Page 146 of Puck Prince

“We’re going to work. You have a game, and we both need to get to the arena and prep for it.”

He follows me down the hall. “I’m going to call coach and tell him you’re sick.”

I swing around, my sights locked on him. “You can’t call in sick for me.”

“We just determined that I make the decisions around here, and I’ve decided you need to either rest or go to the doctor. Since you’re too stubborn to make the call yourself, I’m doing it for you.”

“I’m not sick. I’m—”Pregnant. I’m very, very pregnant. With your baby.“—I’m going to work.”

He grips my elbow, pulling me against his bare chest. “No, you’re not.”

I try to squirm away, but he’s strong, and I haven’t eaten more than a handful of Captain Crunch in days. “Let go of me! You aren’t even my boyfriend, remember? Why do you care whether I?—”

“Because I fucking care about you, goddammit.” He drops my hand and rakes his fingers through his hair. “And I’m worried about you!”

It’s sweet. Too sweet for a man who is not my boyfriend.

Way too sweet for a man I’m lying to—more and more as this baby grows and wreaks havoc on my insides.

So instead of hugging myself to his chest like I want to, I glare.

He glares back.

It’s the familiar song and dance we engage in, which is probably why it ends with me, once again, giving Owen what he wants.

“Fine.”

He immediately grins.

“But you have to leave,” I tack on. “You have to go to work.”

“Done. I’m halfway out the door as we speak.” He raises his hands like the innocent man he isn’t. But as I walk past him, he swoops in to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll DoorDash you some soup for lunch.”

Shame and guilt swirl into a tornado inside of me. The only reason I don’t dive back into the bathroom and heave again is because I know Owen would never leave if I did.

This nausea is absolutely karmic.

And I deserve every bit of it.

“It’s not entirely uncommon to still be sick in your second trimester, especially if it’s your first baby.” For a doctor that was the first Google result and just so happened to have a same-day cancellation, Dr. Mavis actually seems legit.

She’s middle-aged with a sleek blonde bob and a get-shit-done attitude that I find reassuring. If I have to push a whole human being out of the same hole that can’t comfortably fit a super-sized tampon, this is the woman I want by my side.

I’ve been weighed and measured and poked and prodded, and she only looked horrified for a second when she realized I’m twelve weeks along and this is my first doctor’s appointment. She hid her judgment really well, which is all I can really ask for at this point.

“In fact, sometimes it likes to make surprise appearances even into the third trimester,” she continues.

“Lovely,” I sigh, leaning back on the table.

“On the plus side, it’s normal. On the down side, it’s absolute bullshit.” She shrugs in a what-the-hell-are-ya-gonna-do kinda way. “Nothing teaches you that life isn’t fair like working with the female body. The things we go through to carry on the human race.”

I raise a fist. “Solidarity, sister.”

She wheels a small table closer and swivels her chair to face me. “While I think this is normal, I would feel better if we did an ultrasound.”

“Right now?”

She gestures to the table, which I now realize is outfitted with a small screen. “Right now. I’ll be able to see if things are coming along as they should, and you’ll get to see your baby.”

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