“I’d like to keep an eye on your morning sickness, but everything is looking good. Your fundal height is about twenty centimeters.”
“Her fungal is what?”
“Fundal,” I correct Lowell, trying not to laugh because he looks incredibly concerned. “She means the distance from my pubic bone to my uterus.”
“Twenty centimeters…that’s like seven and a half inches or so, right?”
“A little over, yes.”
He nods. “And that’s good?”
“Yes. It’s measuring in range. Now, would you like to find out if you’re having a boy or a girl today?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
We answer the doctor at the same time, and she laughs at our difference of opinion.
“Seems we have a split.”
If there’s anything we’ve discussed the most during this pregnancy, it’s wanting to know or keeping it a surprise. I am team surprise while Lowell is dying to know, though I think that’s mostly because he wants to prove me right if the baby is a girl.
I always thought I’d want to know too, but as the weeks go by, I realize it truly doesn’t matter to me what we have. All I want is to be able to look into that baby’s eyes and say, “I love you.” The rest doesn’t matter, and it will never matter.
“Is that normal?” Lowell asks from the chair beside me.
He’s sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees, observing everything happening. It’s the same stare I’ve seen from him when he’s watching anything hockey related—serious and studious.
Even with the season in full swing, he’s been so attentive and present. Hell, he showed up for this appointment today still wet from his shower after morning skate, and then when this is over, he’ll go back to the rink for a game tonight.
It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. Something tells me if I were having this baby with anyone else, they wouldn’t be this invested, and that makes me feel ways I know I shouldn’t be feeling.
“It’s pretty common,” the doctor says reassuringly. “Plenty of parents are opposite on the decision to know or not. How about I put it in an envelope and whoever wants to know can look? Sound good?”
“That’s perfect,” I answer, then look at Lowell. “You happy?”
“Yes. I can’t wait to see that I’m right.”
The doctor laughs and continues with the exam. When we’re finished, she tells us everything looks perfect and she’ll see us for our next appointment, then sends us out front to set it up.
“My penis.”
“What?!” I squeak out, eyes widening, glancing at the receptionist who either isn’t paying us any attention or is really good at acting. I gulp, looking back at the man I just might murder today. “W-What about it?”
“Your fundal height is the size of my penis. Seven and a half inches.”
I don’t have to look in a mirror to know my cheeks are on fire right now. “Cameron!”
“What? It is.”
“That’s…nice.” I peek back over at the receptionist, who, based on how red her cheeks are, is now listening very intently to our conversation. I lower my voice. “You couldn’t have found literally anything else to compare that measurement to? Literally anything else that’s seven inches?”
“Seven and a half.” He shrugs. “I’m sure I could have, but I’m most familiar with this one.”
“That’s… Okay, all right.”
I shake my head, promising with my eyes to make good on that homicide threat. I turn back to the receptionist, who looks like she wants to both laugh and climb on top of Lowell to see if he’s lying or not.
“Our appointment,” I snap, and even I’m surprised by how bitchy I sound.
“Oh! Of course!” She scrambles around to get us scheduled for our next visit and gives us a card with all the information.
Lowell sets his hand on my lower back as we leave.
“I liked that,” he says quietly.
“Hmm?”
“Your jealousy.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” I lie. “I was just…ready to leave.”
He lifts his brows and tucks his lips together, clearly not believing me as he steers me toward the truck—because yes, he is still driving the clunker around—and opens the door for me. He helps me climb inside, and by the time I sit down, I’m winded, because that’s just my life now.
I sigh, leaning back against the seat.
“You doing okay?” he asks, going from laughter to concern as he searches my eyes for an answer.
“Yeah, just…tired.”
He’s always doing that, always staring and looking at me, like really looking at me. Sometimes it’s unnerving, and sometimes I like it entirely too much.
I’m starting to realize I like a lot of things about him entirely too much.
I like how patient he is and how supportive he is. How funny and smart and kind he is too. I like the way he looks at me from across the room, and I like the way he touches me like he’s not able to not touch me. I like the way I feel when I’m with him—protected and cared for.
And I really like the way he loves our baby.
He crowds against me, sliding his hands up my thighs to my protruding belly.
I can’t stand anyone else touching it. I’ve had some people try in the grocery store—creepy much?—and it’s uncomfortable even during the exams. Hell, not even Harper has touched it.
But when it’s Lowell’s hands on me, it’s calming, and I almost crave the calm.
“You sure that’s it?”
“I’m sure.”
He nods, then dips his head, putting his lips near my belly. “Excuse me, little miss, but you’re wearing your mom out and that’s my job, okay?”
He places a gentle kiss to my belly, and now I’m no longer tired—I’m turned on. There’s something about seeing him talk to our baby that drives me wild, and he’s been doing it more often lately, which means I’ve been ripping his clothes off more.
We’ve not really talked about us sleeping together, but we’re not not talking about it either. It’s just sort of…happening.
I want to ask him what it means—if anything—but I don’t want to ruin whatever it is we have going on either. I just want to enjoy it and get through these last few months of my pregnancy.
“Are you quite finished?” I tug him back up. “You know it gets me going when you go all daddy on me.” I let out a squeak. “Not like daddy daddy. But daddy, the non-kinky kind of daddy.”
His eyes dance with laughter. “Duly noted.”
“Shut up,” I grumble, totally embarrassed. “Are you going to open that envelope or not?”
He dips his hand into his back pocket and pulls out the envelope containing the anatomy scan of our baby.
He wiggles it my way. “Are you sure you don’t want to know?”
“I’m positive. Don’t tell me. Don’t give any indication if you’re right—which you’re not—or if I’m right—which I am. But you can look.”
He slips his finger into the envelope and peels it open, pulling out the scan just enough to see the results.
And then nothing happens.
There is not a single twitch on his face when he sees it. I watch more closely than I’ve ever watched anything before, but he gives nothing away. He simply slips the scan back in the envelope and places it back in his pocket.
All that curiosity I’ve been pushing away for months comes barreling into me, and I want to reach in there and rip open the scan and see it for myself right this moment.
He laughs. “You totally want to know now, don’t you?”
I growl at him. “Again, shut up.”
Another laugh.
I groan. “Don’t you have a hockey game to play or something?”
“No, darlin’, I have a hockey game to win.”
“Please tell me that glow you have going on is not just pregnancy but because somebody got dicked down by the hot-as-hell hockey player who knocked her up.”
Sparkling water sprays out of my mouth at her words. “Jesus, Emilia.” I run the back of my hand across my lips to clean them up. “Ryan said that before. Who says dicked down? What does that even mean?”
“You know when he lays you down, then bangs you so good you can’t walk straight for at least two days? That’s getting dicked down.”
I sputter out a laugh. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you?”
She shrugs, brushing her long red hair out of the way. “I’m horny and it’s been forever since I have personally been dicked down myself. I’m sure working with all these hot players isn’t helping at all. It’s starting to get to me.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am sorry. I know what it’s like to be around Lowell all day long and not get dicked down, so I understand.
“It’s fine. It’s my own fault.” She waves me off. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Is that a sex glow and not a baby glow?” She takes a sip of her wine, eyeing me expectantly.
I go for a noncommittal shrug, but I’ve known Emilia since the first grade, and she knows exactly what all my shrugs mean.
“Ha!” She points at me. “You totally got laid, didn’t you?”
I roll my lips together, nodding. “I did. I got laid a lot. Like a lot a lot.”
“Wait—has this been going on a while?” She pulls a frown when I nod. “I feel so bad that I haven’t been around, but it’s—”
I wave my hand. “It’s the middle of hockey season. I understand, and it’s not a big deal. I know you’re busy corralling grown-ass men who love to throw themselves around on the ice. You have a life and a job. I get it. Me, I’m just kind of here, waiting to have this baby and looking for a bigger apartment and hoping I can bust my ass over the next few months so I can afford said bigger apartment when the baby comes.”
I found a place that’s almost directly in between Lowell’s and the arena. It’s decently within my budget with a little tweaking, but I know I’m going to have to put in double the time I usually do over the next couple of months to be able to save up money for any kind of maternity leave.
I also know it’s going to be a lot of extra hard work for me when the baby comes because Lowell is about to be in the most important part of his season.
She tips her head. “What do you mean? Why aren’t you just moving in with Lowell?”
“Why would I move in with him?”
“Uh, because he got you pregnant!”
“Yes, I am aware of that fact.”
“And you’re sleeping together!”
“Again, yes, aware of that.”
“You’re telling me you’re sleeping together, you’re pregnant with his baby, and you’re not going to move in with him?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
She doesn’t say anything for several long moments. She just watches me, and it’s unnerving because when Emilia just watches, it means whatever she says next is something I know I am not going to like.
“You’re insane,” she whispers. “This baby has sucked all of your brain cells out of you and you have gone utterly insane.”
To an extent, she’s not wrong. But that’s not what this is about. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“You don’t see what the big deal is…” She mutters my words back to herself, then scoffs. “Come on. You’re smarter than that, Hollis. I know you are.”
I am. But I’m also dumb enough to keep doing it.
I wave her words off. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”
“Are you?”
“Yes!”
It comes out louder than intended, but I’m getting frustrated by her line of questioning. I’m a grown adult. I know what I’m doing.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just… We are both very aware of what this is. It’s the same score as last time. It’s nothing serious.”
She looks pointedly at his shoes that are sitting by the door.
“I admit that does look a little serious, but that’s not what this is. We are just two people enjoying the company of one another while we wait on our baby to come into this world. I don’t have any preconceived notions about what is happening between us, and I know Lowell also does not have any preconceived notions about what’s happening between us. In case you forgot, I haven’t even been divorced for a full year. I am not looking to rush into anything serious.” I run my hand over my belly. “Well, besides my baby, of course. But it’s not like I can just return that one. I didn’t keep the receipt.”
She laughs lightly, but the joy slips from her penetrating gaze all too soon. “Can I say something?”
“Knowing you, you will anyway.” I motion for her to continue.
“I spend a decent amount of time around the team. Yeah, I don’t travel with them often, but I’m here at home with them when they’re at the rink, which we both know is a lot of hours a day during the season. So, it’s safe to say I know these guys fairly well, which means I feel like I can say this with confidence: I have never seen Lowell the way he is now.”
“What do you mean the way he is now?”
“I mean…lighter. Happy.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Don’t get me wrong—he’s always been really nice and friendly and he’s just an all-around really good guy. But he’s also always been private and a little guarded, especially when it comes to letting anybody get close to anything about his personal life. That said, I can’t tell you the number of times I have witnessed that man pass around a photo of your sonogram with nothing but pride on his face, just like I can’t tell you the number of times I have seen his face light up talking about not just your baby, but you. I say that as a person who has seen this without even knowing you two were sleeping together, which means I’m coming from the standpoint of pure honesty when I say he has feelings for you.”
I sigh. “Of course he probably has some feelings for me—I’m carrying his baby.”
“True, but…” She lifts her shoulder. “I don’t know, Hollis. It’s different. He’s different. Even if neither one of you are ready to admit it, he has feelings feelings for you, and unless you somehow end up admitting them, neither one of you are walking away from this unscathed in the end.”
“End? There is no end, Emilia. I’m the mother of his child.”
She lifts her wine to her lips and raises her brow. “I know, and that’s the bitch of it all.”
