5. Maggie
Chapter five
Maggie
I flopped on the couch after a long day at the Hennicke’s barn. Today was particularly hot, and Jack and I were in the sun all day. We didn’t even get our happy ending before I went home.
Things had felt different between us over the last few weeks. I had worked for Jack for over a month, but we barely hooked up after my first week. He had been acting distant—sexually, of course—since that night he helped me bring my dad home.
I wasn’t sure how much I could look into that.
That night was more intense than I ever expected out of a hookup, even if we were childhood friends.
It shouldn’t have meant anything deep, and we weren’t supposed to be sleeping together while I worked for him, but a few instances in the weeks after just led to the damn thing.
Nonetheless, things were different. I wouldn’t be working for Jack much longer, so I thought it best to avoid bringing it up.
We would be back to distant acquaintances soon enough once I got my hands on a few sponsors.
I was playing in a tournament this week, thanks to Lenz Hennicke, on my way to breaking that glass ceiling.
My dad was out of the house for the evening, so I considered inviting Jack over for some fun, but rolled over at the thought of being in someone else’s presence right now. I was gross and sweaty and in desperate need of a shower.
And food. I was starving . Chinese takeout sounded blissful at the moment.
I reached for my phone to dial my favorite Chinese restaurant, but a pop-up from my cycle-tracking app caught my eye. I tapped the notification, and my stomach dropped at the words on the screen in front of me.
You are seven days late for your cycle.
Blinking a few times, I refreshed the screen to make sure I was seeing things correctly.
Seven days late? That was impossible. For the last eight years, my period had never skipped or been late. I scrolled through the calendar to check my previous cycle, and…yup, I was definitely late.
My feet bounced to the floor to take me to my bathroom, where my birth control box lived, anticipation of the worst case scenario crawling through my veins.
The writing on the box would have an explanation.
Even though I had been on the same pill for six years, there could always be a random side effect that presented itself out of the blue.
Right?
Scanning through the newspaper-sized instructions and warnings from the box did nothing to ease my rushing thoughts or heavy breathing.
How could this have happened? Birth control stopped any chance of getting pregnant.
Well…maybe not every chance. The paper stated that this specific pill was 91% effective.
Which meant there was a 9% chance that one taking said pill could become pregnant after having unprotected sex.
Like, say, if one were in a gift shop where neither party could control themselves.
Holy shit.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
This was not happening.
I was delaying the inevitable: that there was a 9% chance I was carrying a baby that belonged to Jack fucking Hennicke . The man I worked for, the man I could never trust with a child, let alone a whole family. He was a polo player , for God’s sake. No different from my own father.
I dropped the paper and the box to the floor and paced the bathroom, taking breaths so deep I felt them in my stomach.
A few minutes later, I turned on the shower, running steaming hot water over my body, praying it would wash off this terrifying situation.
Who could I go to? Who could I tell? Other than my distant friend, Luciana, I was surrounded entirely by men.
There was no way I could tell her anything, anyway.
She was the type of person to spread news like wildfire, and this was not something I could risk getting out to anyone else. Specifically, Jack Hennicke.
I’m completely alone.
Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths.
My stomach wanted to empty its contents.
My heart wanted to stop pumping.
My uterus wanted to pretend none of this was actually happening.
Holy shit, I might be pregnant.
I needed to take control of the situation before it took me like a tidal wave. I needed to make a plan, but first, I needed to go to the drugstore and buy a pregnancy test.
A half-hour later, I was in the family planning aisle at Walgreens, discreetly trying to figure out which pregnancy test to buy.
I was twenty-two for God’s sake. I didn’t know what brands of tests were the most accurate.
They all said 99% accuracy anyway, and percentages were pissing me off.
I grabbed two different brands and tensely waited in line at the register.
“Next customer, please.” The clerk looked up at me. She was an older woman, maybe in her sixties, with graying black hair, and her presence made my uncomfortable shopping trip feel a little more tolerable. She looked like a mother figure, something I could really use right now.
When I placed my items on the counter, her eyes lit up. “Well, congratulations. Or, pre-congratulations.”
I cleared my throat and attempted a smile. “Thank you. Not sure yet, but we’ll know soon.”
It hit me that, once— if —I became visibly pregnant, people would look at me differently. I would no longer be a professional polo player. My goal of becoming a renowned female in my industry would move to the back burner. Motherhood was going to crush my dreams and leave me in the dust.
My stomach caved at the thought.
She began scanning the items, a soft smile still on her face. “Whatever happens, sweetheart, I wish you the best of luck.”
I thanked her and carried my bag outside into the fresh air, the possibility of the test results hanging heavy in my heart.
I didn’t want or mean for any of this to happen.
I didn’t know how to take care of anyone but myself and a few horses, and I sure as hell had no idea what the rest of my life was going to look like.
The drive home felt empty. I was nowhere near mentally present. My head was going in every which direction about this, creating every scenario possible.
If it came down to it, it would kill me to give my child away. If I found out I was pregnant tonight, I vowed to take responsibility. I wouldn’t put my child through the awful abandonment issues my mother left me with. They would know they were loved.
The worst possibility would have been Jack completely denying that it was his child and leaving me alone to raise it.
Then everything would be on my dad and me, and we surely weren’t financially able to take care of a kid for eighteen years, let alone come up with a college fund.
My heart crumpled at the idea. Having grown up with one parent for most of my life, it pained me to know my child might share the same fate. But Jack wouldn’t do that…would he?
And my dad—he couldn’t help take care of a child. He was busy enough on his own with his sponsors and horses and…alcoholism. Yeah, there was no way I would raise a kid where alcohol was a problem.
I am so fucked.
The best case would be…I didn’t know, Jack helping out?
No matter how perfect it would be, I could not foresee a future with him in any way, and I doubted he would want anything to do with actually raising a kid.
Maybe he would pay child support or visit occasionally, but be a present father?
I would be foolish to think he would step up to that monumental a responsibility.
I pulled into the driveway, thankful my dad still wasn’t home and that I wouldn’t have to face Jack tomorrow since it was Monday, everyone’s day off.
Unlocking the door, I rushed inside to the bathroom to take the pregnancy tests.
Something I never thought I would do…especially alone.
I had no desire to get married or start a family.
Hell, I wasn’t even in the market for a boyfriend.
My career and my dad were the most important things to me—my only priorities.
I couldn’t imagine being pregnant with a husband in my wildest dreams, let alone being pregnant without one.
When the minute of terror was up, I squinted one eye open to look at the results.
Oh my God.
Two pink lines glared before my eyes.
Right on the test I peed on one minute ago.
And next to the two pink lines were two symbols telling which symbol meant what. I already knew what they meant, but I looked anyway: two lines mean pregnant.
Two. Fucking. Life-changing. Lines.
I scrambled for the second pregnancy test and tore it open. Tears threatened to leak from my eyes, but I let anger take over my body. I was shivering. Angry and overwhelmed and terrified.
The second test was a horrible reassurance that yes, I was, in fact, pregnant as fuck.
The thought terrified me more than it did an hour ago.
It rattled every bone in my body down to my core.
It turned my stomach into a rock and sank me to the floor and pulled every sob and breath and tear and every fiber of my being.
My mind was more unstable than a china shelf, about to crash onto the hard tile.
Four hundred million questions ran through my head, but I needed to talk to someone before it exploded into four million pieces. My shaky hand slowly plucked my phone from my pocket and held it to my chest before I could face the screen to turn it on.