then there are the nights. Those have been intriguing. More than intriguing, actually.
I chuckle to myself, reaching for my phone resting on the coffee table. My thumb glides over the smooth screen, aimlessly scrolling through social media.
A video of a golden retriever leaping into a pile of leaves flashes by, followed by a post from Kenzie proudly showing off her giggling twins, and a photo of a muscular fitness influencer hoisting barbells. Normally, such images would hold my attention, but today they hardly register.
Instead, my mind drifts to the thought of watching my guys at practice, their movements synchronized and familiar.
With a sigh, I navigate to my recent calls and press on Rowan’s name, feeling anticipation flutter in my chest.
“Hey, beautiful,” his voice purrs at me, languid and sensual.
“Hey, Ro.” I giggle. “I’m bored. Just wanted to call.”
“Ah, bored, eh?” he asks. “Bored and so you think I’m here to entertain ya, huh?”
“Well, you are the most entertaining of the three,” I say, biting my lip.
“Oh, I’ll remember that,” he says jokingly.
Suddenly, his face flashes on my screen, and mine on his, as our video call fully connects.
“I bet you wanna see the gang, yeah?” he says, turning the phone around to show me the men playing hockey on the ice.
“Don’t get too bummed,” I say to Rowan. “You’ll be back out there soon enough.”
“Especially with you helping me,” he says. “You have no idea how much you’ve helped me. I don’t think I’d be half as healed as I am without you guiding me through my lessons.”
I feel my cheeks reddening, and I turn away, feeling bashful in the moment. He smiles at me, a large, cheesy smile, blushing himself, and I can tell he feels as much chemistry with me as I do with him.
“Of course, Ro,” I say, managing to meet his gaze again.
We get into chatting, Rowan being benched due to his injuries, and not out on the ice with the team.
He’s been pretty upset since his last doctor’s visit, where he was told he was still doing too much and wasn’t healing as quickly because he was pushing himself so hard, and I realize how much he actually did need me around to help him.
As I laugh at something he says, a sudden wave of nausea crashes over me, leaving a sour taste at the back of my throat. I blink rapidly, pressing my lips together to suppress the queasiness, and shift to sit up straighter on the couch.
A strange unease settles in my stomach. I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to steady my breath.
Now that I think about it, I haven’t been feeling my best for a few days. Nothing too alarming, just a persistent queasiness, a vague sense of being out of sorts.
But life has been hectic.
Between long hours at the office, attending Rowan’s physical therapy sessions, and juggling the chaotic schedules of three professional athletes, I’ve been functioning on autopilot.
My fingers absentmindedly trace circles on my stomach as Rowan continues with his story.
“…and then Thomas nearly wiped out trying to take a shot. He’s fine, but I swear he thinks he’s invincible,” Rowan says, his voice animated.
I manage a chuckle, but my thoughts drift elsewhere. Exhaustion tugs at me, heavier than usual. But isn’t that just the way of things? The constant whirlwind of responsibilities and commitments?
Right?
Before I can dwell on that thought, my phone pings. A message pops up from Jack, my younger brother. The screen illuminates with the words:
You around to chat?
I frown, my thumb hovering over the notification.
Jack rarely reaches out like this out of the blue. It’s not that we aren’t close, we are, sorta, but we have a peculiar sibling dynamic.
He usually leaves me to my own devices unless something significant is going on.
I switch back to the convo with Rowan, his face popping up on my screen again. “Hey, my brother just texted. I should probably see what’s up,” I say with curiosity and a hint of concern.
Rowan nods. “Yeah, no problem. Call me later if we aren’t back yet,” he replies, offering a reassuring smile.
“Deal.” I smile back, then end the call.
I need to get out, get some fresh air—do anything but sit here like this. I put on my boots, grab my purse, and head outside.
Taking a deep breath, I swipe back to the home screen and tap on Jack’s name. The phone rings, the sound resonating in my ear like a persistent drumbeat.
As I wait, an uneasy feeling coils in my stomach, a tight knot of anticipation and dread. Maybe it’s the nausea creeping in, or maybe it’s just the uncertainty of what Jack wants to discuss.
I wedge my phone between my ear and shoulder, the screen warm against my cheek, as I rummage through the chaotic depths of my purse for my elusive car keys.
“Wait, you’re heading to Vegas again?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.
Jack’s laughter bursts through the speaker, slightly distorted but full of excitement. “Hell yeah, sis. You know, last time was the best time of my life.”
I shake my head, finally feeling the cool metal of my keys, and unlock my car with a click. “You mean when you blacked out and woke up in a lavish hotel suite with two girls you don’t even remember meeting?”
“Three girls, thank you very much,” he corrects, a smug edge to his voice.
I snort, settling into the driver’s seat and gripping the steering wheel. “Kinky must run in the family.”
“What?” he asks, confusion apparent in his tone.
“Nothing,” I reply, stifling a grin.
He chuckles, the sound as familiar as an old song. “Come on, Jinx. You should come! Blow off some steam. We’ll party, we’ll hit the clubs. No work, no stress.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me, and start the car, the engine purring to life. “Tempting, but I have my hands full.”
“Yeah, yeah. Working all the time, running around with the team, being all responsible,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. “My sister, the buzzkill.”
As I ease my foot off the brakes and steer out of the parking lot, Jack’s voice shifts into a playful tone.
“You sound exhausted. Are you coming down with something?” His words carry a hint of concern wrapped in jest.
“Nah,” I reply automatically, my voice flat and unconvincing. “Just been swamped with things. Not feeling my best, but I’ll manage.”
I try to sound nonchalant, but the fatigue is real.
“Well, just make sure you take care of yourself, alright?” Jack quips, his words light but striking a chord.
I laugh awkwardly, thinking about what I’ve been up to and how I’ve been taking care of myself in better ways than usual.
Jack’s voice continues, but it fades into a dull hum as my pulse pounds loudly in my ears, the thought of all the dirty, wild sex I’ve been having drowning out his chatter.
“Jinx? You still there?” His words finally cut through, snapping me back to reality.
“Hey, I’ve got to run. We’ll catch up later, okay?”
I’ve been taking care of myself in a few ways… but what if that’s the reason I’m sick?
What if I’m pregnant?
The thought alone chokes me.
Gravity lurches me forward as my foot slams the brakes in reaction to my thought, my heart thundering in my chest. I make a sharp turn onto the main road as the car behind me honks aggressively.
A sense of urgency grips me as I realize I need to head to the store.
Right now.
I unlock my phone and dive into the group chat with the guys, my fingers tapping rapidly on the glass screen.
Just stepped out to pick up some stuff. What do you guys want for dinner?
A few seconds later, three dots appear, bouncing in anticipation.
Rowan Steak.
Bruno Potatoes.
Thomas Beer.
Rowan That’s not food, dumbass.
Thomas Fine. Salad. And beer. Happy?
I manage a giggle, the banter a brief distraction from the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind.
Alright. Steaks, potatoes, salad. Beer. Got it.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat of my car and pull into the grocery store parking lot, the tires crunching over loose gravel. Grabbing a cart, I weave through the bustling aisles, swiftly tossing in items as I pass.
Plump steaks, red potatoes with earthy skins, a bag of mixed greens, and two six-packs.
Reaching the checkout, I pause, an invisible weight pressing on my chest. I veer toward the pharmacy aisle, my footsteps slowing as I approach the shelves.
My hand hovers, fingers brushing the cardboard boxes before I snatch up a three-pack of pregnancy tests, tucking them beneath the steaks in my cart.
Before heading back to the house with the boys, I take a detour to a cozy coffee shop nestled between a bookstore and a florist. The moment I step inside, the rich aroma of freshly roasted espresso mingles with a hint of vanilla, envelops me, making my mouth water.
Although the line snakes only slightly around the counter, I bypass it, opting instead to pluck a chilled bottle of water from the glass-fronted fridge. After a quick transaction at the counter, I make a beeline for the bathroom at the back.
Inside, the stall door closes behind me with a quiet click, a thin barrier between me and the bustling café outside. My hands are unsteady, and I fumble slightly as I tear open the first pregnancy test package.
The crinkling of the wrapper seems deafening in the small, tile-lined space. I can’t stop myself; I take all three tests, placing them carefully on the floor in front of me.
Seated on the closed toilet lid, I stare at the trio of small, white sticks. These tiny objects hold the answers to a question I’m not ready to confront.
My breath escapes in a slow, measured sigh as I rub my temples, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind.
What if they’re positive?
I imagine Rowan, his brow furrowed but his demeanor steady, rolling up his sleeves as if ready to tackle any challenge head-on. Bruno comes to mind next, his face a mask of internal conflict, the heavy burden of his own expectations pressing down on him.
And then there’s Thomas, a bundle of frantic energy, his words spilling out in a rapid stream as he talks himself through the news.
Would they want this?
Would I?
My fingers trace the delicate band of the ring on my middle finger, hoping to ground myself as I swallow the lump rising in my throat. This isn’t how I envisioned it happening.
But maybe life isn’t meant to be meticulously planned.
The small, rectangular display on the first pregnancy test flickers to life with a beep. The word “pregnant” appears in bold, unyielding letters, confirming what I’ve been trying to ignore.
My breath holds as I glance at the second test on the counter. It echoes the first with a resolute affirmation. I don’t even need to look at the third one, but I do anyway.
There it is again: Pregnant. Three clear, undeniable results lie on the cool, white tiles of the bathroom floor.
My throat constricts, and before I can stop it, my vision blurs with tears. The curse slips out under my breath, and I press trembling fingers to my lips, trying to swallow the growing lump that threatens to choke me.
My heart races like a runaway train, and my stomach feels like it’s tying itself into knots. I sit on the closed toilet lid, pulling my knees to my chest as the chill from the tiled restroom seeps into my bones.
Muffled sounds from the café seep through the door—the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine, the gentle murmur of customers’ conversations, and the sporadic clinking of spoons against ceramic cups.
Yet in this tiny bathroom, a heavy silence envelops me, broken only by the relentless thud of my pulse in my ears.
I think about telling them. I should tell them.
But the words stick in my throat, refusing to come out. I’m Jinx Anderson, and I’ve always managed my own messes.
This… this thing growing inside me, it’s bigger than chaos. It’s a future.
And I don’t even know if I want it.
What if I’m not ready? What if we’re not? I don’t even know if we’re really a we. Not in the way that makes sense on paper.
Who gets to be the dad? All of them? None of them? Am I supposed to pick one? Raise a baby in a group project dynamic, and hope no one drops the ball?
Three dads. Three hockey dads.
The thought is absurd, and I can’t help but shake my head at the ridiculousness of it all.
But then the other side creeps in. The quieter voice.
What if we could make it work?
What if love doesn’t have to follow a template?
I rub my temples, exhaling a long, shaky breath. My brain feels like a ping-pong match—one second I’m imagining a nursery painted in punk colors with a bassinet next to a terrarium, and the next I’m googling discreet clinics and wondering how quickly I could disappear if I needed to.
I could end it. That’s the truth. I could quietly, cleanly erase the whole situation before it unravels my life. No judgment. No shame. Just a decision. I’d be the only one to know.
But then… would I really forget? Would I ever stop wondering what kind of little human we might’ve made together?
I’ve cared for lizards and snakes before. How different can a baby really be?
Stupid thought. Babies need more than heat lamps and frozen mice. They need everything. Constantly. Forever.
And yet some small, strange part of me wants that. The chaos. The change. The chance to build something lasting. I don’t know what my future looks like. I don’t know what I want it to be.
But I know I’m the one who gets to decide. No one else.
Pushing myself to stand, I wipe the dampness from my cheeks with the back of my hand. This is my life, my decision. I square my shoulders, determination settling within me.
I can handle this.
I will handle this.
Even if I don’t know exactly how yet.