Wild for You

by Kendall Ryan

  “Get over here!” I call back with a laugh. I can’t wait to show him.

  “What’s up?” Grant says, stepping into his room with a furrowed brow. Always concerned.

  “Stop worrying. It’s a good thing.”

  I position myself in front of the mirror, standing sideways. Lowering the waistband of my yoga pants, I reveal the baby bump I’ve just discovered.

  “Come here,” I whisper, reaching out with one hand to pull Grant toward me. “Look.”

  “Is that . . .”

  “The baby? Yes.”

  We’re both staring at my belly in the mirror, a gleeful expression lighting up my features and an awestruck one on Grant’s. I’ve officially popped, as the new-mommy blogs call it. They all assured me that this is one of the best parts. I can see why.

  “I noticed that my pants were feeling a little tight, and voilà. I now have a baby bump.”

  “Incredible.” Grant breathes out, his hands hanging at his sides.

  Does he want to touch? I almost offer, but think better of it.

  “I need to buy new clothes,” I say quickly, pulling the waistband of my yoga pants back up. Uncomfortable, I wriggle a little. “Bigger clothes.”

  “I’ll take you,” he says.

  I look up at him with a beaming smile. “Really?”

  It’s not that I love shopping. I’m just strangely excited to make the next moves in this new life of mine, even if those moves have a nasty price tag. Luckily, I’ve saved a little money . . . hopefully enough to buy a few pairs of maternity jeans and maybe a top or two.

  “Really.”

  We eat a little lunch before we go, my mother’s voice in my head insisting that I need to eat something before I go anywhere with a food court. But when we arrive at the mall, the scent of soft pretzels smothered in cinnamon sugar wafts across the court to my unsuspecting nose. Oh, wow.

  “Shoot,” I mumble, my stomach growling. I just ate. This is ridiculous.

  “What’s wrong?” Grant asks, using a soft touch to turn my shoulders so I’m looking at him.

  “It’s dumb,” I say on a groan. “I’m just hungry again.”

  “What do you want?”

  “One of those dangerous cinnamon pretzels, but I’m stronger than my appetite,” I say firmly, nodding with resolve. “Let me just distract myself with baby things, and I’ll forget I want it.”

  I scurry into the nearest baby boutique, ignoring the fact that everything inside looks like it would punch a huge hole in this week’s paycheck. I’m admiring a pair of tiny baby shoes with precious lacy ruffles when Grant finally joins me inside.

  “Here you go,” he says, holding out a paper bag with the pretzel company’s logo winking at me from the side. “Eat it while it’s hot.”

  My mouth waters as I blurt out a thank-you. I tear open the bag and inhale that sugary sweetness, savoring the scent before I demolish the pretzel in four bites. I try to be as dainty as possible, though, since Grant is watching.

  “This is everything,” I murmur between bites.

  Grant chuckles, reaching out to smooth some hair off of my cheek and tuck it behind my ear. His eyes and his hand are both so warm, melting me with his sweet affection.

  This man is going to be the death of me.

  We walk around the mall for an hour, stopping in every store that promises a clearance section. Grant won’t let me pay for a single thing. It’s almost frustrating how chivalrous he can be. I decide not to make a big deal out of it, though. I know he’s just trying to help. When I put an expensive lavender maternity dress back on the rack because the price made me pale, he steps aside to pay for it. I try not to notice.

  With three bags full—the two largest in Grant’s insistent hands—we call it quits. There’s certainly more left to buy, but it can wait. On the walk back to the car through the parking garage, I realize that I’m rambling about cribs.

  “I’m sorry.” I laugh, tossing my bag into the trunk of Grant’s car. “There’s just so much left to buy. Maybe I need a rocking chair like the one my mom had. Or maybe I just want one. I don’t know.”

  “Your mom used to rock you in a rocking chair?” he asks.

  I nod, smiling. “Those are some of my earliest memories.” As I say the words, I suddenly feel a little sad, because growing up in foster care, Grant probably doesn’t have any of those early happy memories like I do. But he meets my eyes with a warm look.

  “You sound excited,” he says, his eyes flashing with something that looks like victory.

  After spending so much time with the sad, weepy version of me, I’m sure this version is a treat. And I’m happy to keep her around as long as possible.

  “I think I am.” I sigh happily, watching Grant place his two bags in the trunk.

  Together, we reach up and pull the door down, standing close once it locks in place. I smell his cologne, and I’m struck with vivid memories of the two times we slept together. The way his hands felt on my body . . . the way he moaned, deep and guttural, at my touch.

  Easy, there. My heart rate picks up speed.

  Grant leans against the car, looking at me with soft eyes.

  “What?” I ask, curious to know what’s on his mind.

  “What if I got a three bedroom?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We could keep things as they are. Me in my room, you in yours. And we’d still have room for a nursery. I know there are bigger units on other floors in my building.”

  “Grant . . .”

  “Just think about it, okay?” He leans in, trying to catch my eyes with his magnetic gaze.

  I automatically look at my shoes. I do think about it.

  For a moment, I think about the allure of spending more time with Grant. How well he treats me. How wonderful he’d be with a baby. When my thoughts drift to the friendship I’d be jeopardizing, the way I’d feel relying on him for everything. I frown, meeting his eyes.

  “I have thought about it, Grant. I need to get my own place before the baby comes.”

  He breaks eye contact with me then, staring over my head into the darkness of the garage. I can tell he’s upset, but I don’t know how to comfort him without sacrificing my own needs.

  “I’m sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I need to do this for myself. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” he says, but all the buttery warmth in his voice from today is gone.

  He says he understands, but I’m not sure that he does. I need to stand on my own two feet. I’m going to be a mother, and taking care of myself seems like a pretty vital first step before I can take care of someone else.

  “I’m tired, okay? Can we just go home?” I ask and then grimace, kicking myself for using the word home again. Of course the man is confused. I can’t get my story straight.

  “Sure.”

  And with that, Grant turns on his heel and walks around the car to the driver’s side. I sigh and head to the other door.

  Tension hanging in the air between us, we don’t talk again for the entire ride home.

  22

  * * *

  Baby Steps

  Grant

  Four months later

  Earlier, when I got a text from Owen asking if I could come over and help him set up a bassinet for their new baby who arrived two weeks early, I jumped at the chance.

  Things between Ana and me have been tense since she told me she wanted to move out before the baby is born and get her own place. She’s been touring apartments with her friend Georgia in tow, rather than ask for my help. It’s only a matter of time before she’s gone, and even though I lived alone for a long time before Ana, I know this time, it’ll be different. Quiet. And lonely.

  When Owen opens the door to their penthouse apartment, he’s dressed in sweatpants and a green Ice Hawks T-shirt. His feet are bare, and his hair is rumpled in like eight different directions. I guess this is the look of new fatherhood. They’ve only been home from the hospital for three days.
r />   “Hey, man. How’s the family?”

  He grins. “We’re all doing good. But hey, thanks for coming. I couldn’t handle another night of watching Becca cry when we put Bishop in his crib down the hall.”

  “Of course. It’s no trouble.”

  I still can’t believe they named their son Bishop after hockey goalie Ben Bishop. But then again, I guess it makes sense. The guy is one of Owen’s personal heroes, and one of the best goaltenders in the league.

  When Owen texted me asking for help, he only said they now wanted the baby to sleep in their room in a bassinet. He didn’t mention the reason why. But now as we take the parts out of the box, he fills me in.

  Apparently, the baby coming early changed how Becca felt about him sleeping in his crib in the nursery. She’s been unexpectedly emotional and wants him close, sleeping in a bassinet beside their bed—at least while she’s nursing him so frequently in the middle of the night.

  I gather all of this from the few minutes of conversation Owen and I exchange before getting to work. I remove all the nuts and bolts from their packaging while he sets out the larger pieces of the bassinet—the cradle and the curved wooden legs it glides on. I wonder if Ana will change her mind on things after the baby comes. Things like wanting me closer? It’s probably a long shot.

  We work in relative silence for a while, making occasional small talk about the team.

  An hour later, we’re finished, and the final product looks pretty damn cute. I wonder if Ana will want one of these things to have the baby close to her at night.

  “Well, that does it. Thanks, man. You want a beer or something?” Owen asks, setting the toolbox aside.

  “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  “What about dinner? You want to stay over? I’m sure we’ll just order in, but you’re more than welcome to stay.”

  I know what he’s trying to do. Take pity on the old single guy.

  I shake my head. “Nah. Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

  Owen hesitates as if he has something else he wants to say. “Hey, so I know Ana’s been living with you for a while now, and . . .”

  I give him a blank look. “And?”

  He swallows. “And I just want to make sure you’re not in over your head with her. That you’re not being taken advantage of.”

  I give him a stern look. “I’m not.”

  “I hate to say this, but are you really going to keep letting her live there rent-free once she has a kid? What about your own life?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. My teammates have no idea the way I feel about Ana. They have no idea the things that have transpired between us over the past several months.

  “I’m only going to say this once, because I trust you. Can you keep this to yourself?”

  He nods, looking uncertain. “Of course, dude.”

  “Right now, Ana and I are just friends. But earlier on when she moved in . . . some things happened between us. And the baby . . . um, might be mine.”

  His eyes widen. “Oh. Damn. Wait… Might?”

  I nod somberly. Part of me wishes I knew the truth too, but the other part of me doesn’t care. Ana’s important to me and so is her baby, regardless of whether it shares my DNA.

  Owen breathes out. “Shit. I had no idea.”

  I nod. “I figured as much.”

  “So that’s why she’s still living there?”

  I don’t have an easier answer to his question. Swallowing my pride, I say, “She’s welcome to stay as long as she wants, but she’s mentioned getting her own place.”

  He nods, seeming to read something in my tone that hints at my unhappiness about the situation. “Anyone else know?”

  “Pretty sure Jordie suspects it, but he hasn’t pressed me for details.”

  “Well, I’m sorry if I came across as a dick. That wasn’t my intention. I was just trying to look out for you.”

  “I know that,” I say with a shrug.

  Owen gives me another concerned look. “I know we haven’t always been close, but I’m here, man. If you need anything. If you want to talk.”

  I nod. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Anytime. And if you need any help or advice on baby stuff, you can ask, but be warned—I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  I chuckle, some of the tension of our conversation draining away. I know he really does mean well. “Thanks for that. I’ll keep it in mind. And, hey, before I go, can I, uh, talk to Becca for a second?”

  Owen scratches at the stubble on his neck. He’s overdue for a shave. Then again, so are most hockey players. “Of course.” He leads the way into the nursery where Becca is rocking their brand-new son in a gliding chair.

  “Angel?” Owen’s voice is softer than I’ve heard it before. It’s a far cry from the Owen I know in the locker room. “Grant’s here.”

  Her gaze lifts from her son’s angelic face to mine. “Oh. Hey, Grant.” She smiles weakly. She looks tired.

  “He wanted to talk to you,” Owen adds.

  “Never mind if this is a bad time. I’ll come back.”

  “It’s not,” she says around a yawn. “What’s up?”

  Owen gestures me over to the oversized navy ottoman across the room and I take a seat as he leaves us alone. It’s only when I’m eye level with Becca do I notice that she’s not just holding Bishop, she’s nursing him.

  My eyes dart away in a big damn hurry. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Seriously, I’ll come back another time.”

  This makes her smile widen. “Calm down. It’s a boob. I don’t care if you don’t.”

  I can feel my face turning warm, even though I thankfully can’t see said boob. It’s covered by a blanket and her son’s head, but I can hear him suckling noisily on it like it’s his last meal. It’s kinda cute in a weird way.

  I get it, buddy. I really do.

  Boobs never stop being awesome. Doesn’t matter if you’re two weeks old or thirty-two. I still want them in my mouth too. But not your mom’s. Don’t worry, little man.

  When I picture Ana nursing our baby, Ana murmuring soft sounds and cradling a swaddled lump in her arms, I get an achy feeling in the center of my chest.

  “Just tell me what’s on your mind,” Becca says warmly.

  Scrubbing one hand over the back of my neck, I consider this. “God, where to start.” A dry, humorless chuckle pushes past my lips.

  “This isn’t about seeing me and Bishop, is it?” She grins.

  “Um . . .” I hesitate, suddenly feeling unsure. Owen and Becca have just had their baby—a tiny, helpless little thing. They’re probably exhausted and overwhelmed. And the visitors who have shown up have probably come bearing gifts and offering well wishes, not selfishly seeking advice like I am.

  Before I can answer, she says, “It’s okay if this is about Ana.”

  I smirk. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Only to me.”

  I recall a conversation I overheard in the dressing room a few weeks ago.

  “You don’t think there’s anything going on between Grant and Ana, do you?”

  “God, no. He would literally break her.”

  It was a funny observation—a six-foot-four dude with a petite girl like Ana. I can see how that would make people do a double-take. But no, I hadn’t broken her. If anything, she’d broken me, but it’s not like I could say that without inviting some serious questions. Questions I don’t have the answers to. But I’m hoping to get some of those questions answered today.

  With a deep inhale, I try to organize my thoughts. I’ve felt so scattered lately, so raw and helpless. I’m in way the fuck over my head with Ana and this pregnancy, and I don’t like feeling so out of control.

  “I just thought since you’d been through this recently, maybe you could tell me some things that might help. Like when she goes into labor . . .”

  Becca nods. “Well, labor can be slow, or it can be fast. Everyone’s different. But just be prepared, it can take a day
, or even two. If she’s comfortable with it, you could help out with back rubs or massaging her feet. Or even just being her advocate with the nurses.”

  I’m not even sure that Ana will want me in the hospital room, but I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees. “Like how?”

  “Well, like for instance, Owen was constantly asking the nurses questions, like when I needed more pain meds, or if I could have something to eat. It was nice not having to be the one to think about those things.”

  “Makes sense. What about delivery? She’ll be in a lot of pain, right?”

  Becca shifts, her mouth softening as she gazes down at Bishop for a second. “That depends. Do you know if she’s planning to get an epidural?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Becca nods thoughtfully. “Natural childbirth is incredibly painful, but rewarding, from what I hear. I can only speak from my experience.”

  “Of course. So, what was it like?”

  She touches Bishop’s cheek with her index finger, lightly stroking it. “It wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.”

  I nod. “Okay. That’s promising.”

  She glances over at me. “This is going to sound stupid . . .”

  “Becca, it’s not. I’m here pumping you for information about a woman I’m not even sure I’m dating.”

  “Stop.” She frowns at me. “I know you’re important to Ana.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

  “Well, I would.” She gives me a pointed look. “But when she loses her mucus plug . . .”

  My eyes widen. “Her what? Like a plug that pops out?”

  She chuckles at my response. “It’s not like a champagne cork, Grant. You know what? Never mind. It’s just . . . once I lost mine, my labor came on quickly, but my experience was just that—my experience. So, why don’t you just ask me what you came here to ask me?”

  “I don’t even know, to be honest. I just feel so useless all the time. What can I do? How can I be helpful to her?”

  Becca lets out a little sigh and lifts Bishop, moving him to her other breast—and, whoa, this time I do get an eyeful, a flash of engorged boob and a swollen pink areola before quickly slamming my eyes shut.