Honest Boys Play for Keeps

1. Luke

LUKE

The chill of winter still clings to the air as I let myself into the coffee shop located off campus.

I’ve never been here before and I’m not sure why Bertie asked me to meet here of all places.

She’s being weird. Weirder than normal at least. I thought after spending the holidays together that we were …

I don’t know, friends that are potentially exploring more?

But over the past couple of weeks, she’s been dodgy.

Not ignoring me altogether but acting strange to say the least.

I’m not sure if she doesn’t want to see me anymore and doesn’t want to hurt me or what. I feel like it’s more than that, but I can’t put my finger on what it could be.

Spotting her in the back of the shop, I wave and she gives a soft, almost scared smile in return.

Huh. Odd.

My concern only deepens.

I step into line to order coffee and a muffin.

With that look she gave me I’d like to skip it altogether, but I’m starving and need to eat something before I pass out.

I skipped breakfast, because I woke up late.

I woke up late because I was up obsessing over Bertie’s text to meet here to talk.

And then I had to go straight to practice where I burned an insane number of calories before coming here.

The muffin will hardly be enough, but it’s better than nothing.

I take a deep breath as I move up in line.

My thoughts are spiraling, an unfortunate habit with my OCD, especially when I’m stressed or worried. It’s safe to say I’m both.

When it’s finally my turn to give my order, I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin.

I eye Bertie in the corner when I move over to wait at the counter. She taps her fingers against her cup, her eyes glued out the window to the street beyond. She looks paler than normal, her eyes a little hollow. Is she sick?

Fuck, what if it’s something serious? What if she has cancer or some other disease and she’s going to die?

By the time my order is ready, I’m not sure I can even eat. I grab my drink and muffin and set them on Bertie’s table. Pulling out the chair, I sit down across from her and yank off my beanie.

“Hey,” I say, my eyes raking over her now that I can study her more closely. “Is everything okay?”

“Hi,” she replies, her smile faltering.

My brows furrow when she doesn’t address my question.

“What’s up?” I ask, eyeing my muffin. Despite the fact I need to eat, I find that the last thing I want is this stupid muffin I just bought. Cardboard might be more appealing. At least it would give me something to nervously gnaw on.

Bertie tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and looks out the window. She exhales a shaky breath, and trembling fingers wrap around her cup. My eyes zero in on her nails. The pink shade is chipped, which is odd because they’re always freshly done.

She wets her lips with her tongue. “Y-You remember our night together during Christmas break?” She bites her lip, and her gaze holds mine for barely a millisecond before it drops to the table.

“Of course I remember,” I laugh in surprise.

Does she think I could possibly forget what it felt like to have her again?

We hooked up our freshman year before she started dating a major douchebag named Tommy.

While we went our separate ways, I never forgot her.

There’s something about Bertie that’s drawn me in from the start.

Not only because she’s beautiful, but because it seems like there’s much more to her than is on the surface. “What does that have to do with—”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, tears pooling in her eyes.

She’s…what?

“Pregnant?”

“Yeah.” She sniffles. “I’m almost fourteen weeks now.

And I know what you’re probably thinking, the dates don’t line up, but they said they count the weeks based on your last period and …

the whole thing hurts my brain to be honest, but yeah, I’m pregnant.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, really fucking sorry, but I…

” She forces herself to meet my eyes. “I needed to time to wrap my head around this and sort through my own feelings.” She bites her lip and in a choked voice says, “I’m scared. ”

I lean back in my chair and scrub a hand over my jaw.

Pregnant?

When she asked me to meet her here that wasn’t at all what I was expecting to hear.

“You’re having a baby?” I ask like somehow framing the question in a different way will result in a different answer. “We’re having a baby?”

She nods and I can’t help but notice the shadows beneath her eyes that even her makeup can’t hide.

It looks like she’s barely been sleeping.

“Yeah, we are. Can I have a bite of that?” She points to my muffin and I nod.

She rips off a piece and pops it in her mouth.

“I haven’t been eating much,” she admits.

“Morning sickness is a bitch. The other morning, I threw up just from brushing my teeth.”

My mind is a cyclone of whirling thoughts just waiting to touchdown, but I choose to focus on what she said last. It seems easier than trying to sort through my tumultuous thoughts. “But other than that, you’re feeling, okay?” I ask, hoping she can’t hear the tremble in my voice.

I don’t want her to think that this news is scary to me. It’s shocking, sure, but not scary in the way one might think. This wasn’t planned, but I’ve always wanted to be a dad, and I have no doubts that Bertie would be a great mom. Is this ideal? Obviously not. But we’ll figure it out.

“I guess,” she sighs, her eyes shifting around the coffee shop. “Just scared.” She tugs on the sleeves of her Aldridge University sweatshirt. “I want you to know I … uh … I don’t expect anything from you.”

My brows knit in confusion. “Huh?”

She flushes. “I just mean, if you don’t want to be involved with the baby, I get it. I … this is my choice to keep the baby, and I think you should have a choice too.”

I blink at her, at a complete loss for words. I understand what she’s saying, and where she’s coming from, but it never even crossed my mind when the words I’m pregnant left her mouth that I would run from this.

I shake my head. “Bertie.” I clear my throat and reach across the table to lace our fingers together. She blinks down at our joined hands in surprise. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“I know we didn’t plan for this, but I’m in this with you.”

She inhales a shaky breath. “Good. That’s … good.” Her lower lip wobbles. “Thank you.”

I don’t know exactly what she’s thanking me for. I know a lot of guys can be epic douchebags about this kind of thing, but Bertie didn’t make this baby by herself. I’m just as responsible.

Her eyes widen in horror, and I wonder what I’ve possibly managed to fuck up in the last two seconds.

“Oh no.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth and shoves the chair back. I nearly dislocate my neck, tracking her as she runs through the coffee shop to the restrooms.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, shoving back my own chair. I grab her abandoned purse and sling it over my shoulder before I run after her.

There are only two shared restrooms in the coffee shop and thankfully she didn’t bother to lock the door on the one she chose.

I open it to find her heaving over the toilet and barely holding her hair back.

Seeing her like this feels like a punch to the chest. This is my fault. If only I had kept my dick to myself and been a gentleman like I had planned. But no, I am putty in the hands of Bertie and I’m not sure she even realizes it.

She shudders when my fingertips graze her bare neck, carefully tucking every visible strand of her hair into my fist.

“I’m so sorry.” I rub her back.

She gags again. “I should’ve known better than to try to eat that muffin. Everything makes me sick.”

I struggle to find any words of comfort. After all, this is my fault.

Finally, I settle on, “My mom had really bad morning sickness with me. Maybe she has some advice.”

Bertie lets out a low wail. “Oh, God. We have to tell your mom. I love your mom and now she’s going to hate me.”

I press my lips together, holding in my snicker. “She’s not going to hate you.”

“Yes, she is.” Actual tears wet her face. “I’m ruining your life. We’re ruining your life.” She presses a hand to her flat stomach. “You’re headed to the NHL, Luke.”

Her words have anger rising up inside me. Not at her, but that she’d possibly think that.

“You and this baby are not ruining my life, Bertie. Don’t say that.”

She doesn’t reply, instead she dry heaves over the toilet again.

“I don’t think anything is left in my stomach,” she says and moves to stand. I grab her hands and haul her up, so she doesn’t have to do all the work herself.

Her eyes don’t quite want to meet mine. Instead, they keep darting around the small bathroom. Fixating on the broken floor tile in the corner. On the stickers plastered to the mirror. The hand towels threatening to fall out of the dispenser.

She brushes past me and washes her hands before digging in her pocket. She pulls out a mini disposable toothbrush.

“Yeah,” she says at my inquiring look. “I’ve taken to stuffing these in my pockets before I leave my dorm.” She rips open the packet. “Being pregnant is not for the weak.”

I swear she goes a little green when she says the word pregnant.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” she says after she’s cleaned her teeth.

“Bertie.” My voice comes out gruffer than I intend. “Stop apologizing. This isn’t your fault.”

She inhales a shaky breath and then her bottom lip trembles. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what could possibly have her so terrified.

She laughs, but there’s not an ounce of humor in the sound.

“Of being pregnant. A mom? What if I suck at this? I mean, I always thought I would be a mom someday, and now that this day is here, I’m just …

worried, I guess. Raising a human is a tall order, and let’s be real, there are a lot of shitty parents out there.

I don’t want to be one of those.” She presses a hand to her head. “I’m giving myself a headache.”

I stand there, frozen and speechless, because this is new territory for me and I have no clue what to tell her to make her feel better. I’d like to wrap my arms around her and give her a hug, but I’m not sure she’d want that either, so my arms hang listlessly at my sides.

“Are you scared?” Her big blue eyes stare up at me like she’s searching for answers on my face.

“I think it’s still too new for me to be scared,” I admit softly.

She nods, letting out a sigh. “I haven’t told my parents yet.” Her face contorts like she’s sucked on a sour lemon. “That’s probably not going to go over well.”

“We’ll tell them together.”

Shock registers on her face. “Seriously?”

“I’m not going to make you do that by yourself.”

“What about your mom?”

I shove my hands in my pockets. “You’ve met my mom. She won’t make a big deal out of it. I’m fine telling her on my own if you don’t want to.”

She turns to her reflection in the mirror and pulls something else out of her pocket. Lip gloss.

“Let’s tell her together. It’ll be good practice for me before we tell mine.”

“Are you sure?”

She smooths her hair back and jerks her chin up with determination. “Absolutely. When do you want to tell her?”

I pretend to think it over even though I already know. “Today.”

Her mouth pops open in a comical way. I’d laugh if I didn’t think she’d take it the wrong way. “Today?”

“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ and rock back on my heels. “I don’t keep secrets from my mom and considering how far along you are the sooner she knows, and your parents, too, the better.”

“Your mom is going to hate me for not telling you sooner,” she groans, pressing a hand to her head. I narrow my eyes in concern.

“Do you have any medicine?” I ask suddenly.

“Huh?”

“For your headache.”

“Oh, yeah, in my backpack.”

“Good.” Clearing my throat, I add, “She would never hate you, Bertie. She’ll understand.”

“I hope so,” she sighs just as there’s a knock on the door. “Ugh, sorry.”

Bertie unlocks it and we find one of the coffee shop baristas on the other side looking red-faced and nervous as her eyes dart around the restroom. “Sorry, but I have to ask you guys to leave. No sex allowed in the bathroom.”

Bertie’s face turns tomato red to match the barista. “No, no. That’s not what was happening here, I swear. I got sick and he came in to check on me.”

The barista gives Bertie a once over.

“Do we look like we’ve been having sex in here?” She goes on when the barista says nothing. She looks down at her disheveled self. “You know what, don’t answer that. But for the record, no sex was happening.”

The barista looks at me, and I raise my hands innocently. “None whatsoever.”

“You guys still need to go,” she says.

“Right. Yeah. Fine.” Bertie pushes past her, no doubt gunning it for the table where we left our things.

“Sorry about that. I probably shouldn’t have followed her, but I didn’t want her to be sick by herself.”

“Whatever,” she says before walking off.

By the time I get back to the table, Bertie has already shouldered her backpack and clutches a stack of books to her chest. I take her purse off my shoulder and pass it to her.

“I have to get to class,” she says, not quite meeting my gaze. “Text me and I’ll meet you at your place to tell your mom.”

“I can pick you up.”

She shakes her head. “No, I want to have my car.”

For a quick escape? I almost ask.

She starts to leave but stops and pivots around. “This is for you.” She opens up the textbook on top and pulls out a piece of paper.

She nods, resolute, and is gone before I can say anything else.

Unfolding the paper, I find myself looking at a sonogram of the baby. Our baby.

It’s not that I didn’t believe her when she told me, but seeing this makes it all the more real.

I turn to call out to her, but I find her blond hair disappearing out the door.

Rubbing my thumb over the glossy paper, I give myself a moment to study it before I tuck it in my pocket and go on my way.