Ruin The Friendship (Minnesota Blue Herons #1)

Chapter 1

DRUG STORE VIbrATORS

LYDIA

“There’s no way,” I mumble to myself.

The pregnancy test boxes stare me down in the middle of this small drugstore. I was only here to grab my prescriptions when something pulled me into this aisle.

It hasn’t been more than a few weeks since my last period. Right? I’ve never been good at tracking it, but I’ve never needed to. My cycle has always been regular, and I take my birth control at the same time every day.

Only… the more I think about it, the more my stomach drops, and a sick feeling burns through my bloodstream. I count out the many weeks since that third date with Jude, and now, my lack of period.

No, no, no.

I cover my face with my hands, taking a deep breath.

Think, Lydia.

He wore a condom, right? And he pulled out. That has to be at least ninety-nine percent effective, doesn’t it? Really, what are the chances I’m pregnant?

Glancing around the aisle, I throw three different tests into my basket and rush to the self-checkout. I ring them up and pay, tossing them into a plastic bag. Damn it. I always bring reusable bags to the store, but of course, this is the one day I didn’t.

I hope Fletcher left for the arena before I get there. I can’t have my best friend and roommate of over six years seeing me with pregnancy tests. Normally, I tell him everything, but I didn’t tell him about Jude.

Dating has sucked lately, so when I saw Jude for a second date and then a third, I didn’t want to jinx it by telling Fletcher.

Every time I get excited about a person, I get ghosted or used for sex.

I thought Jude was different, but when my texts went unanswered after the night we slept together, I found out the hard way that he was only looking for a hook-up.

Even though he said he wasn’t. He was just playing the long game.

I rush to my car, taking deep breaths as I climb in and turn it on, trying to beat the October chill. I rest my hands on the wheel as my phone rings through the stereo system.

Fletcher’s name flashes on the screen, and I take one last deep breath.

“Hey, Fletch.”

“Lydi, where are you? We have to leave soon for the arena.”

Fletcher always gets antsy before a game, never mind that tonight is the season opener.

He’s a forward for the Minnesota Blue Herons, the professional hockey team.

Straight out of college, he was drafted by the MBH, and he’s been there ever since.

It’s worked out well for me; I get to keep my best friend close by, and my rent is cheap since he lets me live with him in his luxurious apartment.

“I’m at the pharmacy,” I say. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay, great. We can’t be late.”

“You know you could go without me, right?” I start the short drive home. “I can take the bus.”

“I hate when you take the bus to games.” His voice is filled with unnecessary concern.

“I know, but it’s fine. Then we won’t have two cars at the arena.”

Fletcher groans. “Just come right home, and then we won’t have two cars, and you don’t have to take the bus. Problem solved.”

I chuckle. “Lucky for you, I’m pulling into the parking garage now. I’ll be up in a few.”

I park next to Fletcher’s fancy SUV, grabbing the plastic bag out of my passenger seat.

The tests are easily visible through the thin plastic; there’s no way Fletcher won’t see what’s inside.

I frantically dig through the random sweatshirts, blankets, and things in my backseat for a reusable grocery bag.

Nothing. Shit. I’m going to have to hide it from him, I guess.

Taking the elevator up to the eighth floor, I do my best to roll up the bag and tuck it under my arm.

I open our apartment door, not announcing my arrival the way I normally would. Instead, I rush through the living room down the hall toward my bathroom, but I don’t make it far.

“Lydia?” Fletcher’s low voice calls. “That you?”

“Fuck,” I mumble, turning and shifting the bag so it’s behind my back. “Yep, it’s me!”

Even my voice sounds guilty. He opens his bedroom door just across the hall, stepping out and holding a tie in the air. The sight of Fletcher Graff in a suit always does something to me. Tonight, he’s in a navy blue suit with a white button-up underneath, the top two buttons undone.

Our relationship has been entirely platonic since day one, but I can admit my best friend is objectively hot.

I mean, the man is a hockey player, for heaven’s sake.

His body is sculpted from straight marble, all hard and muscular, with a sharp jawline.

His hair is in loose dark waves that he coifs into a perfect swoop before every game.

Every little detail of his features is burned into my memory after years of studying him.

The tiny scar in his eyebrow from the time he got hit in the face with a stick, the slight bend in his nose from a fist fight on the ice that resulted in a break, and the way his pupils dilate when he gets excited.

Not the time to be admiring your best friend’s pupils, Lydia.

I clear my throat, backing up against the wall with my arms behind me.

“What’s up?” I question, hoping I sound nonchalant.

“Tie, or no tie?” He waffles his hands up and down with a tie that matches his sage-green eyes.

I glance at the outfit, and then at the fabric. “Tie. I like this one. It makes your eyes pop.”

“Help me?” Fletcher holds out the tie, and I take it with one hand only to remember the bag behind my back in the other.

“Um, one second.” I try to sidestep into my open bedroom door so I can chuck the pregnancy tests into my room, but, like always, Fletcher is too observant.

“What’s in your hand?”

“Nothing,” I squeak, trying again to step into my room.

“Lydia Elaine Ward, you’re hiding something!” Fletcher’s eyes glint with delight as he reaches for the bag.

“Fletcher, no!” I nearly launch into my room.

I have to think of something, fast.

One, I’m not ready for him to know I need to take a pregnancy test. Two, I’m not about to distract him on his big night. The season opener always puts him a bit on edge, and he worries about me too much. I can’t distract him, not tonight.

Throwing the box into the corner of my room and slamming the door, I breathe heavily, telling him the first thing that comes to my mind. “It’s a new vibrator, okay?”

The grimace that instantly flashes on his face is almost comical. “You…” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, tugging at the already loose neckline of his shirt. His cheeks are flaming red. “You can get vibrators at the drugstore?”

I swallow my embarrassment, reminding myself this is better than the alternative. “Mhm. It’s a new thing.”

I take the tie from his still outstretched hand and change the subject. “Are you ready for tonight?”

Fletcher buttons up his shirt, hiding the wisps of dark chest hair. “I think so. Our new goalie, Trigg, is a machine. If anyone can help us get to the playoffs, it’s him.”

“Where is he from again? Denmark?” I wrap the tie around his neck, draping the fabric over and pulling it through methodically. I’ve helped him with his ties for years, and I genuinely don’t think he knows how to put one on himself.

“Norway. He’s great. I can’t wait for you to meet him. You’re coming to the bar after, right?” He quirks his dark eyebrows. “You can either help us celebrate or drown in our sorrows.”

“Hopefully, we will be celebrating, but yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”

I just might not be drinking.

Once his tie is perfectly done, I pat his chest. “You’re good.”

“Awesome.” He grins. “Thanks, Lydi. How much time do you need to get ready?”

I glance down at myself. “Fifteen minutes?”

Pretty much all I have to do is change out of my work clothes, throw on my jersey, and make sure my hair and makeup still look decent after work.

Oh, and take a pregnancy test that may completely alter the course of my life.

“Deal,” Fletcher says, heading into the living room.

I swallow harshly, pointing a thumb to my room. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

Rushing inside, I dig in my closet for my jersey and a pair of distressed jeans. Once I’ve found them, I rip open the bag of pregnancy tests and grab two. I take one stick from each and wrap them in the jersey along with the instructions.

I dash across the hall into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, thankful Fletcher didn’t stop me this time.

I read the instructions, and within a minute, I’m peeing on the sticks and putting the caps on. My hands shake as I set the timer on my phone. One of them is digital, so at least that will give me a sure answer.

While I wait, I change into my jersey and jeans, fluffing my just-above-shoulder-length curly hair and throwing it into a half-up bun.

My mind is racing. Can I afford a baby? The only reason I can live in this apartment is thanks to Fletcher. When we moved in together, he told me I wouldn’t have to pay rent, but I insisted. I don’t need a handout, even if my best friend is a millionaire.

Fletcher isn’t going to want a baby living here, that’s for sure. He needs peace and quiet to make sure he’s ready for games, physically and mentally. I can’t be interrupting his sleep with a screaming baby at three in the morning.

I suppose I could move out, but can I afford an apartment on my own?

I make enough to live with my job as an office administrator for a local non-profit, but it’s not enough to support an infant and me.

I could ask for a raise or a promotion. I’ve been offered one before but turned it down.

I’m happy with where I’m at. Now, I might need to reconsider it.

And the cost of childcare? How can I even think of affording that?

If I’m pregnant, will Jude want to be a part of it? Do I want him to? He was nice enough, but you can’t tell if you are ready to parent with someone for eighteen years based on three dates and a sub-par hookup you didn’t even get an orgasm out of.

“Lydia, are you ready? We gotta go if we want to beat traffic!”

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, grabbing my makeup bag and phone off the counter. There’s still a minute and a half left on the timer, and I don’t think Fletcher will be patient enough to wait for me to have an existential crisis if it’s positive.

That’s not true, though. If I told him what’s going on, he’d have all the patience in the world, and he’d even help me come up with a plan. Only, I can’t lean on him right now. This is something I have to do on my own.

“Coming!” I call, shoving the flipped over tests into the top drawer and leaving the bathroom.