Chapter 19 #2
The boys snicker as Chase continues. “Storm table was stacked that night. Hutchy, me, Jake… and Viktor drooling over the physio.”
“I was not drooling,” Viktor mutters. “I wasn’t even damp.”
Logan nearly spits out his drink, choking on a laugh.
“Maybe I am evolving,” Viktor says mildly, then takes another sip of his own drink.
“Heidi’s cool,” I say. “A hardass, but she knows her shit.”
Viktor flicks his gaze toward me. “She is very competent.”
Chase lets out another bark of laughter. “Yeah, I bet that’s what you’re into.”
“That’s Dr. Doom’s friend, right?” Logan nods toward me, wagging his eyebrows. “You know, your favorite surgeon?”
I don’t rise to the bait, just take a pull of my own beer and meet his eyes evenly. They have no idea we’ve had a thing for months.
“Didn’t know you were so interested in my injury support team.”
“Not interested,” he says, still grinning. “Just observant.”
Jake chuckles. “You did call her Dr. Doom there for a few weeks.”
I don’t answer, keeping my expression neutral because yeah, I did used to call her Dr. Doom.
Now, I’ve had her legs over my shoulders, her laugh in my mouth, and her body wrapped around mine so tightly, I’m not sure I’ll ever come back from it.
And now she’s growing my baby.
She’s the first person I think of when I wake up.
The voice I replay when I can’t sleep. The reason I already know I’m about to head up to my hotel room once I finish this drink.
Because now I’m thinking about the way she looked yesterday morning before I left—barefoot and sleep-ruffled, curling her hands around a mug of coffee and smiling right at me.
I’d brushed the hair off her face and kissed her goodbye, then leaned down further to place one soft kiss on her stomach. It’s only been a couple weeks since she told me, but I’m spending every chance I get with her.
The banter rolls on, but I’m only half-listening.
Eli orders a bourbon. Jake jokes that he needs to retire and open a damn farm. Logan is halfway through a story about Meadow sticking googly eyes on the TV when he and Lulu babysat.
I just watch quietly, beer in hand and leaning back against the booth. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance down.
Havoc: I’m home—got time for a call?
Everything else fades. I down the rest of my drink and stand, clapping Jake on the shoulder and nodding to the boys.
“Night.”
They don’t question it. I’m not the guy who stays for round two anyway. But I feel their eyes track me as I head to the elevators. They probably think I’m quiet because of the game, and maybe part of me is.
But most of me just needs to hear her voice.
The hallway is quiet by the time I reach my room. I close the door behind me, drop onto the edge of the bed, and hit video call.
She answers after a few rings. Curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, make-up off and hoodie on, eyes tired. The light behind her is soft, and I soak her in like a sponge.
“Hey,” she says softly, eyes scanning. “You look like shit.”
I huff a low breath and lean back against the headboard. “Feel it too.”
“You okay?”
I shrug. “We lost.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, adjusting her blanket. “I saw the highlights when I got out of work. I’m so sorry, Reid.”
I nod, but she’s still watching me, as though she’s holding something back.
“What?”
She hesitates, looks down, and clears her throat. “You don’t think… what I told you had an impact?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Don’t even go there.”
That insinuation hits me harder than the rebound that ended the game.
“I just hate to think I’ve distracted you,” she says quietly. “And I just—”
“Carina.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean to as I lean forward. “You told me I’m going to be a dad. That doesn’t distract me; it grounds me. Don’t ever think this is something I’ll regret.”
She goes still, face softening. “Okay.”
Exhaling, I settle back against the headboard, watching as she tucks her knees up tighter under the blanket.
“I’ve scheduled a check-up scan.”
I stiffen a little. “Yeah?”
“Just an early one,” she says. “It’s not the twelve-week scan, that’s still a few weeks off, but I’ve seen too many missed ectopics and failed pregnancies to wait that long. I just… I need to know everything’s where it should be.”
“Can I come?”
She blinks. “You want to?”
Want to. Christ.
“I’m not missing a second of this, Havoc.”
“Okay.” Her mouth twitches, just slightly. “It’s next Friday morning. I’ll text you the time.”
Something gnaws at me because I don’t want her texting me important things.
I want her to be telling me—in person. While we’re lying in bed, or when she gets home from work.
While I’m massaging her shoulders on the couch.
Over breakfast in the morning. When I kiss her goodbye before her shifts or my away games, and tell her how proud I am of her. After I point out a rainbow in the sky.
But while she’s still uncertain about us, I’ll take her any way I can get her, even through a screen.
She tucks the blanket tighter around her middle, and my eyes linger there. I clear my throat.
“I, uh… sent you a package.”
Her head tilts. “A package?”
“Just some stuff I looked up.” I rub the back of my neck. “Supplements. Crackers. Magnesium balm and ginger chews—”
“You got me crackers?”
“Saw them in your office. Figured they’d be a good snack filler. Should all get there tomorrow.”
She stares at me, then lets out a breathy sort of laugh. “Jesus, Hutchison. Are you keeping a log?”
“No,” I say. “Just paying attention.”
And keeping my notes app filled with everything I remember you like and don’t like.
Carina is staring now, her mouth open slightly, looking as though she doesn’t know whether to laugh or kiss the phone.
“I know you’re a doctor,” I say quickly. “You probably know everything already. I just… I didn’t want you to have to think about it. In case you forgot to eat, or got sick.”
She’s still staring, and I swear I see a sheen in her eyes.
“You sent me ginger chews?”
“They’re mango flavored,” I murmur. “Supposed to be the least disgusting ones.”
“That’s outrageously thoughtful.”
I shrug. “I just wanted to help.”
She goes quiet again, and I can tell she’s trying not to get emotional, which means I don’t say anything else.
“Thank you, Reid.”
Something tells me she’s not used to being looked after like this, but that’s just who I am.
I look after the people I love.
“How are you feeling?” I shift the camera so I can lie back fully, settling into the pillows with a sigh. “Any nausea today?”
“A little.” She pauses. “Better now.”
“Resting enough?”
She shrugs, but it’s not defensive.
“Eat anything?”
“Yeah.” She plays with the sleeve of her hoodie. “Didn’t have surgery tonight, so I got to eat actual food at a normal hour. Felt like a miracle.”
I smile, playing with the edge of my blanket “What’d you eat?”
“Don’t laugh,” she warns, which is already a bad sign. “Rice. And cucumber. Like… an entire cucumber.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, there was sesame oil involved, too. It was a whole thing.” She lifts her chin like I should be impressed. “Very balanced.”
I can’t help it, I laugh, and she smiles like it’s the best thing she’s done all day.
“What about water?”
She holds up a glass. “You want my full hydration chart?”
I smirk, but the protective part of me doesn’t ease.
“You can lean on me, you know,” I say quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She doesn’t answer right away, just watches her thumb brush along the edge of her glass, then she meets my gaze again.
“I’m trying.”
And that’s more than enough for now.
She shifts, looking away. I know that expression on her face, that there’s more to say, but she doesn’t know how.
“What else, Havoc?”
Her legs adjust under her. “So, apparently estrogen spikes throughout pregnancy.”
“Yeah? That a hormone?”
She swallows with a nod. “It’s like… a common thing. Increased levels can spike my, uhh, my feelings. And… my needs.”
I freeze, and she blushes slightly. Fucking blushes.
“Don’t look at me like that, I just—it’s making me really, uhh…”
“Horny?”
She groans and hides behind her hand. “Yes. That.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence in which every molecule in my body lights up like a fuse.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “So do I book the next flight right now or just suffer in silence?”
Her laugh is instant. Bright and shocked and real. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“Reid—”
“Fine, I’ll behave. But if you call me like this again and tell me you’ve been climbing the walls thinking about riding my—”
“Hutchison.”
I grin, smug and wrecked and absolutely not sorry.
“You started it,” I say. “I’m just trying to be supportive of your needs.”
She rolls her eyes as she makes her way through to her bedroom, but doesn’t argue, and we sit there, staring at each other through the screen for a beat. I want to reach through the fucking pixels and pull her into me. Kiss her temple. Fall asleep with her head on my chest.
“When do we—you—wanna start telling people?”
She sighs as she considers the question.
“I’m not telling Moreno yet. It’s still early, and the second people find out, they’ll stop giving me real cases.
That’s what happens—they act like they’re being helpful by handing me easier procedures, but it’s not really kindness.
It’s this unspoken assumption that a pregnant woman can’t keep up. ”
“I get it,” I say. “You want to prove you still belong.”
“I do belong.”
“You do.”
“And then there’s the issue of me being your surgeon.” She lets out a breath. “But I think I want to tell Heidi.”
“Good,” I say. “You should have someone you can trust.”
That earns a soft smile. “What about you?”
“I don’t need to tell anyone yet if you’re not ready to, but if you’re okay with it… I would like to tell a couple of the boys—the ones you’ve already met—that we’re…”
Together? Dating?
“Having a baby?”
I exhale. “Yeah, if that’s okay? They’re trustworthy, they’re like my brothers, and I—”
“I trust you, Reid. So if you trust them, then there’s no problem.”
Warmth fills my bones, followed by a pause. Then I ask the one thing that’s been playing on my mind, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“You wanna come to Sunday brunch next week?”
“Sunday what?”
“Brunch. With the crew. Jake, Chase, Logan, Eli, and their families… I’m hosting.”
“Oh.” She hesitates. “I don’t know…”
“It’s chaos,” I warn her. “Chase will be there, and so will Gremlin, which tells you all you need to know. But at least you’ll get a front row seat to his demise.”
Her hair swishes as she shakes her head with a smile.
“Can I think on it?”
“Of course.”
The screen softens as she shifts onto her side, one arm tucked under her head.
“You look tired, baby.”
“I am.” She yawns. “You should sleep, too.”
“You first,” I murmur.
She smiles, small and sleepy. “Okay.”
The screen stays on even after her eyes drift shut, and I don’t hang up. Just lie there with the soft sound of her breath through the screen and my heart thudding in my chest.
I don’t know what the hell this is turning into, but I know one thing with bone-deep certainty.
I’m already gone.
Gone for this girl in a hoodie with cucumber rice and tired eyes, growing my baby the size of a blueberry, who has cracked my chest wide open.