Chapter 20 Sloane
SLOANE
Professor Khan's office smells like old books, and the dust is making my eyes water. Or is that the impending sense of doom from the red-marked exam on her desk? Either way, my eyes are leaking.
"Sloane." Her voice is kind, which somehow makes this worse. "I can see you're struggling."
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just need to study more."
"That's not what concerns me." She leans forward, hands folded.
"You've missed three classes in the past two weeks of a six-week summer intensive.
Your assignments have been incomplete. And this exam—" She taps the paper with its damning 47% circled at the top.
"This isn't someone who doesn't understand the material. This is someone who's overwhelmed."
The tears come despite my best efforts. I swipe at them angrily. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. I can retake the exam, or—"
"I'm not trying to punish you." Dr. Khan's expression softens. "I'm trying to help you succeed. Talk to me. What's going on?"
I open my mouth to lie again, to say it's just stress, just adjusting to school. But the words that come out are: "I'm pregnant. With twins. And everything is falling apart."
Dr. Khan doesn't look shocked. She nods slowly, like this explains everything. “Okay, so you have some options for a medical exemption.”
She sits back, studying me. "Sloane, I've seen your work when you're focused—you're bright, capable, passionate about public health. But right now, you seem unable to give this your best effort. What about an incomplete—”
"I can handle it.”
"Can you?" Her tone is gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're drowning. And that's not good for you or your babies."
The truth of her words settles heavily in my chest. I am drowning. Between the pregnancy exhaustion, the nausea, the stress with Tucker, and Mel moving out—I can't keep all the plates spinning.
Dr. Khan continues. "You can withdraw from the class with a medical exemption. No penalty. Or—" She pauses. "You can take an incomplete and finish the coursework in the fall term...”
I spit out a laugh. “In the fall, I’ll have 12 credits and even more appointments.”
“Sloane, I think you need to be realistic about your capacity right now." She slides a form across the desk. "Think about it. You have until Monday to decide. But whatever you choose, please—take care of yourself first. The degree will still be here when you're ready."
I nod, taking the form with shaking hands. How can she possibly know that I’m the first person in my family to go to college at all, and I already interrupted that process once. "Thank you."
"And Sloane?" Dr. Khan waits until I meet her eyes. "Ask for help. Whatever support systems you have—use them. I don’t know your situation, but if you need suggestions, I personally benefited from a support group for Pittsburgh parents of color. Let me know if I can make connections, okay?”
I'm walking out of the building, Dr. Khan's words still echoing in my head, when my phone rings. Josh's name flashes on the screen.
For a moment, I consider not answering. But whatever he has to say, I'd rather hear it now than wonder about it all night.
"Hello?"
"You're pregnant." His voice is cold, clipped. “By Tucker Stag."
My stomach drops. "How did you—"
"How did I find out that my teammate knocked up my ex-wife?" He laughs bitterly. "He said something weird at his brother’s wedding, and then I hired the same chatty decorator he uses. I confronted him while he was crying in the shower like a child."
I stop walking, pressing my phone tighter to my ear. "Josh—"
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to let me find out online?”
"Why would I tell you?" The words come out sharper than intended. "We're divorced. What I do isn't your business anymore."
"It is when it's with someone at my work!” His voice rises. "Do you have any idea what kind of position this puts me in? What people are saying?"
"What are people saying?" Anger flares hot in my chest. "You're worried about gossip? About your reputation?"
"I'm worried about how this looks! My ex-wife, pregnant with my teammate's kid. It looks like you used me, Sloane. Like you were just biding your time until you could trap someone else."
The accusation steals my breath. "Trap someone? Are you serious right now?"
"What else am I supposed to think? You told me you didn't want kids. We agreed—"
"We didn't agree!" I'm shouting now, not caring who hears. "You got a vasectomy without telling me! You made that decision for both of us!"
Silence on the other end of the line. Then: "I did what was best. For my career."
"For YOUR career. Not ours. Yours." My hand moves instinctively to my stomach as I stand shouting in the middle of campus. "You lied to me, Josh. For years. I was a teenager when we first discussed kids.”
"I was protecting our future—"
"You were controlling my future. There's a difference." I take a shaky breath. "And now I'm moving on with my life. And it has nothing to do with you."
"It has everything to do with me when it's with someone on my professional sports team!"
"Then that's your problem to deal with." My voice is steadier now. "Not mine. I didn't plan this. I didn't trap anyone. And I sure as hell don't owe you an explanation."
"I should have figured you’d—" He stops himself.
"Figured what, Josh? Say it."
"Nothing. Forget it."
"No. You started, so finish. What did you assume about me?"
Another pause. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter but no less cutting. "You have no idea how to make things last. You just cut and leave when there’s a disagreement."
The words hit like a city bus. As if what he did was a silly little misunderstanding.
"Fuck you." My voice shakes. "You don't get to know about my life anymore. Not after what you did."
"Sloane—"
“Do not contact me again." I'm crying now, hot, angry tears streaming down my face. "Don't call me. Don't text me. Whatever you need to work out with Tucker, work it out with him. But leave me out of it."
"Wait—"
I hang up, hands shaking so badly I nearly drop the phone. Around me, the university continues its late afternoon bustle—students heading to dinner, professors locking up offices. Everyday life, carrying on while mine implodes.
Part of me—the part that spent five years trying to make Josh happy—wants to apologize for hanging up. To smooth things over, to make it easier for him.
But the rest of me, the part that's carrying two babies and fighting for her future, knows better.
I block his number and shove my phone in my pocket.
Then I pull it back out and open my Uber app. I need to see Tucker. Need to know what happened, what Josh meant about the locker room. Need to see if we're about to face an even bigger disaster than I thought.
I might not want a relationship with Tucker Stag. I no longer get to have casual flings post-divorce. But I’m tied to him, and I want our children to see parents who talk to each other like adults.
The ride to Tucker's building takes 20 minutes through rush-hour traffic.
Twenty minutes of my mind spiraling through worst-case scenarios that continue as the doorman waves me into the lobby.
What if the team kicks Tucker out? What if this ruins his career?
What if Josh makes good on his threat to make everything impossible?
What if I've ruined Tucker's life with my uber-fertile womb?
The thought sits heavy in my chest as I ride the elevator to Tucker's penthouse. The doors open directly into his apartment, and I step out, calling his name.
"Tucker?"
“Huh?” His voice comes out rough and tired.
I follow the sound to find him in the living room, and my heart clenches at the sight.
He's sitting on the couch in sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt, hair disheveled like he's been running his hands through it for hours.
His eyes are red-rimmed, face pale. I see bruises on his cheek, and his knuckles look raw.
He looks destroyed.
Another man is gathering papers from the coffee table—tall, sharply dressed in a suit, looking distinctly unimpressed.
"Oh." I stop in the doorway. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."
"Just leaving." The man straightens, giving Tucker a pointed look. "Brian Klein, Tucker’s agent. You must be Sloane."
"Yes. Hi."
Brian shakes my hand, his grip professional but his expression skeptical. "Well, T-Stag, looks like you've got your hands full. Remember what we discussed—shape up, lean into this family man thing. It's your only play right now."
"I know," Tucker says quietly.
"Do you?" Brian's tone sharpens. "Because you just torched a very lucrative endorsement deal and picked a fight with one of your teammates. The family angle is the only thing that might salvage your reputation."
"It's not an angle," Tucker says, his jaw tight.
"Then start acting like it." Brian nods to me. "Nice meeting you, Sloane. Do not go easy on him. He needs all the help he can get right now."
The older man leaves, the elevator doors closing behind him with a soft chime. The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with everything we need to say and don't know how to start.