Chapter 15
BUTTERY SALTY GOODNESS
LYDIA
TEN WEEKS PREGNANT
Islide the stiff brace onto my left wrist, thankful it’s been getting better every day. I got lucky that it wasn’t my dominant hand, or this week would have been a bit rougher than it already is.
I’ve been so exhausted all week. If I’m not at work or eating, I’m asleep.
Fletcher was out late last night, and I was already asleep by the time he got home, so I won’t get to see him until after the game today. I miss him. Like always, we talk every day. Nothing has changed there, but the adjustment back to the season after the summer’s off is always rough.
I’m meeting Grace and Zoey at the arena, and we have the suite again today, which will be nice. While there’s not much privacy, there is still a little more than if we were in the lower bowl. I’m planning to tell them my news. They’ll figure it out anyway when I don’t have a drink.
We play Colorado today, which is the team Zoey’s brother, Adam, plays for. It’s always a fun time watching Calvin and Adam play against each other. They played together for their entire childhood and college years until Adam was drafted to the Colorado Lynx and Calvin to the Blue Herons.
Once I’m finished getting ready in my standard game outfit—Fletcher’s jersey, a stocking cap, and jeans—I head to the arena. All I can think about is how badly I need popcorn. Something about the buttery, salty goodness is calling to me today.
I love these afternoon games because once the game is over, there’s still plenty of the day left to hang out with friends and not be out until one a.m. Which will work in my favor tonight since I’m already looking forward to the moment I can climb back into my cozy bed.
The suite is still empty, but they’ve already set up all the food and beverages for us. I grab a box and fill it with popcorn from the warm machine, snacking on a few pieces as I do.
The door opens, and Grace and Calvin’s parents enter. Stan and Mabel Miller might be the sweetest people I’ve met—well, besides Fletcher’s parents. They’re the epitome of Minnesota Nice. I chew quickly, swallowing the lump of popcorn in my mouth.
“Hey, guys,” I say.
“Lydia, how are you?” Mabel opens her arms.
“I’m good.” I smile softly, returning her hug carefully so as not to smush my popcorn or bad wrist.
Her eyes widen. “What happened to your hand?”
I wave my hand. “Nothing bad. A kid ran into me at the community skate event on Sunday, and I landed on my wrist.”
“Is it broken?”
I shake my head. “I think it’s a sprain.”
“You think? Did you go to the doctor?”
I wish I could swallow my tongue.
“Yeah.”
“And they didn’t do X-rays?” Her voice rises in pitch. “What if it’s fractured, and you don’t know?”
Stan comes up behind Mabel, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sure they did, sweetie.” Stan offers me a smile. “Hi, kiddo.”
I frantically nod. “Yep. Sorry, I said that weirdly. No break! I should be fine in a week or two.”
“Oh, good.” Mabel sighs. “How have you been otherwise?”
“Good!” I reply quickly, thankful to change the subject.
The door opens again, and this time, Zoey and Grace stride through, looking adorable in their jerseys. Usually, Zoey wears one with Miller on the back to support Calvin, but tonight she’s wearing a Colorado Lynx one with Davison on it.
We all exchange hugs, and Mabel and Stan take their seats as Zoey, Grace, and I grab more snacks and sit at a table.
“How are you?” Zoey asks as she adjusts her black-rimmed glasses. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know, it’s been a weird few weeks.” I laugh, and my eyes burn with tears—stupid hormones.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Grace coos, resting her hand on my shoulder.
I take a deep breath, glancing over to Stan and Mabel, who are lost in their own world. Warm-ups haven’t even started yet, and I’m already losing it. It’s going to be a long afternoon.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Holy shit,” Zoey blurts, slapping a hand over her mouth.
“What?” Grace gasps, squeezing my arm.
I panic, not knowing what to say, so I shove a handful of buttery popcorn into my mouth. The flavor bursts on my tongue, helping with some of the emotion flooding through my body.
“You’re pregnant?” Zoey questions. “Who’s the father?”
Grace’s eyes widen. “Is it Fletcher?”
“Oh my god!”
The only downside to all the popcorn in my mouth is that I can’t deny them and tell them he’s not the father.
“I knew it,” Grace shrieks. “I knew you two were together.”
I shake my head aggressively, muttering through my mouthful, “No, no!” I really didn’t think that through. I swallow the popcorn, choking on a hull. “Fletcher isn’t the father.”
Grace’s face falls. “Dang. Who is, if it’s not him?”
I groan. “His name is Jude, and he’s decided not to be involved. We went on a few dates, slept together once, and I’m still not quite sure how it happened, but here we are.”
“And you’re keeping it?” Zoey asks.
“I am.”
“We are here to support you in any way that we can.” Grace runs her hand over my arm.
“Thanks.” I sniffle as a tear streaks down my cheek. “I’m scared, but this is what I want.”
“You’re going to be an amazing mom,” Zoey says.
Oh, great, more tears.
“Stop it. I need to quit crying.”
They hug me, and I soak in the comfort.
“What does Fletcher have to say?” Grace asks.
I look over to the ice, where the players are running through their warm-ups. A memory of Fletcher shirtless, leaning over the kitchen sink to help me with my hair, flashes in my mind, and those traitorous goose bumps prickle my skin again.
“We haven’t really had much time to talk about it, but he knows and is going to be there for me. I tried to tell him I’ll move out, but he said no.”
“Wait, when are you due?” Zoey questions as we stand to head to the seats to watch warm-ups.
“May twenty-seventh,” I mutter under my breath, my cheeks heating. “They told us the due date during the ultrasound in the ER, but they want the OB to confirm it at my first appointment.”
“Oh, shit,” Grace murmurs.
“Yeah. Right in the middle of the playoffs.” I wince. Because of course it is. “Which is why I offered to move out. If we make it past the first round, Fletcher isn’t going to want his sleep interrupted by an infant.”
“If he says it’s fine,” Zoey says, albeit unconvincingly. “I would believe him. I think he’s the type of guy to know what he’s okay with.”
“Yeah, except he’s never been around an infant for more than a few hours. To have one dumped into your normally quiet apartment during one of the most intense times of the season? How is that going to work?”
“Who knows? We might not even make it to the playoffs this year,” Grace says with a wave of her hand. “This might not be a problem.”
“Don’t you dare speak like that,” Zoey says curtly, pushing her glasses up her nose and wagging her finger in Grace’s face.
We sit in the comfortable seats as we watch the guys take the ice.
“It’s true, though,” Grace says in defense. “We’ve all been around hockey players enough to know things change in the blink of an eye. They could win the cup, or they might not make it to the playoffs.”
Zoey huffs and swats Grace’s arm. “You’re right, but still. Don’t speak such things into existence.”
“Would you guys mind keeping this to yourselves?” I ask. “Not that I think you’d tell anyone, but I’m not ready for my business to be out in the world yet.”
“Absolutely.” Zoey takes my hand and rubs it soothingly. “This is a big deal, and you should be able to tell who you want to tell, without fear. You have nothing to worry about.”
Grace agrees, and I relax a bit. It’s nice to know I have them at my back and that they understand my want for privacy. Fletcher already lives a fairly high-profile life, and I’m not one to enjoy the spotlight. I never have been.
Zoey and Grace continue chatting, but my focus shifts to the men on the ice.
I love watching warm-ups, mainly because typically Fletcher is at ease, and you get to see some of his familiar personality bubble through.
Watching him interact with the fans is my favorite, but as soon as the puck drops, he’s a different person.
Focused, hard-wired, and set on the game.
Watching him play the game he loves has always made me proud, but for some reason, tonight, there’s an extra special burst of pride in my chest. Maybe it’s because of his endless support for me and his ability to help me through even the toughest of times. I’ll never take him for granted.
He skates around the ice and slows to a stop as he reaches the length where we are sitting in the suite. Fletcher looks up, and through his visor, there’s a gleam in his eyes.
He waves his gloved hand, a giant smile crossing his face, and it’s like a weight is lifted off my chest. Just being in his presence helps ease some of the fear simmering in my body since I walked out of that meeting with Jude.
I mean, really. Who am I to think I can raise a child on my own?
But I want this baby, and knowing I have Fletcher in my corner helps more than I can express.
I wave back, an easy smile on my cheeks. I missed him so much the last few days.
He skates off, joining Calvin and Trigg, who both skate to the red line to greet Adam. They exchange handshakes and hugs before going their separate ways to continue their warm-ups.
We chat for a while longer as we wait for the game to start, and both of them are already planning a baby shower for me. I’m sure my mom won’t be in a rush to host one, so it’s sweet that they’re willing to.
The game starts, and as it always does, my heart pounds the second Fletcher’s skates hit the ice. He morphs into a different person.
The puck is dropped, and my focus on the game vanishes, replaced by thoughts of my future, of the baby I’m carrying inside me. I don’t doubt that being a single mom will be hard, but I’m ready for it.
For some reason, my mind strays to thoughts of Fletcher. What would he be like as a father? Not to my baby, no. Things aren’t like that between us, but I’m imagining him holding a small bundle, with my curly hair and blue eyes. The image is far too real, and it makes my heart clench.
I’m so distracted that the game flies by in a whir.
After three hard-fought periods, the Blue Herons win three to one.
It was sad to watch Adam and his team leave the ice dejected, but it’s part of the game, I suppose.
Hopefully, the guys don’t give him too much of a hard time when we go out to dinner.
As we walk out of the suite to make our way to the tunnels to meet the guys, I stare longingly at the popcorn. It’s fine, I’ll just get more at the next game.