Page 151 of His Big Bad Stick

Then I hurry the hell out of there, to my truck, and leave.

Fans are waiting, yelling, and waving.

Best I can offer right now is a quick wave back.

I have a pregnant woman at home waiting for me.

I pick up a pizza on the way home, figuring Abrielle’s cravings will be out of control like they always are this time of the night. Here I thought women craved things like pickles mixed with ice cream when they were pregnant. All Abrielle wants is pizza.

So that’s what I bring her.

It’s what I’ll continue to bring her if that’s what she wants during the entire pregnancy.

When I get back to the apartment, the lights are all on.

The TV is replaying the hockey game I just played.

I find Abrielle on the couch.

She’s not curled up and tucked in under a blanket fast asleep.

She is sleeping.

Only she’s sleeping sitting up, her head tilted to the right. Her laptop on her lap, hands resting on the keyboard.

I put the pizza box down and reach for her laptop.

The screen is activated. She doesn’t have a password.

Not that I’m in the business of snooping, but I can’t help but look at the browser that’s open, staring right back at me.

She’s looking at apartments.

Condos.

Houses even.

It makes perfect sense yet it catches me off guard.

It’s not like I haven’t been thinking the same thing myself.

The current arrangement we have works for right now but not forever.

Our baby needs a nursery.

I’m sure Abrielle is feeling that too. Wanting to start thinking about a nursery and shopping and prepping and all that.

Everything suddenly feels very heavy.

It’s not just a semi-romantic gesture of getting pizza anymore.

It’s time to go beyond that.

I take the laptop from Abrielle’s hands.

She starts to wake up.

As soon as her eyes open and she looks at me, she smiles.

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