Page 27 of The Players Next Door

"I've been good," Sawyer replies, his voice warm and comforting. "Just settling into the new team, you know how it is. I miss the Grizzlies, though. I’m pissed I can’t be there to see you shine this season."

Sawyer's voice is warm and filled with genuine affection as he updates me on his recent games and the adjustments he's making on his new team. I listen, trying to focus on his words and not the life-changing discovery I just made moments ago.

He ruffles his wavy blonde hair, a sure sign he's worried about something. Probably me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

"Really, Sawyer, I'm good. Just...work stuff, you know?" I offer the most convincing smile I can muster. It feels fake even to me.

"Right." He nods, unconvinced, and leans back against the cushions. His protective gaze lingers a moment longer before he lets the subject drop. "So, tell me about the latest game. You were on fire with that commentary."

"Thanks," I reply, the compliment warming me like a shot of whiskey. We chat about hockey, about the team, and I almost forget the storm brewing in my own life. Almost.

The conversation shifts easily between us, as naturally as skating on fresh ice. But every laugh, every shared memory, is tinged with guilt. I'm keeping this massive secret, and it's building a wall between us.

"All right, Hol. I’ve gotta get back to it. But call me anytime, okay? I'm here for you."

"Will do," I promise. The call ends, and the weight of my secret presses down on me until I feel like I’m buried.

"Damn it," I mutter. Alone again, the full reality of my situation settles in. I want the guys. I want Cameron’s calming presence, and Jaxon’s worrying, and Deacon’s control. But…I can’t.

How will I tell them? What if they don't want this? What if...I don’t even know whose baby this is.

No. Can't think about that now. I need a plan, but first, I need to breathe. I need to play this close to the chest until I figure out my next move. Until then, it's just me and this tiny, unexpected life we've created.

"Okay, baby," I whisper, placing a hand on my still-flat belly. "It's you and me against the world."

For now.

It’s two days later when a knock on the door startles me. I’m not expecting anyone, but the guys tend to show up whenever they want. I check the clock as I walk over. They should still be at practice. And I’ve been avoiding them like the plague.

So, who is at my door?

The apartment door swings open, and Sawyer steps inside, shaking snowflakes from his jacket. His hazel eyes scan the room, then land on me, huddled with a blanket cocooned around my shoulders.

"Hey, Hol," he greets me, but his smile falters as he takes in my pale face.

“Sawyer! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I have a break between games. And you’re the worst liar I know. You’re not okay. And you can’t lie to my face. So, here’s my face. For real this time. How are you?”

"Fine," I lie. The word feels like a stone in my throat.

"You don't look fine." He drops his bag and sits beside me, close enough for warmth but leaving space between us. He’s respectful. Always respectful.

"Really, I'm—" I start, but the words die in my throat.

"Out with it." He gently nudges my knee with his own.

Deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

He blinks, once. Then stillness there’s just stillness between us, like the world outside our window, frosted over and quiet.

"Okay," he finally says. Not mad. Not shouting. Just matter of fact. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know." It's barely a whisper. "I’m scared."

"Scared of what?" His voice is soft, coaxing.

"Of telling the network. Of doing this alone." Tears prick my eyes. Stupid tears.

---