Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
I wonder if it knows what it’s reaching for?
Reid
The weight hits the rack with a sharp metallic clank, echoing through the mostly empty gym.
Off-season means quiet mornings with less noise and fewer distractions. There’s just a handful of regulars this morning—Jack, the MMA guy in the corner, and two basketball rookies shooting the shit by the stretching mats.
I don’t have games to prep for, but my body doesn’t know the difference. It needs the rhythm and the sweat and the burn. Something I can control more than the voice in my head that doesn’t shut up anymore.
I swipe my towel across the back of my neck and glance toward the clock on the wall. It’s early—the way I like it best.
Carina’s still at the hospital most nights, still working late and skipping breaks, pretending the shadows under her eyes are just bad lighting and not the fact that she’s growing a whole damn person while assisting back-to-back surgeries.
I’m seeing her almost daily, but it’s never enough. She drops by after shifts, or I bring her food when she’s too tired to argue. She falls asleep before she can even finish her tea.
Sometimes, I rub magnesium balm into her calves and listen to her talk in half sentences, then kiss the top of her head when she finally lets herself go quiet.
Sometimes, she falls asleep with her head against my chest, the smallest smile tugging at her mouth when I stroke her hair the way she likes.
She hasn’t told anyone else about the baby yet—not beyond Heidi and Moreno. Says she’s not ready for questions. I told her I’d wait too, but it’s getting harder to keep it in. Not because I want to make it public, but because my world’s already shifted.
I don’t ask for more, even though I want to. But I won’t.
Not when she’s balancing work, exhaustion, and the fact that every morning, she wakes up a little more pregnant. The way her hand slides to her belly now without thinking, the way her eyes soften when I mention November, like it’s starting to feel real.
I rack the weights and flex my knee out of habit. No pain or tightness anymore, just the usual pull of muscle. I’m reaching for my water bottle when I hear them.
Jake’s voice booms first.
“There he is! Hutchy the Hermit, alive and lifting.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, taking a sip of water. “You’re late.”
“Late implies I agreed to be here at this ungodly hour,” he shoots back.
Chase trails behind him, earbuds already in and mouth curved in a smirk. “Didn’t realize we were visiting the crypt keeper today. You sure you don’t need a mobility scooter to get to the squat rack, Grandpa?”
I give him a look. “Touch my rack, and I’ll break your wrist.”
“Ooooh,” Chase says, faking a shiver. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Can’t relate,” I deadpan, then toss the towel at him.
They slot in beside me easily. Jake loads a set and starts his reps with the ease of someone who hasn’t missed a gym day in five years. Chase leans against the bar, pretending he’s contributing.
“You still seeing Dr. Doom?” Jake asks.
I nod once.
Chase raises his eyebrows. “You mean fucking her?”
Jake rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Walton.”
“What? It’s a valid clarification.”
“She’s not just—” I stop, then wipe my palms, and grip the bar again.
Jake straightens from his reps, and Chase’s smirk falters. Both of them clock it instantly, because I don’t normally hesitate.
“She’s pregnant.”
Jake freezes mid-curl, and the silence that follows is so immediate, I could cut tape with it.
“Wait, what?”
Chase gapes. “What the fuck?”
I steadily glance between them.“She’s pregnant. With my baby. We found out a couple months ago.”
“Holy fuck,” Jake mutters, sitting up. “You’re gonna be a dad?”
My heart’s thudding a little harder than it should be. “Yup.”
“Holy shit,” breathes Chase.
Jake leans forward. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, no. I mean… I’m better than I’ve ever been and also terrified out of my goddamn mind. She’s not calling it a relationship yet; she’s not ready. Her work’s intense, and she’s tired, and it’s all a lot, but I’m here. I’m staying. I want this.”
I scrub a hand down my face and let out a slow breath.
Jake nods, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he lurches up and grabs the next set of plates, setting them down with more care than usual. “That’s big, man.”
“You think she wants a relationship with you?” Chase asks.
I shrug, but the truth cracks through anyway.
“She’s busy—like insane hours, no room to think.
So I’ve been trying to prep behind the scenes to show how we could do it.
I’ve read everything I can and downloaded some apps.
Ordered a few things. But I’ve got a folder on my phone full of baby gear I haven’t bought yet. ”
Chase blinks. “What kind of things?”
“Crib. Baby carrier. Nightlight that looks like a fucking fox.”
Jake huffs a laugh, but there’s warmth behind it. “Jesus, Hutch.”
“She doesn’t want to think that far ahead yet, and I get it. But I do, so I’m just… waiting.”
“Waiting’s hard, but worth it.” Jake leans back against the bench press and eyes me. “And Carina is awesome… You love her?”
“Yeah,” I say without thinking. “I do.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then grins. “Fuck, you’re so screwed.”
Chase claps a solid hand on my shoulder. “That kid’s already lucky as hell.”
And for a second, I actually believe it.
Jake lifts a brow between sets. “You told Harry yet?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. Was gonna go see him today, though.”
“Wooo.” Chase gives a low whistle. “Shit’s about to get real!”
“It already is,” I mutter, but he’s already back to his next rep.
After the gym, I sit in my truck a few extra minutes, letting the air cool my skin and the adrenaline fade. My shirt’s damp despite my shower, and the sun’s inching higher.
I hadn’t planned to tell them today, not this morning. Not like that. But it’s out now, and Jake is one of the biggest gossips in our group, so no doubt everyone will know sooner or later.
Unlocking my phone, I scroll to the text thread that’s somehow become the most important one in my life.
Me: Told the boys this morning
Havoc: Oh yeah? Just casually dropped it in between sets?
Me: Chase asked me if I was “still fucking Dr Doom” so it felt like the right time to clarify
Havoc: Jesus. Probably for the best then. They okay about it?
Me: They were shocked and really fucking happy
Havoc: I’m glad. You’ll be an amazing dad.
I stare at that for a second longer than I mean to, then shift in my seat.
Me: Thinking I might tell Harry today, too. If that’s okay with you.
It’s Sunday, and I usually swing by late morning, bring him coffee, and sit under the shade while he tends to his ridiculous tomatoes and tells me about them as though they have personalities.
The dots reappear quickly.
Havoc: Of course. If you want to, you should.
Havoc: I hope he’s nice.
I smile, the first real one all day.
Me: He’s sharp and nosy and has opinions about soil pH. You’d love him.
Havoc: So basically you, but older and wrinklier.
Me: Exactly. Can I see you later? When you’re finished?
Havoc: Should be home around 7pm. Can you bring some honey?
Me: Only if you let me run you a bath and eat a proper meal
Havoc: See? Dadding already
Me: See you tonight, Havoc
I tuck my phone away and shift into gear.
When I arrive, Harry’s front yard is a riot of lavender, lemon balm, pink lupines, and whatever else he’s thrown into the dirt this month. Nothing symmetrical, and all of it thriving.
He’s in the backyard when I let myself through the side gate, bent over one of the raised beds with a trowel in one hand, wearing his wide-brimmed hat and the same faded Storm shirt he’s had since my rookie season.
“Morning,” I call.
He grunts without looking up. “You’re late.”
“It’s ten-thirty.”
“And I’m eighty-three. I’ve already had two arguments with the newspaper and a productive conversation with my basil. What’s your excuse?”
I huff a laugh and grab the second pair of gloves off the bench. “What’s the plan? We mulching? Weeding? Arguing over the state of your knees?”
He leans back on his heels and finally looks at me, squinting. “Mulching. And you can shut your mouth about my knees. They’ve got more years in them than that overpaid goalie leg of yours.”
We fall into rhythm—him directing, me hauling. The scent of compost and rosemary fills the air, and bees drift lazily through the lavender he planted along the back fence next to the treehouse.
He lets me work for a while before he speaks again.
“You look tired,” he says.
“Been training.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The trowel in my hand pauses halfway in the soil. He always sees more than I want him to.
He wipes his forehead with the back of his shaky wrist. “You seeing someone?”
I pause, lifting my head from the soil slowly, until my gaze lands on the treehouse.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And…” I look back down and keep trowling. “It’s serious.”
Harry nods once like he’s known the whole damn time. “She good to you?”
“Yeah, and she’s brilliant. Driven, incredibly successful… and exhausted.”
He narrows his eyes, sensing the weight beneath the words. “Exhausted?”
I take a breath. “She’s pregnant.”
That finally stops him, and I turn just in time to see the blue eyes I inherited widen for a moment.
“No shit.”
I let out a rough laugh. “No shit.”
He pushes himself up slowly, leaning on the trowel. “Is it yours?”
I give him a look.
“Just covering the bases,” he mutters, dusting his hands on his shorts, then eyeing me for a long beat. “You never brought girls round when you were young.”
“She’s not just a girl,” I say. “She’s… I don’t know. She’s it.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” His face folds into something gentler. “You happy?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
There’s a long pause, and the wind shifts through the leaves overhead. It rustles in the tomatoes and flutters the ivy leaves on the treehouse. I reach for the watering can to distract myself, but he doesn’t let me.
“When do I get to meet her?”
My mouth opens to answer, then closes.
Grandpa leans against the trellis, watching me carefully. “I assume I get to meet the woman who made you look this stupidly in love.”
I laugh and pick up the watering can.
“I haven’t told many people yet,” I say. “She’s still figuring things out. She’s private.”
He tilts his head. “She know you’re telling me?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“She said she hopes you’re nice.”
Harry’s smile is soft and a little crooked.
“I like her already.” He nods solemnly. “And I’ll behave.”
“No you won’t.”
“I’ll fake it. For five minutes.”
“That’s generous.”
He grins. “She’ll like me.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath and smile. “I think she definitely will.”
He shrugs. “Of course she will. I’ve got better hair than you.”
I shake my head and go back to watering, but I can’t stop the grin tugging at my mouth. Because for the first time in weeks, things feel solid beneath my feet.
And when I glance back one last time at the ivy winding up toward the treehouse roof, I wonder if it knows what it’s reaching for.
Because I do.