ELEVEN
BLAIR
Baby is the size of a championship belt buckle
I’d put off telling Colt for way too long. To be fair, originally, I just wanted to get out of the first trimester, but then I went on his Instagram and he’d posted a picture of him at some rodeo event and he just looked so… happy that I didn’t want to ruin it.
Or rather, I didn’t want to face the potential reality that someone—especially her father—may consider baby bear “bad news,” so I put it off until graduation.
After graduation, I planned to postpone it again, but Chelsey stole my phone and typed the first message to Colt to break the ice and I couldn’t very well just stop talking to him. I wanted my baby to have a father.
But as Stephanie kept reminding me, Colt may very well be stoked to be a dad. Or at the very least, he may step up and help me out financially, which I didn’t want to need, but… well… I did.
Or, my daughter did, at least.
I tried to keep reminding myself of that. I was doing what was best for her . Even if it was scary. Even if it was hard. She didn’t ask to be put into the womb of a broke college foster kid, so the least I could do for her was my absolute best.
Blair
I’m here.
I’d sat in the motel parking lot for as long as I could. We’d planned to meet up before his event to hang out and then ride together to the arena and back afterward, but I’d tried to wait it out so that there wouldn’t be much hanging out time before we had to leave.
As though the universe knows exactly what it’s doing to me, it’s even started to rain while I’ve been in the car.
With a sigh and the knowledge that this would probably be over with soon, I grab the folder of research I’d done and get out of the rental car.
I’d never be able to pay Stephanie and Chelsey back for everything they’d done for me, least of all for putting together the money to rent me this car and the motel room I’d spend tonight in.
Colt’s unlocking the door and jerking it open by the time my feet reach the sidewalk outside his room.
He looks… different. There are bruises under his eyes that make me think he hasn’t slept in weeks, and he has stubble.
Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me.
I’d only seen him in person once, after all.
“Hey,” he says with a breathless grin, dimples popping and lighting up his face despite the haggardness.
My stomach flips unfairly. “Hey. Sorry I’m late. Traffic sucks.”
His eyes flick to the very empty road, but he doesn’t comment.
“Yeah, Fort Worth can be busy,” he says instead amicably, pulling the door open wider to let me pass. His motel room is much cleaner than it was last time, and if my stomach wasn’t in my throat, I’d make a joke. “Want me to take your jacket? ”
I shake my head. The hoodie is the only reason I’m able to pass as not being four months pregnant.
“No, it’s fine. I run cold.”
He nods, though I can see what he’s thinking. It’s June. In Texas. No one runs so cold that they need a hoodie in Texas’ summer humidity, not even at night.
“What’s that?” he asks, gesturing to the folder.
The plan had been to just spew it all out and then leave, but I can’t make the words come.
“Could you, um, maybe sit down?”
I chance a look up at him. His brows are furrowed. “Are you alright? You sorta look like you need to be the one sitting down.” But I’m already shaking my head before he can finish his sentence, and he sits at the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
Thrusting the entire folder into his hands hadn’t been in the plans, but I can’t help it.
“I’m sorry. I swear, I swear I was on birth control and we used a condom and I put copies of my medical records in there, proving that I was on birth control when we met, but I guess it’s not 100% accurate, though it’s like…
almost 100% accurate and between that and the condom, you’d think that would be almost 200% accurate, right?
Like, there’s gotta be some sort of… freaky universal intervention going on here and I don’t believe in God, but jeez, this made a good argument, right? ”
“What?” Colt finally opens the folder and honestly, his confusion makes sense considering I haven’t actually said the words yet, but I guess the sonogram on top says everything he needs to hear because he immediately pales.
“You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to be!
” I’m quick to tell him, picking at the skin around my nails as I watch his face.
“Genuinely, I swear, I’m not after your money—I don’t even know if you have money!
God, that sounded like an insult, I didn’t mean it as an insult, I just meant I’m not some gold digger, okay?
I Googled it and I can just leave the father’s name blank on the birth certificate, you know?
And then, like, she won’t have a father…
legally speaking, and I swear I won’t go after you for child support.
Not ever. I just wanted you to know, but like, no pressure, okay? If you don’t want?—”
“You’re pregnant?” he interrupts me, looking up. His eyes glance down at my hoodie-covered stomach, like he’s trying to picture the bump beneath it, but I still don’t take the jacket off.
“Yeah,” I whisper, more terrified than I’ve ever been, though that seems to be a very common occurrence the past few months.
His phone rings, so shrill it makes both of us jump and he swears, pushing aside the folder in his lap. “I’m coming,” he snaps into the phone, tossing it back onto the bed. I start gathering the folder and the papers that spilled out of it, but he snatches the sonogram again.
“I’m sorry, I just—well, I figured you should know? I’m just gonna go?—”
“Like hell you are,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or not. His voice has gone funny. I’ve learned to keep my head down to avoid situations I don’t want to be in, so that’s what I do, continuing to put all the papers back into the folder.
“There’s also a signed paper in here basically stating I won’t go after child support or put your name on the birth certificate and, well, to be honest, I don’t think it’s legally binding but the intent is there.
I was trying to think of anything I could do to make you believe that I’m not trying to go after your money or trying to force you into anything?—”
“Blair—”
“And I swear to you, I was on birth control. I truly don’t know how this happened, but I included that in there…
I’ve already told you that though, I think.
Oh! And of course, proof that I’m actually pregnant, but obviously there’s no way for me to prove that you’re the father until after the baby’s born and we can do a DNA test, but you are the father.
I meant it when I said I don’t sleep around much and?—”
“Blair, stop it,” Colt says, a bit more stern, taking me by the shoulders and pulling me into a hug. I think he must be able to feel the slight bump of my stomach against his because his embrace loosens a bit, his other hand coming up to pull my hair back from my face. “I believe you.”
I didn’t realize how close I’d been to crying until he’s provided me with a nice warm chest to do it against and the words I’ve needed to hear since I was thirteen. But then his phone rings again and with another curse, the hug is cut short.
“Fuck, I wish I could cancel this shit,” he swears, pulling back again.
I wipe my eyes, thankful I’d opted for waterproof mascara. “Sorry, I can go.”
“No!” he says quickly, a bit too loud. It makes me jolt, and he softens immediately. “No, just—come with me to the arena and I’ll make some excuse with my manager to leave right after my ride. I’ve got… we’ve got a lot to talk about, don’t we?”
“You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to be. It wasn’t my intention to?—”
“I wanna be, mama,” he says, squeezing my hand.
My stomach flips.
Well, hell.