Page 150 of Puck Prince

“No, it’s not about the game.” He scrubs a hand through his sweaty hair. “I was actually wondering if you saw the news lately.”

Jesus fucking Christ, does it ever end?

“I saw there was a break-in downtown, but my sister is safe. I’m dealing with it.”

Miles frowns and shakes his head slightly as he pulls out his phone. “No—the news about you.”

I narrow my eyes. “What news about me?”

I’m about to go the fuck off. I’ve been in bed with Callie or at practice all day, every day for the last week. There’s no news to tell unless it’s about the way Callie almost broke the sound barrier last night. She was so loud I couldn’t even hear my upstairs neighbor banging on the floor until we were both finished and catching our breath.

Miles holds out his phone. “I’ve been getting a dumpster truck of emails asking if I knew I wasn’t the only Scythes player expecting a baby.”

“Fuck. Who?” I visualize the line-up in my head. “We can spare you for paternity leave, but if there’s someone else, the season will be tanked. We’ve gotta get on some kind of fatherhood schedule.”

“Owen.” Miles arches both brows and jabs his finger at his screen. “They’re talking about you.”

I laugh at the insanity of it. “I’d know if I was having a baby. There hasn’t been anyone except?—”

Callie.

Her face fills Miles’s phone screen.

There’s a paparazzi photo of her walking down the street. She’s every bit as pale as she was this morning, but her hair is piled in a bun on top of her head, and she’s in real pants. She looks terrible. Beautiful, but terrible.

I should’ve taken her to the doctor.

Miles scrolls through the pictures, and I watch Callie walk down the sidewalk… past a sign for an OBGYN office.

Not the kind of doctor I was thinking of.

“When were these?—”

“Today,” Miles answers before I can even finish. “The emails started rolling in an hour ago.”

I take his phone, zooming in close enough I can see her individual pores just to be sure. I shake my head. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know, O. It looks like Callie.”

“ItisCallie, but it’s not— There’s no way she’s pregnant.”

She probably got lost on her way to whatever family doctor she called. Or this has something to do with birth control. Is she on birth control? Not that it matters. I always wrap up.

“Bro, I get it. When Alisha showed me that stick, I was pretty freaked out. But I’ve kind of gotten used to?—”

“There’s no stick. She isn’t pregnant.”

Miles is quiet for a long time, and then… “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say, even as the last few weeks start replaying in my head.

First, there’s the no drinking thing. I mean, a lot of people don’t drink. More power to them. But Callie went from downing a bottle of wine by herself to ordering nothing but Canada Dry.

Then there’s the nausea. She’s been sick. A lot.

No.No, she can’t be pregnant.

I count back days to the night we met—the same night we fucked. Three months. God, that feels like forever and nothing at the same time.

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