Page 151 of Puck Prince

“Owen?” Miles asks.

I blink, shaking off the cobwebs in my brain. “Uh, I should go check on her. See if she’s— Has the story broke?”

“Nope. Just a bunch of people asking for comments so far. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

“Thanks, man. This is nothing, anyway. She isn’t—” I can’t quite force the words out this time. “Tell the guys I had to leave.”

Miles claps me on the shoulder and it feels a whole hell of a lot like condolences.

“Everything is fine,” I tell him as he heads for the door.

“It will be,” he says. “Either way, you’ll figure it out.”

Either way, I’ll fucking have to.

43

CALLIE

There’s never been a single good reason to eat a salad. Until now.

I take a crunchy bite of the cranberry chicken salad I bought from Whole Foods on my way home, washing it down with small sips of lemon cucumber water. Yesterday, I warmed up an expired Hot Pocket in the filthy microwave at the back of the training room, but today, I’m the picture of health and wellness. I might even go for a walk afterward.

I circle my hand over my stomach. “We’re gonna grow you that neck, baby.”

I slip the sonogram out of my purse again and stare down at it.

I’m sure I’m getting carried away, but I can’t help it.

I’m having a baby, and now, I have proof.

This is real.

This is happening.

And I’m in love.

I know I am because I don’t even know what this little bean looks like—aside from having a head, a chubby belly, and no neck—but I’m already dreaming about paint colors for the nursery and baby names.

I like floral names for a girl. Or I could smash the patriarchy and call her Callie the Second. Kennedy would love that power move.

If it’s a boy, maybe Owen Jr.

My stomach churns, and I have to force down the next tasteless bite of salad.

I don’t even know Owen’s middle name. Or his dad’s name. Other than Summer, I don’t think he has anyone in his family he’s especially close to. His mom is gone, and his dad was never much of a dad.

I relate to that. My parents weren’t present even when we were all in the same room. We ate silent dinners, and I can’t ever remember hearing them say “I love you.” But at least I had Kennedy and Uncle Randy.

Owen was on his own.

And now, he’s going to have a family, and he still has no idea.

I need to tell him. For his sake, and our child’s.

I don’t want my baby growing up in a sad, quiet house. I want a nice home with a happy family—whatever the hell that looks like. I want to have game nights and cut their sandwiches into hearts like all the annoying Instagram moms I can’t stand.

This baby’s life may have started out in a whirlwind, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. I can do this, with or without Owen. But with him… with him would be nice.

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