13. AVA
AVA
Broken Rules
Days after Kai made me come from nothing but his mouth on my breasts, I'm sitting in an OB-GYN waiting room filling out a form.
The form wants the baby's father's medical history. I write unknown in the field.
The next line wants family history of hereditary conditions.
Unknown. Unknown again.
If this form were a personality quiz, my result would be Woman Who Made One Extremely Memorable Decision.
The waiting room is aggressively cheerful. Pastel walls. A stork mural. Magazines with glowing pregnant women on the covers who look like they planned every step of their motherhood journey with a supportive partner.
I had a one-night stand with a professional athlete. His condom broke and my birth control pills were apparently on vacation the same week I was.
Now I'm pregnant and hiding it from the father, who I can still remember the feel of his mouth on my skin from the lake house.
That's the part of our fake dating I can't shake.
The sweet sensations he made me feel on that door. The handjob I gave him afterward while he groaned my name into my shoulder. The second orgasm he pulled out of me with two fingers while promising I'd beg for him one day.
I drew lines. Built walls. Set rules.
But the moment Kai put his hands on me, I detonated without effort.
The worst part is the relief that followed it, like my body had been holding its breath for weeks and finally let go. And now it won't go back to pretending.
My thighs clench together in the waiting room.
Stop it, Ava. Just stop it.
A nurse appears in the doorway. "Hartley?"
I follow her into a room that's even more cheerful than the waiting area. She takes my blood pressure and leaves me alone with a paper gown.
Dr. Fernandez enters a few minutes later. She's petite with cropped silver hair and reading glasses on a chain around her neck.
She moves the ultrasound wand across my stomach. On the screen, a grainy, pulsing shape appears. It looks less like a baby and more like a stubborn little ghost refusing to come into focus.
"Everything looks good structurally. Measuring right on track. Strong heartbeat," she says.
That flicker is a heartbeat inside me.
My hand moves to my stomach. Hot and fierce warmth blooms behind my ribs.
I’m having a baby.
"There is one thing we need to discuss." She pulls up results on her tablet. The shift in her voice is subtle but unmistakable. "Your blood work flagged something."
The word flagged puts me on alert.
"You're Rh-negative," she says.
"Okay. Is that bad?"
"Not on its own. But your antibody screen found anti-D antibodies already present in your blood. For a first pregnancy, that's unusual."
I sit up straighter. "Unusual as in it’s not a big deal, or unusual as in brace yourself?"
She sets the tablet aside and faces me.
"Sometimes early in a first pregnancy, a small amount of the baby's blood crosses into the mother's circulation.
A tiny bleed. Nothing you'd notice because there are no symptoms at all.
But when the baby is Rh-positive and the mother is Rh-negative, that exposure triggers the mother's immune system to produce antibodies. "
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
"That your body has produced antibodies against your baby's red blood cells."
The room tilts.
"My body is attacking my baby?"
"Not actively. Not yet." She holds my gaze. "But those antibodies can cross the placenta. Since your body has already produced them this early, the baby is most likely Rh-positive, which means the baby inherited it from the father.”
I inhale to steady myself. Of course, Kai had to somehow be inserted in this.
“If the antibody levels rise, they can target the baby's red blood cells and destroy them. That causes fetal anemia."
"How bad can it get?" I ask.
"It ranges. In mild cases, we monitor and manage. In more severe cases, the baby may need blood transfusions before birth."
Before birth.
My baby might need transfusions before it's even born.
The clinical details keep coming. Monitoring schedules. Antibody titer checks. A maternal-fetal medicine specialist she wants to refer me to.
I hear maybe half of it because the other half of my brain is screaming into a void.
I want to crack a joke, but my mouth won't cooperate. It's too busy trying not to tremble.
"Ava, is the father involved?" Dr. Fernandez asks.
"It's complicated."
"I understand. But confirming his blood type would help us plan. And practically, this is easier to navigate with support."
"I know."
"We're catching it early. That's our advantage. I want to be honest with you, though. This isn't something you should carry alone if you don't have to."
I nod. She squeezes my shoulder and leaves.
The ultrasound image stays frozen on the screen. That blurry little ghost with a heartbeat my own blood is gearing up to fight.
I've spent my entire adult life being capable. Handling things. Solving problems with competence and the occasional well-timed joke.
I can't joke my way out of this one.
My baby needs something I can't provide alone.
And the one person who can help doesn't even know the baby exists because I'm too scared to tell him.
***
In the underground parking garage, I sit in the driver's seat with the engine off.
The ultrasound printout is in my purse. I pull it out once, stare at it, and shove it back.
Biscuit is at home, probably eating something she shouldn't. The thought of her dumb, trusting face makes my eyes burn.
I drive home on autopilot.
Biscuit greets me at the door with her whole body wagging, her tail spinning in circles, one ear perked up and the other flopped over, blissfully unaware that anything in the world exists besides me.
I pat her on the back. “Hey, little girl.”
She barks, jumping up and down.
She’s not as complicated as this pregnancy. She just needs me to sit down so she can climb into my lap.
I sit on the kitchen floor and let her.
She licks my chin, my ear, goes for my mouth. I bury my face in her fur and breathe in her warm scent.
"I have to tell him, Biscuit."
She sneezes on my arm.
"Thank you. Very insightful. You'd tell him, wouldn't you? You'd tell the whole street. You have no discretion whatsoever and it's my favorite thing about you."
She thumps her tail against the cabinet like we've reached an agreement.
I pull my phone out. Kai's name sits on the screen.
With one tap and two sentences, I can end the weeks of secrecy right now.
I'm pregnant. It's yours.
That's all it takes.
My thumb hovers over the call button. The coward in me and the fighter in me have a brief, violent argument. The fighter wins by a hair.
Before the phone has rung twice, Kai answers.
"Ava."
His voice is warm, steady. The sound of it makes my heart beat faster.
"Hey.” My voice comes out thin. “Are you busy?"
"Just finished rehab at the facility. What's going on?"
"Nothing major. It’s been a rough afternoon. Distract me."
He pauses. “What do you want?”
"Tell me something good.”
"How's your ocean lady?" he asks.
"Teal, Kai. She added teal to the mood board with fourteen new photos."
"Teal isn't ocean."
"That is exactly what I said. She's calling it 'coastal energy.'"
"What happened to the other forty-seven Pinterest photos?"
The fact that he remembers makes my stomach flutter.
I sigh. "The woman is prolific. I'm considering a restraining order against her Pinterest account."
"I trust you'll sort it out. You always do."
The easy certainty in his voice almost undoes me. He says it like he's observed enough evidence and reached a conclusion.
"What happened this afternoon?" he asks.
My fingers clutch the phone tighter. Biscuit shifts in my lap, resting her chin on my thigh like she's settling in to hold me down.
I'm pregnant. It's yours. My body is producing weapons against our child and I can't stop it.
"Whatever it is, you can tell me."
The gentleness in his voice nearly breaks me open. I open my mouth.
I need your blood type because you’re the father of our child. I need you.
The words are right there sitting on my tongue. All I have to do is let them fall.
But something older and meaner surfaces, pushing them back down.
I was a kid then. I don't even remember how old.
Lucy and I were already dressed for the county fair. I wore my favorite yellow sundress with the white shoes Mom had polished that morning. Lucy had on the denim jacket she'd saved months of allowance to buy.
Dad had been gone for months.
Then he showed up that morning carrying shopping bags and wearing the smile that could charm anyone. "Best day ever, girls. I promise."
His phone rang.
He stepped onto the porch to answer it. When he came back inside, the smile was still there. "Something came up. I'll make it up to you. I promise."
He kissed our foreheads, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.
Lucy slammed her bedroom door so hard the hallway photos rattled. Mom sat at the kitchen table with her hands folded, staring at nothing, her grey-green eyes flat and empty.
I stood at the front window in my yellow sundress until the streetlights came on, watching the driveway. Despite evidence to the contrary, I waited for his headlights.
He didn't come back for four months. The fair had closed for the season the week before.
Now I'm about to hand Kai the kind of news that would change our relationship forever. If I do, will he stay or will he run?
"Ava? Are you still there?"
Kai’s voice pulls me back into my kitchen, my hand cramped around the phone. Biscuit barks.
I blink. "Sorry. I zoned out."
"For a while." His voice drops, patient but probing. "Something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired and dramatic."
“Ava—”
“Forget it, Kai.”
"Can you come to the rink tomorrow? Then after practice, I want to take you somewhere."
"Where?"
"Not telling you."
"That's suspicious, Kai."
"It's a surprise."
"Surprises from hockey players involve bars that smell like feet and somebody's cousin named Brody."
"My surprises don't involve Brody." His voice turns hoarse, making my skin prickle. "Come to the facility, then let me take you out."
"Like a date?"
"Like whatever you'll say yes to."
This man has the strategic patience of a siege. He doesn't storm the castle. He just shows up every morning and waits until you open the gate yourself.
And I keep opening it.
"Fine. I'll be there."
"Good."
"And Kai?"
"Yeah?"
My palm presses flat against my stomach, over the place my baby’s heartbeat is drumming.
"There's something I need to tell you in person tomorrow."
There’s a few seconds of silence before he says, "Should I be worried?"
"Probably. But I'll bring good snacks to soften the blow."
"That's not reassuring."
"I have other qualities. I'm an excellent cook, for one."
"You've brought me takeout every visit."
"Ordering is a skill, Kai. That’s curation, knowing which restaurant, which dish and sauce on the side. Most people fumble it."
"You ordered me a salad last."
"You needed vegetables. Your body is recovering and you’re treating it like a dumpster."
He laughs. "What else?"
"I show up. When it matters, I don't overthink it. I just go."
"You showed up at a hospital in the middle of the night for a man who didn't remember your face. I’d say that qualifies."
"Yeah, well… nobody told me what I was walking into. I would have brought better snacks."
"Ava."
"What?"
"Take the compliment."
"Fine. Compliment taken. Receipt acknowledged. Moving on."
That's the problem, Kai. If you keep treating me like this, I won’t be able to stop my feelings for you.
I press my forehead against Biscuit's. She blinks up at me with her big brown eyes.
"You're dangerous, you know that?" I murmur.
"I'm a hockey player with brain damage. I'm the least dangerous person you know."
"That's exactly what a dangerous person would say."
“Or do you mean I’m dangerous in bed?” he asks in a mischievous tone.
My breath hitches. I’m not going to think of that night in the lake house.
“Goodbye, Kai.”
He chuckles. “See you tomorrow, then."
The phone goes dark.
Biscuit lifts her head, looks at me, and yawns so wide I can see every tooth she owns.
The kitchen is quiet. The ultrasound printout is folded in my purse on the counter. It’s a grainy photograph of a baby whose mother's blood is already waging a war against it.
Tomorrow, I'll tell Kai Donovan he's going to be a father.
Cool, terrifying relief washes through me, because the silence is almost over. The secret that's been crushing my chest for weeks is going to land in his hands and I won't be able to take it back.
The dread follows right behind because telling him means finding out what he does next.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out if Kai Donovan is the kind of man who stays.
Or if I’m wasting my hope like the young Ava, who waited for her father to come home.