7. Luke
LUKE
I pull up outside Bertie’s dorm to find her already waiting outside. She carries some sort of ginormous bag that looks like she could fit five pairs of shoes in it if she wanted. She uses it to shield her stomach. It’s like she popped overnight.
She heads toward my truck before I even pull into a spot and swings the door open with a creak.
One of my first purchases with my NHL earnings is going to have to be a new—at least to me—car that’s safe for a baby.
I love my truck, and since the ancient thing is paid for, I plan to hold onto it.
Daire’s trying to convince me to get a minivan like his.
I have to admit, the automatic sliding doors are tempting.
“Hey,” Bertie says a little breathless. Her mouth pops open when she finds the Sprite sitting in the cupholder. “Oh, I think I love you.” Her cheeks immediately flush. “I mean, not like that, in a … um…” She hastily straps the seatbelt as a distraction.
I chuckle as I drive away. “I know what you meant, B. I’m not sure where we’re going so you’re going to have to give me directions.”
“For now, just drive toward the hospital.” I shoot her a panicked look and she laughs. “Luke, my doctor’s office is by the hospital, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay.” My brain was already running straight to the worst things I could think of.
Bertie places her hand on her stomach. “We can find the gender out today if we want.”
“What?” I blurt. “They can know that already.”
“Yeah,” she sighs and picks up her drink. She takes a sip and puts it back down. “I could’ve done a blood test a while ago,” she goes on. “I think … I’m not sure if I want to find out. I’m scared.”
“You’re scared?” I slow for a red light and look at her, studying the downturn of her glossy pink lips.
She shrugs. “I’m not sure how good I’m going to be at this whole mom thing and I…
” Her cheeks redden. “I think I would handle a daughter better than a son and I was reading about gender disappointment, and now I’m terrified that if I find out it’s a boy that I’ll be one of those people and then I wonder if the baby can sense that, you know?
The disappointment? And what if the baby thinks I hate them or something?
What if I fail at this whole mom thing before I even birth the child?
” She’s rambling now, working herself up to the point that she’s almost hyperventilating.
“I just think a girl would be easier for me, you know? A boy seems so scary.”
A car honks behind me, and I jerk when I realize the light has changed. I pull away slowly, the truck groaning.
“We don’t have to find out. I’m okay with waiting.”
I don’t tell her, but it doesn’t matter to me either way. Boy or girl makes no difference. I just want a healthy kid—and I know deep down, that’s all she cares about too.
“But if we don’t find out, then how am I supposed to decorate a nursery?” I think she’s talking more to herself than me.
“Well, chances are, we won’t have space for a nursery to start with,” I counter.
From her pout, I’m not sure this brings her any comfort.
When she stays silent, I add, “You do great with Sammy, don’t you?”
She hesitates and then says, “Well, yeah.”
“See, you have nothing to worry about if it’s a boy.”
She exhales a shaky breath. “I guess it’s just harder for me to picture a baby boy for some reason.”
“We’ll do whatever you want with finding out. It doesn’t matter to me if you want to know or wait.”
She dips her head in acknowledgment. The rest of the ride is spent in silence except when we get closer to the hospital and she has to give directions. By the time I find a spot in the parking garage, her soda is empty.
She undoes her seatbelt and freezes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately noting her stiff posture.
“I don’t…” She pauses, putting a hand to her stomach. “I … I think I felt the baby move.” She turns wide eyes to me. “Holy crap.”
“Can I?” I extend my hand to her belly.
She grabs it and places it on the small swell of her stomach. “Right there, do you feel it?” I concentrate, but I feel nothing. She frowns. “It’s my first time feeling anything so it probably can’t be felt from the outside.”
She holds my hand there for a bit longer until I shake my head. “I can’t wait until I can.”
This pregnancy feels like it’s flying by, but I also realize while she’s eighteen weeks pregnant, I’ve only known for four, so of course it feels fast. With our graduation next week, she’ll be moving into my mom’s place until we move to Nashville in August ahead of my rookie season.
Originally, I wasn’t going to be moving in until September, but when I called Tanner Crowley and explained the situation, he didn’t hesitate to tell me that Bertie living with me was fine and for us to come sooner and get settled ahead of the baby’s due date in September.
Bertie scoops up her bag from the floor of my truck and climbs out. I have to manually lock the doors on my truck when I get out, not that I really think anyone would try to steal it. I love it, but to most people I know it’s just a hunk of metal junk.
I follow Bertie to the elevator, and we get off on the third floor of the building.
“It’s not too far from here.”
I wasn’t feeling nervous before, but suddenly my throat feels tight. Bertie slows as we approach a set of double glass doors. I step ahead of her and hold the door open so she can pass.
I grab a seat in the waiting room while she checks in. I don’t want to loom over her and her think I’m trying to be all in her business. I’m just grateful she let me come.
It’s a few minutes before she plops in the chair beside me with a clipboard stack of papers. She’s quiet as she fills it out and when she’s done, she hops up and hands it to the receptionist.
Plunking back down, she sighs and says, “I need to look for doctors in Nashville. It sucks I’m going to have to change doctors so close to my due date.”
I wince. “I’m sorry. We can—”
She waves away my worry. “No, please don’t be sorry. It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have to be so agreeable,” I assure her. “This is a lot of change for both of us.”
She exhales a sigh. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
I tap my fingers on my thighs. “I was already scared for my rookie season and now I’m…
” I struggle to find the right word to use.
I feel like terrified sounds wrong, because I’m not terrified of being a father, but I am of the unknowns of it all.
I’m not used to infants, how to take care of them and, frankly, keep them alive.
I like to be good at things, and when I’m not I spiral a little.
I might have to ask Daire if I can borrow his kid for a day and see if I can survive.
“Now you’re what?” Bertie prompts.
“I guess I’m in the same boat you are—I just want to be a good parent to this kid and do things right.”
“God.” She laughs and I can’t help it when I laugh too. I feel a little lighter that at least she’s finding some humor in all of this. “We’re both nervous wrecks, aren’t we?”
A throat clears to our left, and a woman leans forward with a kind smile. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but I just wanted to say it sounds to me like you two are going to be just fine. Worrying like that shows how much you already care and love that baby. I assume it’s your first?”
Bertie nods with a kind smile. “It is.”
“I’m on my fourth and very much final,” the woman laughs. “It gets easier, I promise. You’re going to mess up, that’s normal, and each child is different. You learn as you go. Be kind to yourselves, that’s the best advice I can give.”
“Thank you,” Bertie says softly. “I appreciate it. This was … unexpected so I feel completely unprepared.”
The woman laughs, her brown eyes sparkling with humor. “Trust me, even if it’s planned, you’re still unprepared.”
“Carthwright!”
At the sound of Bertie’s last name, we turn to find a nurse with a clipboard waiting at a now open door.
Standing, I’m surprised when she reaches out and takes my hand.
A sense of relief fills me at her touch.
I was worried maybe she really didn’t want me here, since I basically begged to come, but maybe Bertie was scared to ask me.
It’s obvious from how things went down with her parents that she’s not used to having people support her.
Before we make it to a room, the nurse stops to have Bertie weigh and get her blood pressure. At the end of the hall, we’re brought into a room, and she gives Bertie instructions to tuck a sheet into her pants and that someone will be in shortly to do the anatomy scan.
The door snicks shut softly behind her.
“At least it’s an abdominal ultrasound this time.” Bertie plops on the paper covered exam table and rolls her pants down and secures the sheet.
“What did you have last time?”
“Transvaginal,” she says with a shudder. “It goes inside you and it hurts. Or at least it hurt for me.” She taps on her phone and pulls up an image, showing it to me.
I recoil. “That’s…”
“Yep,” she says when I don’t finish.
Her feet sway back and forth, the paper beneath her rustling.
“Did you come alone for your first appointment?” I hate to think of her here by herself having to go through something unfamiliar.
She pulls her hair off her neck and secures it with an elastic from around her wrist. “Rosie came with me. I had to tell someone.” She gives me a sad look.
“I’m just glad you weren’t alone.” I truly mean it, too. I think Bertie expects me to be pissed that she took so long to tell me, but I’m not. Why am I going to be mad that she needed to wrap her head around something so monumental and wanted time to decide what to do with her body?
There’s a soft knock on the door, and then an ultrasound tech enters, wheeling the equipment in with her.
“Hi, Bertie. I’m Ashley. I’ll be performing your anatomy scan today. It’s going to take about forty-five minutes, so just lay back and relax.”
Bertie exhales and lays down, pulling up her shirt.
“Are y’all ready to see your baby?” the tech asks, setting everything up and plopping on a stool.
“I’m nervous,” Bertie admits, cupping the small swell of her stomach.
“Is there anything specifically that’s worrying you?” the tech asks without missing a beat. She squirts some kind of gel on the wand and says, “It’s warmed.”
“No, nothing specific,” Bertie answers. “I think pregnancy as a whole terrifies me.”
Ashley gives a soft laugh. “You’re not alone, trust me. A lot of change comes with being pregnant—both mental and physical. Being nervous is totally normal and okay.”
“Good,” Bertie breathes. “I feel like pregnancy is always portrayed in media as this glorious time in a woman’s life and I’m just an anxious mess.”
She starts the ultrasound and soon there’s a grainy image on the screen. At first, it looks like nothing and then…
“There’s your baby’s head.” She points. “An arm and hand. Five fingers. Oh, look baby’s waving at you.”
I’m immediately enchanted, like I’ve been put under some spell. I lean in closer, watching the little baby on the screen wiggle and move.
Real. It’s so fucking real.
“Wow.”
The tech smiles at my astonishment. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“It’s amazing.”
I feel Bertie’s eyes on me, and I’m instantly drawn into her orbit. She extends her hand to me and I take it, kissing her fingers.
“That’s our baby,” she says reverently.
It’s the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to wrap my head around that being inside of Bertie right now, moving and squirming around.
I watch in awe through the entire appointment, relieved when we find out everything is looking as it should.
At one point the tech asks if we want to know the gender.
Bertie holds my gaze, hoping for my input, but the ball is in her court.
She shakes her head and the tech has us look away while she checks.
At the end of the appointment, we walk out with a stack of ultrasound photos.
It’s probably crazy, but having these in my hand makes it even more real.
In the truck, I ask Bertie, “Do you mind if I make a stop on our way back?”
“No, not at all,” she replies easily, clicking her seatbelt into place. “I’m okay with a side quest.”