Page 147 of Puck Prince

My baby.

Hearing someone else say it, rather than the idea just bouncing around in my own head, makes it real in a way nothing else has.

But before I can freak out, she lubes my stomach with warm gel and presses the probe to my stomach. The machine makes submarine noises as she moves it around and black and whiteblobs shift and swirl on the screen. It looks like I’m growing a lava lamp.

Then, suddenly, it’s a baby.

Mostly. There’s a head and a belly, little arms and legs. No neck to speak of, but I assume that’ll work itself out over the next few months. Unless my lack of nutrition the last few weeks caused some kind of weird mutation.

Again, before I can freak out, Dr. Mavis hums in satisfaction. “Your baby is growing beautifully.”

“Is she? Or he. Or… whichever.”

“We’ll be able to answer that question in about eight weeks if you want to know. But for now, I can tell you you’ve got a human with a head and a hand. And this fluttering right there in the chest—” She punches in some keys, focusing in on the flickering light until a rhythmic whooshing sound floods through the speakers. “That’s the heartbeat.”

My baby has a heartbeat.

And a head.

And probably a neck, one day.

I stare at the screen for a long time, my own heart settling into the same rapid rhythm as my baby’s.

I’m going to have a baby.

Eventually, Dr. Mavis prints some pictures and shuts off the machine, and I find myself disappointed. That sonogram was the most boring television show that I could’ve watched for hours.

“It’s time for my lecture. Are you ready?” She turns to me, arms crossed over her white coat. “You need to see me more often. You’re thinner than I’d like to see, so we need to get this nausea under control. I’ll give you a few over the counter things to try, but if you can’t keep food down, give me a call and I can write a script. Also, a healthy diet is important. Lots of water, not too much caffeine. Are you active?”

“Sexually?” I blurt.

She chuckles. “I was thinking more like a gym membership, but that counts, too, I suppose.”

And I’m mortified.

Heat crawls up my neck. “No gym membership, but I work at the hockey arena. I’m on my feet a lot.”

“That’s great. Make sure you’re walking and staying limber… in whichever way you choose.” She wags a brow, and I think I’m going to like this woman. “Other than that, you’re doing a great job. Your baby is beautiful.”

With that, she hands me a small black and white photo the printer spit out and then leaves me alone to get dressed.

But I don’t move. I just stare down at the picture, rubbing my thumb over the tiny profile of a face as my entire life reshapes around this four-by-six print.

It’s been weeks of uncertainty and doubts, but my future clicks into place. Suddenly, I can see everything. I can imagine holding them for the first time at the hospital. And rocking them in the corner of the nursery in the middle of the night. There will be first and second and third birthdays with lopsided cakes. I’llteach them to ride a bike and take them to their first day of school.

Tears blur my vision, and I squeeze my eyes closed.

It’s not just that I’m pregnant or that it’s going to hurt like hell to get this child out of me or even that my entire life is going to change.

It’s that this baby has a father. An infuriating, stubborn, hockey-playing bachelor of a father who is also driven and smart and compassionate and gentle.

And he has no idea he’s going to be a father.

In less than seven months, this baby is going to change everything… and Owen has no idea.

It goes without saying, I need to tell him.

It also goes with saying… I have no idea how I’m going to do that.

---