32
Kennedy
I was on my way into the office, listening to the news, having just gotten back to LA from yet another trip because that was what my life consisted of now.
Airports, meetings, and different hotel rooms. It was the same thing every week, just different places.
If I hadn’t had a calendar that kept track of all my appointments, I wouldn’t even have known what day it was.
I was mid-yawn when the reporter said, “The latest news about New York Empires bad boy Nash Reed is that he started a fight with teammate Josh Sampson at a bar in New York City last night.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, rubbing at my tired eyes. What the hell had he done now? They shouldn’t have been in a bar to begin with.
“It’s unknown at this time what the fight was about,” the reporter went on, “but the rumor is that it was over a woman. Reed is sure to be facing consequences within the Empires organization. We’ll be back to discuss with retired Empires player Matt Sousa after the break.”
As soon as I got to my office, I opened my web browser, and there he was mid-swing. The furious expression on his face was something I hadn’t seen since we were teenagers and some kid on the opposing team had broken his favorite hockey stick on purpose.
My heart clenched. Part of me wanted to stay angry, but another part—the part that still knew him better than anyone—just hurt for him. Nash was clearly unraveling. The way he was acting was self-destructive, and that wasn’t like him.
I kept scrolling, finding more pictures, each one stabbing deeper.
Nash with Amy. A big smile on her face, her hand clinging to his arm, eyes shining like he hung the moon.
I absolutely hated it. Hated the sight of it and hated the thought of it too.
Nash had been everything I’d ever wanted, and now .
. . I didn’t even know what we were anymore.
His expression looked distant, but hers—God, the longing in her eyes made me want to hurl.
How fucked up had our lives become?
“Damn, Kennedy,” Cory said with a chuckle as he stepped into my office. “You look like you need coffee.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. I definitely did. I was bone-tired. All the time. The cup I’d grabbed earlier had just turned my stomach, so I hadn’t even finished it.
“Rough trip?” he asked with an amused grin.
I probably did look half-dead. My long dark hair was yanked back into a ponytail, the only makeup I’d bothered with was mascara, and my skin looked too pale for the California sunshine.
The red shirt I’d thrown on only made it worse.
It wasn’t on purpose. It was just that half of my clothes were at the cleaners, and the others just didn’t fit right anymore.
I sighed. “Just long. Feels like my brain’s scrambled.”
Cory laughed.
“Do you want to go get coffee?” I asked him. There was no cup in his hand, which was unusual, since he must’ve walked in right before me.
“Sure.”
I glanced at my watch. We had half an hour until the meeting.
“Okay,” I said, pushing to my feet. “Let’s go.”
We walked around the corner to the café and got in line.
Cory chatted about his meeting with a couple of the basketball players who’d just joined our project.
I tried my best to pay attention, but I had a hard time focusing.
My stomach cramped—again—and I swallowed hard.
My period had started the night before, heavier than normal, and the dull ache had been building all morning.
Now it felt sharper, like my whole abdomen was curling in on itself, and I was starting to feel cold and clammy.
I hadn’t eaten since the night before, but just the thought of food made my stomach twist.
Maybe coffee was a bad idea . . .
“Are you all right?” Cory asked worriedly when I wobbled. He put a steadying arm around my back just as the room began to spin, and my body started to sway.
“I don’t know,” I managed, my voice thin. “I feel . . . weird.”
Cory’s eyes locked on mine, wide with concern. “Kennedy, do you need to sit down?”
I blinked hard, trying to focus on his face, but it didn’t help. It felt as if everything was moving.
“Cory . . .” My voice barely came out.
The edges of my vision darkened. I felt Cory’s solid presence against me as he steered me away from the line.
“Sit, Kennedy. Sit.”
He pressed me down into a chair, his hand firm on my shoulder, trying to keep me steady and force me to focus. The last thing I registered before everything went black was the sharp smell of coffee and Cory shouting for help.
· · ·
When I woke again, the first thing that hit me was the intense smell of antiseptic. I swallowed hard a couple of times to try to get the nausea to subside.
The second thing was the noise. Beeping monitors, a low mechanical buzz, voices drifting in and out, and a television somewhere nearby playing some kind of game show.
The third thing was the cold. I was lying in a narrow hospital bed, shivering under a sheet, but it wasn’t just the temperature.
Everything felt sterile and unwelcoming.
I tried to move but quickly realized I wasn’t going anywhere.
I was hooked up to a drip, and there was a machine attached to me with some kind of electrodes.
The fourth thing was how absolutely exhausted I was. It was a struggle to just keep my eyes open.
I must’ve fallen asleep again, because the next thing I noticed was how bright the room had gotten.
It took me a moment to remember where I was. But I still didn’t know why.
“What . . .” I whispered, trying to form a question, but there was nobody there to ask.
I was alone. Completely alone.
And it hit me then that this was what my life had come to. My friends, my family, and Nash—whatever his title in my life was now—were all the way across the country.
What the hell was I doing?
“Ms. Miller?” The door creaked open, and a tall, gray-haired nurse walked in, her glasses slipping low on her nose. She gave me a tired but kind smile as she came to the bedside. “How are you feeling? Ready for some food?”
“Okay, I guess. Just tired.”
“That’s understandable, but you’ll need to try to eat something.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
She scribbled something onto the tablet in her hand then leaned over to check the drip attached to my left arm. After taking my temperature, she tapped a few more notes onto the screen.
“Can you tell me what happened? How long I’ve been here?” I asked, my voice rough.
She glanced at me over her glasses, her eyes unreadable. “You’ve been here since this morning. Dr. Lieberman will be in shortly.”
That didn’t really answer my question. “What time is it now?”
“Just after two in the afternoon. I’ll bring you some lunch.”
“Okay.”
And that was it. No explanation. One minute I’d been walking with Cory to get coffee, and the next, I was alone in a hospital bed.
Why?
What was truly sad was that I didn’t even have the energy to care. I was so tired. Bone-deep, soul-deep tired.
When the tray came, it looked worse than airplane food. It was rice topped with some unidentifiable brown mush. My stomach twisted at the thought of forcing it down. Instead, I reached for the lime-green Jell-O cup. That, at least, I could probably manage.
“Ms. Miller.” It was like déjà vu when the door swung open again, but this time it was a middle-aged man in a white coat who crossed to the bed, his expression steady. “I’m Dr. Lieberman. How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” I answered honestly.
He nodded, his eyes holding mine as he opened a tablet like the one the nurse had used earlier. “Have you been stressed lately, Ms. Miller?”
“Yes,” I admitted. It was the truth, and I didn’t see the point in lying. Between the project, being away from my friends and family, and avoiding Nash, being stressed was putting it lightly.
“You’re dehydrated. Seriously so,” he said. “We’re giving you fluids now, but you need to cut down on caffeine and drink a lot more water moving forward.”
“Okay.”
“Your blood pressure is elevated as well.” He looked at me above the tablet. “Whatever you’ve been doing lately, you need to slow it down. Maybe even take some time off work. Take a trip somewhere. Go relax.”
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny but because it felt impossible.
I’d already canceled the long weekend I’d planned in New York so I could avoid Nash.
A vacation? Time off? That was a joke. Not with everything on my plate.
There was too much to do with the entire project sitting on my shoulders.
Stop stressing? There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening until this assignment was over.
Dr. Lieberman worried his bottom lip as he studied me. It was an unsettling feeling, like my every move was being scrutinized.
“Is there more?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
He nodded. “I’m sorry, but unfortunately . . . you had a miscarriage.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air right out of me.
“What?” I gasped.
The monitor beside me spiked, its beeping quickening in time with my breathing, which had gone short and frantic.
“A miscarriage,” he repeated, gentler this time.
Yeah . . . miscarriage.
I’d heard him the first time. Loud and clear. As clear as if it had been shouted from the top of the building through a megaphone while fireworks exploded overhead.
It was just that I couldn’t comprehend it. I’d been pregnant? And now . . . I wasn’t.
My whole body froze, like my nerves had short-circuited. The doctor was telling me I’d lost a baby. A baby! How the hell had I not even known I was pregnant? What kind of person doesn’t know something like that?
“I was pregnant?” I asked him, my tone accusatory, like this was somehow his fault.
“Yes.”
“How the hell did that happen?” I snapped.
He raised a brow, and I immediately shook my head. Stupid question. Obviously, I knew how. The real question was when. I’d had my period since I’d left New York . . . right?
Then I remembered something very important. “But we used protection.”