I nod and plop back onto the sofa.
Alison perches next to me and takes my hand. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
I take a deep breath, my lip quivering already. “Ryan and I broke up. He saw the story I’m writing about him.” I pause. “And I’m pregnant.”
Alison shrieks in shock. “Oh. My. God. What?”
“Which part are you asking about? The breakup, the story, or the baby?”
It’s Alison’s turn to take a deep breath, which she does unsteadily. “Let’s start with the baby and work backwards.”
“When I got to London, I missed a day of birth control. And the condoms we used must have been bad or something. Just really, really bad timing all around.” I bite my lip. “So yeah. I’m pregnant. About a month and a half along at this point, I guess.”
Alison nods slowly. “And Ryan knows?”
I shake my head and brace for the impact.
“Hayley! Are you serious? Ryan doesn’t know? How can he not know? How can you not have told him?”
I shake my head again. “You don’t understand. He saw the story and he flipped out. Sandra made me do it. I didn’t…I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to write it. It’s awful. Everything is just – awful. It’s just awful and I’m pregnant and I think I’m going to lose my job to Brenda and I’ll be homeless and pregnant and I’ll have absolutely nowhere to go!”
The words tumble out of me and the tears start pouring out of my eyes. They run down my cheeks and pool up into perfect droplets atop the fiber of my bathrobe. They shimmer in the summer light coming through the window like dewdrops on a leaf.
Alison pulls me closer to her. “One thing at a time, Hayley. One thing at a time.” She lets go of me and pulls out her cell phone. She dials a number. “Hi, I’d like to place an order for delivery. I’d like two pork bulgogi dishes. Three spring rolls. And extra ponzu sauce.” She says my address and hangs up.
I look at her questioningly.
“I always need Korean and Japanese food when I’m feeling like shit. And I’m guessing you’re feeling pretty terrible right now. It’s like dad says. Never make any decisions on an empty stomach.”
I start crying again. “Thank you for being here, Ali. Thank you so much.”
She hugs me and holds me and watches me cry.
This is what sisters are truly for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RYAN
“Mackenzie! Someone’s here for you.”
I roll over on my cot and open my eyes. My whole body is stiff and sore from laying on this terrible fucking excuse for a mattress all night. And my nose is swollen. Hell, my whole face must be swollen from the feel of it. My skin is tight and I can barely open my eyes all the way.
But I can see just well enough to know that it’s Ivan standing there, his arms over his chest.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, still a bit groggy.
“I could ask you the same question, Mackenzie,” he replies gruffly. “Let’s get you out of this cell, alright?”
I sign the papers at the front desk and take back my wallet and duffel bag. The police confiscated them the night before. It’s a mercifully cloudy day again as we step onto the street. Ivan crosses the road, dodging cars full of early morning commuters. A few of them honk at us.
I skip behind him and follow him into a diner.
“Just tea and toast, thanks,” Ivan says to the server once we’re seated at a window-side table. Ivan folds his hands together. “What in the bloody hell happened?”
“How did you get here? And why?” I ask him, totally at a loss for how he’s here and not in Hounslow.
“Your friend called. David? Is that his name?”
I groan. “Devon, actually.”
“Yeah, Devon called. He didn’t have the money to bail you out. So here I am, chasing after my star player who left town for the weekend without telling anyone where he was going.” His words are stern but his tone is kind.
I go to rub my eyes when I remember my nose is broken. They had an emergency services worker set it right before they booked me into a cell for the night. “A guy sucker punched me in the bathroom. I was a little drunk so I hit him back. But it was in self-defense. You have to believe me.”
Ivan nods. “I do believe you. I’m not happy about it, but I do believe you. You did what anyone would have done.” He looks out the window as a mom walks by, pushing her fat baby in a pram. “Mackenzie, I’m worried about you.”
I feel my body stiffen. “I don’t need worrying over.”
Ivan clears his throat. “I used to be like you, you know. Just a big fuck-you attitude to the world. Never let anyone in, was always pissed off and looking for a fight. I had my share of drinks, too.”
I have a question for him. The Ryan of yesterday wouldn’t have asked it. But the Ryan of today feels like I have to. I have to ask. “What changed?”
“I met my wife,” Ivan says with a smile. “And she changed me for the better.” He pauses again and lowers his voice. “There’s a facility that I think would be great for you, Ryan.”
Him using my first name is what does it. His words cut through me. They cut through the hardened shell of bullshit I’ve used to protect myself from feeling anything too deeply. He says the words and I know he’s right.
I feel tears stinging at my eyes. I don’t remember the last time I’ve cried. But I’ve never had anyone care quite like this. I speak the three words I know will lead me down a different path than the one I’ve been traveling down for too long. I know once I say them, I can’t take them back.
“I need help.”
Ivan pats the table with his thick hand. “That’s why I’m here, Mackenzie. That’s why I’m here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HAYLEY
The next few weeks are a blur. Sandra puts me on several other stories while I polish up the final draft of the article about Ryan. Every day it gets harder and harder to get me in the chair to write. This story is like toxic waste. Everything it touches gets swallowed alive by acid bitterness.
But I press onward.
I need this job now more than ever before.
At lunchtime I save all of my documents and shut down my computer. I head downstairs to Alison waiting for me in her car. “Get in!” she calls out, honking. She’s blocking the right lane.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I say to her. I slam the door shut and pull on my seatbelt. “You know where the doctor’s office is?” I ask her.
Alison turns her blinker on and eases into traffic. “I don’t, but my phone does.” She glances at me. “You doing alright?”
I nod. “Yeah. Getting a lot of work done, thankfully.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Alison says with a pointed look. “And you know it.”
I don’t answer her. She’s asking about how I am concerning all this baby stuff. I don’t know how to answer that question. I pull open my phone and pop open a browser window from earlier. It’s of a British tabloid site. I turn the screen so Alison can’t glance over at it and tell me to stop doing what I’m doing.
I refresh the site like I’ve done a hundred times before in the last few weeks. There is plenty of news about some member of the royal family streaking down the high street of her native village. And there’s news about a former reality television star being pregnant with some newscaster’s baby. But that’s it. Nothing about Ryan. Not a peep of information.
We pull into the parking garage of the doctor’s office and I sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am.
Alison holds my hand in the waiting room. An old woman seated across from us with a tattered magazine in her hand scowls.
“She thinks we’re lesbians,” I whisper to Alison.
Alison laughs and puts her other hand over mine. “Good,” she says. “I’d love to give a bigot like her something to scowl about. Honey.” She says the last word loudly.
<
br /> I laugh and put a hand over my mouth. “I’m glad you’re here,” I say earnestly. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
Alison smiles. “Oh, I know.”
After an hour-long wait, I’m finally taken into the back room after they make me pee in a cup. Alison tags along and helps me into a cloth exam gown. I sit down on the crinkly paper and kick my heels against the metal table.
The room smells like alcohol and latex, and the analog clock on the wall with a prescription brand name emblazoned on it is thirty minutes slow. The minute hand ticks along slowly.
Alison pulls open a celebrity magazine and thumbs through it.
“Oh,” she says, hastily closing it.
“What?” I ask. “Did you see a nip slip or something?”
Alison shakes her head. “It’s…it’s an old magazine. You and Ryan are in here. From that night you had dinner.”
My stomach turns over and my cheeks burn. I wave my feelings away with a flick of my hand. “It’s fine, Alison. I can handle it. I’m a big girl.”
The door to the exam room opens and the doctor walks in. He’s tall and has a bit of a gut along with a grey mustache. “Ms. Childs. I’m Dr. Weaver,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I say. “I’m taking prenatal vitamins and I’ve been getting good rest.”
That last part is a lie and I know the circles under my eyes betray me. I’ve been almost unable to sleep, tossing and turning and thinking about Ryan.
“She’s lying,” Alison chimes in helpfully. “She’s not sleeping well.”
Dr. Weaver pulls a stool over and checks my chart. “That’s normal in the first trimester.”
I don’t tell him why I’ve not been sleeping. It’s not entirely relevant, after all. It’s not like he can change the reason I can’t sleep at night.
Ten minutes of examination later and I’m on my back. Alison’s holding my hand again. The doctor squirts cold goo onto my stomach and I clench from the sensation.
“It’ll warm up in just a second,” the doctor says softly, moving the wand and staring at the ultrasound screen. “I’m just taking some measurements here to try and see when date of conception was.”
I nod and breathe through my nose.
The sound of a heartbeat fills the room.
I burst into tears.
The doctor pats my leg and Alison squeezes my hand. “That’s right. Those are your baby’s heartbeats.”
I look at the ultrasound screen for the first time and see my baby. It’s like a little peanut with a nose.
Ryan’s nose.
I cry some more, and Alison actually has to wrap her arm around me.
“Ms. Childs,” the doctor says, wiping off the ultrasound gel and snapping off his gloves. “You are just over eight weeks along. Looks like you’re going to have a healthy little baby.” He pauses and looks at Alison. “Will you and your partner-“
“She’s my sister,” I say through sniffles. Alison hands me a tissue. I accept it gratefully.
“Right. Will you and your sister be finding out the sex of the baby?”
I take a moment to answer. I hadn’t thought about that yet at all. “I’m…I’m not sure.”
He nods. “Well, you have time to decide. I want you to work on lowering your stress levels. Take a yoga class, learn some deep breathing. You need your sleep. Even if you are just laying down with your eyes closed, that’s good rest. Do more of that, okay?”
He leaves the room and Alison hands me my clothes. She rubs my arm affectionately. “You doing okay?”
I shake my head and my lower lip trembles.
“Oh, Hays,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “I promise you, everything is going to be okay. Everything. I swear it.”
Back in the car, Alison asks me where I want to go for lunch.
“Anywhere is fine. Maybe someplace with sandwiches,” I reply.
Within fifteen minutes we’re ensconced in a booth at a deli with turkey sandwiches in our hands.
Alison has something to say. I can sense it.
“What?” I ask her.
“You need to tell Ryan about the baby. He has a right to know.”
I scowl at her. “It’s none of your business whether I tell Ryan or not,” I reply.
Alison shakes her head. “He has a right to know, Hayley. I know you don’t like hearing that, but it’s the truth.”
“He doesn’t want kids, Alison. I’ve told you this. There’s no point in letting him know.”
Alison raises her eyebrows. “I think you’re scared. That’s what I think. I think that you think you’re playing this safe. If you never tell him, he can’t reject you and the baby. Then you’ll always have that sliver of hope that he would want to be with you and the kid. But if you do tell him, you’ll have to be faced with the answer.”
I put down my sandwich. She’s right. She knows it, and I know it.
“You’re a journalist, Hayley. Since when do you not want to have an answer to a question?”
That seals it for me. “I need to tell him,” I say. The words are final.
Alison smiles. “You need to tell him.” She wipes her mouth and grabs her purse, excusing herself to go to the bathroom.
I pull out my phone, unlocking the screen and seeing the tabloid site is still where I left it; open to the front page. The site refreshes without me clicking on anything.
A new item pops up.
FOOTBALLER FIST FIGHT: MACK ATTACKS IN OLD HAUNT
Bile rises in my throat as I click on the article.
It’s Ryan.
Just like I knew it would be.
He’s back to drinking and fighting again.
My eyes well up with tears but I blink them back.
I have my answer now.
I can’t tell him about the baby. Not when he’s like this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RYAN
“I’m sorry I’ll miss the cup,” I say to Ivan as I pull my suitcase out of the back of his car.
“You focus on getting better so we can win next season, alright?”
I nod and smile. “Thank you for all of this,” I say.
He claps me on the back. “Of course. You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, son.”
The word son hangs between us. I feel oddly emotional but I fight back my tears of gratitude. “Drive safe back to London,” I say.
Ivan hops in the car and waves as he drives away.
I’m left standing outside of this old stone building near the seaside. I hope that the place looks less grim on the inside than on the outside.
I walk up the moss-covered steps as a seagull screeches overhead and shits on my t-shirt.
Perfect. I hope that isn’t a sign of things to come.
I take a deep breath and pull open the door.
This is my new adventure. I have one goal: get better.
My life depends on it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
HAYLEY
“You’re finally getting fat,” Alison says to me from her kitchen.
I’m lying on her pink sofa, pillows shoved under my head and lower back. “Thanks, sis,” I say sarcastically.
“I mean, you can’t tell that you’re pregnant. You’re just…softer.” She dials her phone. “I’m guessing you want two pizzas?”
I hold up a middle finger and she laughs while she places the order.
Soon enough, we’re chewing on authentic New York pizza. A nice, thin, chewy crust, hot cheese, and perfect slices of pepperoni with crispy, salty brown edges.
“I’m glad you ordered two,” I say after my seventh slice.
Alison laughs. “I told you so, sis. I wish you’d listen to me more often.”
We sit in silence enjoying our impromptu dinner.
Alison hands me a wad of paper napkins. I wipe my greasy fingers on them.
“Did you see the news recently?”
“No,” I say. “I’ve been trying to keep my stress le
vels low. Part of that is ignoring the cacophony of the internet.”
Alison looks at me nervously. “Ah.”
“Spill, Alley Cat,” I say, using the nickname I gave her when we were younger.
“It’s…it’s Ryan,” she says.
My heart stops beating for a full second. “Is he alright?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.
“He’s fine. He’s actually in rehab,” she says slowly. “Or so the British press is reporting.”
I chew over her words. “Good for him.”
Alison stares at me intently. “So you’re going to call him?”
“Way to be subtle, Alison.”
“What? I’m just saying, he’s getting his life together. I know the reason you said you weren’t calling him is because of the fact that he was getting into trouble again. He seems like he’s really trying.”
My cheeks burn with a combination of embarrassment and annoyance. “New subject, please.”
Alison sighs and drops her body into the fullness of the couch cushions. “Dad wants us over for dinner tonight.”
“Both of us?” He usually takes Alison out on dinner and lunch dates. He hardly ever takes me.
“Yes, both of us. Why would you even ask that?” Alison frowns at me.
“Because you’re his favorite and we both know that,” I reply.
Alison rolls her eyes. “You two are too similar. That’s why you don’t get along so well. Dad loves you as much as he loves me, Hayley.”
“There’s a difference between loving your kid and liking them. I know that Dad loves me. He just doesn’t like me as much as he likes you.”
Alison maneuvers the subject to a different territory. “Mom’s out of town visiting friends in Florida. So it’ll just be the three of us.”
I groan. “So I don’t even get Mom as a buffer. Great.”
Alison picks up one of my feet and starts massaging it. “If I rub your feet will you stop complaining?”
Dirty Baller: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 10
