The Goal

I get to my feet and hunt down my clothes.

“Where are you going?” she whimpers.

“To buy a pregnancy test.” Or five. I swipe a package of crackers from the minibar and toss them toward her. “Try to eat, okay? I’ll be right back.”

She’s still protesting as I leave the room.

There’s a twenty-four-hour pharmacy eight blocks away. I sprint toward it like I’m trying to qualify for the Olympics, unconcerned that I totally forgot my coat at the hotel.

Inside the pharmacy, I find three different tests. I buy them all.

The clerk gives me a sympathetic look and opens his mouth to say something stupid. The death glare on my face has him clamping his lips together.

When I get back, Sabrina is sitting on the edge of the bed eating the crackers. I feel like the tests are superfluous at this point. She could be a commercial for pregnant chicks.

I’m surprisingly calm as I open each box. “Here you go. Three different ones.”

“We’ve been safe,” she says, her tone faraway as if she’s talking to herself rather than me. “I’m on the pill.”

“Except that first time.”

She grimaces. “It was just the tip.”

An involuntary laugh comes out. “Then peeing on the sticks only gives us peace of mind, right?”

She finishes her cracker in silence. I don’t know whether to sit beside her or on the loveseat. I opt for the couch to give her space. Sometimes Sabrina can be hard to read. Right now, I have zero idea what’s going through her head.

Slowly, she gets up and approaches the small cardboard boxes stacked on the desk as if they contain venomous snakes. But eventually she gets there, gathers the boxes in her arms, and disappears into the bathroom.

I don’t stand at the door with a cup against the wall, even though I’m tempted as fuck to do it. Instead, I turn on the television and watch a couple ladies try to sell me a velour tracksuit in various types of animal print—only $69.99.

I watch this mind-numbing display for ten eternal minutes before the bathroom door opens. Sabrina’s face is about the same shade of white as the hotel robe she’s wearing.

“Positive?” I ask unnecessarily.

She holds up an empty box. “You need to go buy ten more of these.”

I pat the sofa cushion next to me. “I’m not buying any more. Come and sit down.”

Like a belligerent child, she stomps over. Then she drops down next to me and covers her face with her hands. “I can’t have a baby, Tucker. I can’t.”

A sick feeling curdles in my stomach. It’s a weird mix of relief and disappointment. The words I love you—the ones I wanted to say earlier when I was buried inside her—are stuck in my throat. I can’t say them now.

“You do whatever you need to,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you.”

It’s all I feel like I can say at this point, and I know it’s not enough.

19

Tucker

I always thought that if I knocked someone up, I’d be able to talk to my friends about it. But I’ve known for nearly a week that my girlfriend is pregnant, and I haven’t said a single word to anyone.

Actually, no one even knows I have a girlfriend.

For that matter, neither do I.

Ever since Sabrina peed on three sticks and got three positive results, she’s been avoiding seeing me in person. We’ve texted every day, but she insists she’s too busy to meet up because she wants to get a leg up on the new semester. I’ve been trying to give her the space she clearly needs, but my patience is running thin.

We need to sit down and discuss this. I mean, we’re talking about a possible baby. A baby. Jesus. I’m freaking out here. I’m the guy who’s unshakable, the guy who can take any lickin’ and kick on tickin’, but the only thing ticking right now is my heart—at double time.

I don’t know how the hell to handle this. Sabrina said she couldn’t have a kid, and I plan to support whatever she decides, but I want her to include me, damn it. It rips me apart to think of her going through this alone.

She needs me.

“You making something to eat or just staring at the stove for funsies?”

Garrett’s voice draws me out of my misery. My roommate strolls into the kitchen with Logan on his tail. Both guys make a beeline for the fridge.

“Seriously,” Logan gripes as he peers into the refrigerator. “Feed us, Tuck. There’s nothing edible here.”

Yeah, I haven’t shopped for groceries all week. And when you live in a house full of hockey players, skipping out on the shopping is bad news.

I stare at the empty pot I’d placed on the burner. I didn’t have a menu in mind when I wandered into the kitchen, and with the sad assortment of ingredients we have on hand, there’s not much I can work with.

“I guess I’ll make some pasta,” I say glumly. Carbs at this hour isn’t the smartest idea, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Thanks, Mom.”

I cringe at that word. Mom. He might as well have said Dad. As in, I might be a fucking dad.

I draw a calming breath and fill the pot with water.

Logan beams at me. “Don’t forget to put on your apron.”

I give him the finger on my way to the pantry. “One of you lazy asses make yourself useful and chop some onions,” I mutter.

“On it,” Garrett says.

Logan flops down at the kitchen table and watches us like a jerk as we prepare a late dinner. “Make enough for five,” he tells us. “Dean’s working one-on-one with Hunter tonight. The kid might come back here with him.”

Garrett glances at me in amusement. “Naah, I think we’ll only make enough for four—right, Tuck? If Hunter’s here, he can take Logan’s spot.”

“Awesome idea.”

Our roommate rolls his eyes. “I’ll tell Coach you’re trying to starve me.”

“You do that,” Garrett says graciously.

I set the pot on the burner. While I wait for the water to boil, I scrounge around in the crisper for anything green. I find one pepper and two carrots. Whatever. Might as well chop ’em and throw ’em in the sauce.

We chat about nothing in particular as we prepare dinner. Or rather, they chat. I’m too busy internally freaking out about Sabrina. I guess that’s a testament to my acting skills, because my roommates don’t seem to notice that anything is out of the ordinary.