Page 123 of Puck Princess

I don’t know what it is or why it would happen, but I do know one thing:something is definitely wrong.

“Fuck,” I breathe out through gritted teeth. Suddenly, I’m worried coming all the way back here to the empty half of the arena by myself was a mistake. What if this is serious and no one finds me in time? What if something is wrong with the baby?

Just like the first time, as soon as I start to panic, the pain subsides enough that I can stand up.

I take a few steps. I think I might be okay. Maybe. Aside from the cold sweat breaking out across my forehead, I’m perfectly fine. This is normal… I bet.

I pull my hoodie off—well, Owen’s Scythes hoodie. The high waist of my leggings and the tight material of my tank top clings to my bump, but the cool air helps. I move gingerly to the water fountain to fill my bottle.

I take slow, frequent sips, letting my body regulate.

Just as I am about to let out a sigh of relief, thinking maybe whatever it was has subsided, it happens again.

Am I contracting? No, no, no, no, no.

The cramping is so intense that my entire abdomen is hard. I’ve read the books. I know what a contraction is, but I’m still in the second trimester. I haven’t even felt the baby move yet. I can’t be having contractions. Not yet. I can’t.

I need to find someone. I need to get out of here. I need?—

Another wave hits me, and I drop my water bottle on the floor. Just as I cry out, the door to the PT room flies open.

“Callie.”

No.

It’s Spencer. No amount of pain can block my brain from recognizing that voice.

“We need to talk.”

Of course he’s oblivious to my pain.

He isn’t here to help me.

I force myself to stand and turn to him, but as I do, I realize my mistake.

I’m not wearing Owen’s hoodie.

Spencer’s face is creased in what looks like confusion until his eyes flick down.

That’s when his expression changes. And my heart falls through a trapdoor in my chest.

It’s a look I know. Anger. Disgust. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a tightness in his jaw, and it scares me as much now as it did the first time I saw it.

“What in the actual fuck?” he spits out, his eyes locked on my stomach. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Spencer, I need help.” I say the words as evenly as possible, but my mouth is thick. I think I might be sick.

He doesn’t hear me.He doesn’t care. “The rumors are true.”

“Spencer,” I beg.

He closes the space between us, and I back against the wall, crying as another wave of pain digs its claws around my stomach.

Spencer reaches for me and yanks my tank top up. “How long?”

“I don’t underst–”

“How long have you been pregnant?!” His voice thunders over me, and I press myself harder against the wall.

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