Second Serve (On the Court #3)

Prologue

I loathe the smell of antiseptic. It burns my nostrils, and I swear I can taste it. The flavor of it clings to the back of my throat, tart and acidic. Squeezing the sheets between my fingers, I try to keep the threatening hysteria swallowed down.

My baby is gone.

It’s not like I was planning to get pregnant, or even that far along, so a part of me wonders why I’m so devastated. I feel like I lost an important piece of myself that I’ll never get back.

I might not have been planning for a baby, but the second the test turned positive I…

I got excited.

My mind wandered to dreams of a sweet baby boy or girl in my arms. To pushing them in their stroller around tennis courts, to hearing their first word, to birthdays, and first days of school and graduations and—

Somehow, I’d seen it all in just this small blip of time.

Nine weeks—that’s how long I knew of my child’s existence. Twelve weeks is as long as they were allowed to live.

A choked sob flies out of my throat, the torrent of tears starting up again. I roll to my side, gathering my hands under my head.

I want to call my mom, but she doesn’t even know, and what’s the point in telling her now.

And Fisher?

Where is he?

I left him message after message and I know he checks his phone regularly, even when he’s working with Noah. I thought…

My stupid na?ve self thought he’d come the moment he saw my pleas, but he’s not here, not yet at least. I know our relationship is a secret, but I’m pregnant with his child you’d think—

Was, I remind myself on another broken sob.

Was pregnant.

I hold a hand to my stomach where my baby still is, for now at least. They’re performing a D&C in the next hour.

My fingers itch to reach for my phone, to text him again. Call. But I won’t.

He either gets here in time or he doesn’t and if he doesn’t?

Then I’m done.

I’m done with the lying, sneaking around, pretending not to care about each other. Him. I’m done with him.