Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hailey
Switching Up the Play
If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be living with Leif Crawford—New York Vipers’ latest trade acquisition, part-time menace, and full-time enigma—I would have laughed in their face.
Actually, no. I would have choked on my oat milk turmeric latte—it’s good for the baby, okay?—then told them to get checked for a head injury.
Because this? This domestic, vaguely couple-ish situation where I walk around his pristine penthouse wearing his old hoodies, while he monitors my hydration levels like a sentient water bottle? Where George, the angelic, culinary wizard he employs, ensures I’m eating healthy, and Leif has apparently taken it upon himself to manage my libido?
I’m not complaining about the latter one, I enjoy it very much. Best sex ever. No seriously, it is really good sex. Okay, it’s more like oral sex and the guy playing with my toys. I’ve yet to beg him for his cock, but every time I think we’re close to that I end up falling asleep. That’s a problem for another time.
This situation is obviouslynot exactly what I envisioned when I saw the two pink lines on that pregnancy test.
At some point, I need to remind him that this was not part of the plan. Of course, it’s hard to argue when I didn’t actually have a plan. My strategy was more of a doom spiral where I imagined myself raising this baby alone, surviving on dry cereal and existential dread.
Instead, I have this.
Leif, who’s somehow both my best friend and the reason I can’t think straight half the time. Who refuses to date me properly until I “fix my underlying issues,” whatever that means. Like I’m some kind of glitchy software that needs debugging before he’s willing to fully commit.
Not that he isn’t committed. It’s painfully obvious that he is—has been, for a long time. Something I don’t entirely understand, and yes, I am working through it with my therapist, thank you very much.
It’s not that I don’t love him. It’s more like . . . why can’t I trust love? Why can’t I believe that someone could love me without eventually deciding I’m too much work or too much of a disappointment?
So while I sort through that, I’m also trying to figure out my career, because as much as I love my job, hauling a baby around the world isn’t exactly practical when I’m only in one place for a few months at a time. So what if I have to adjust my five-year plan? It’s fine. Totally fine.
Which is exactly what I tell myself as I sit curled up on Leif’s obscenely expensive couch, flipping through a pregnancy book. The baby—currently the size of an avocado, which somehow makes them sound adorable and small—hasn’t moved yet.
According to this book, it should happen any day now.
Am I anxious about it? Absolutely. But Leif keeps telling me to be patient. Something about his youngest brother, Greyson, being a late bloomer. As if that’s the same thing. As if my baby refusing to kick isn’t just another thing to overthink at two a.m.
Across the room, Leif is in the kitchen, which should be alarming but isn’t. He’s just fixing a mid-morning snack, assembling something with the quiet focus of a man who takes even cheese distribution seriously.
Leif sets the plate down on the coffee table: apple slices, cheese, some kind of fancy nut situation.
“Eat,” he says, dropping into the armchair across from me, all long limbs and controlled exasperation.
I eye the plate. “I literally just had breakfast a couple of hours ago.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And I don’t need a second breakfast.”
His gaze flicks to my stomach, then back up. He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw twitches in that Leif way that means, You think you have a say in this, but I’m about to win this argument anyway.
I huff and grab an apple slice. “You’re bossy.”
He leans back, stretching out those absurdly long legs, completely unbothered. “You’re bad at self-preservation. I still don’t know how you survived in the wild with these habits.”
I mutter something about overbearing goalies, but the truth is, he’s right. I do need to eat more. Not because I’m hungry, but because I’m growing a person. And Leif? He keeps track of everything I can tolerate. I’m not puking anymore, but nausea still lingers, making food a complicated enemy.
It terrifies me, how well he takes care of me.
Okay, a lot.
Because what happens if I let myself need him, really need him, and then one day, he decides it’s too much? That I’m too much? That he doesn’t love me the way he thinks he does?
I pick at the cheese, stomach twisting in a way that has nothing to do with nausea. Leif watches me with that quiet, intense focus of his, the kind that makes me feel like he sees things I haven’t even admitted to myself.
I hate it. I hate how effortless he makes this look—being here, being all in.
He doesn’t hesitate. Not once.
“Any plans for tomorrow?” he asks, voice low and lazy.
I shrug. “Avoid my sister.” I pause and sigh. She saw me the other day on the train. I was with Leif and she texted me something like ‘bitch how dare you, you haven’t contacted me.’ My answer was silence. I’m not ready to tell her—or the family—that I’m pregnant. They’ll be even more pissed if they learn that the Crawfords have known for a while. See, it’s best if I avoid her. “And of course, pretend to answer work emails, maybe spiral about the fact that I don’t know what my life looks like in six months.”
His mouth twitches. “Sounds productive.”
I narrow my eyes. “Some of us don’t have neatly scheduled lives, Mr. Professional Athlete With a Regimented Existence.”
“Neatly scheduled,” he repeats, amused. “You’ve seen my life, right?”
I have. I’ve seen him juggle press, training, sponsorship obligations. Valentina, who is his PR, has him doing some promotional stuff. Then there’s his agent sending him to several places for photoshoots and even commercials. He has to get all that done before next week when he’s finally back on the ice—not that he’s taken a long break from it. The couple of times we’ve been at his parents’ he ends up practicing some drills with them.
Kaden has been here in New York a few times and they’ve rented a rink just to skate and see who defeats whom. Those are the times where Val and I hang out. She’s taken me window shopping for baby clothes. I’m not ready to buy anything yet though. It feels a little overwhelming. Maybe by the time I hit twenty-five weeks I will start focusing on what the little one will need.
And then there are the times he just stays, next to me, as if whatever’s going on in my head isn’t too much for him.
As if I’m not too much for him.
The baby book rests on my lap, my fingers still idly flipping through it when suddenly . . . I freeze.
It’s subtle at first, a fluttery, almost bubbly sensation right beneath my skin. I shift, adjusting my position, and there it is again. A tiny, unmistakable movement.
My breath catches, and for a second, I just sit there, hands splayed over my stomach, trying to process it.
Leif notices instantly. “What? Are you okay?”
“I think—” My voice hitches. “I think the baby just kicked.”
His entire body goes still.
The amusement from earlier vanishes, replaced by something softer, brighter. Like he’s afraid to hope but desperate to believe me.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, pressing his hand against my stomach. “Wait. Just?—”
And then it happens again.
Leif inhales sharply, his breath catching like he wasn’t ready for it, like this moment is bigger than either of us anticipated. His palm spreads over my skin, fingers curling slightly, as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling.
And for a guy who’s usually all sarcasm and calm down, Hailey, he looks shaken.
His throat bobs. “That’s?—”
“The baby,” I whisper.
“Our baby is finally moving,” he states, swallowing again, and then drags me into his lap, burying his face in my neck, his arms locking around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “Hey there, little one.”
I exhale against him, pressing my cheek to his. My throat tightens. I don’t know why this feels so big.
The baby kicks again, and Leif smiles. Not the smirk he gives reporters, not the teasing grin he throws at his teammates. Not even the one he delivers when he’s being a stubborn cocky goalie. Nope. This is his real smile. The one he only gives me, but this time is for the baby, maybe for us.