Page 53 of The Final Faceoff
I drag a hand down my face. “I haven’t even told her—” I pause, pressing my lips together before sighing. “That I’m in love with her. That I’ve loved her since forever.”
Dad and Papa exchange a look, one of those silent conversations they have where I’m pretty sure they decide my fate in real time.
“She’s looking forthedad,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “And honestly? I don’t know where I stand in all of this, other than the fact that I’m the best friend.”
Papa nods thoughtfully, then says, completely serious, “Therapy.”
Dad points at him. “Agreed. Maybe even couples therapy, because you two have a lot to sort through.”
I gape at them. “We’re not even a couple.”
Papa waves a dismissive hand. “Technicalities.”
Dad shrugs. “Look, we’re just saying . . . this isn’t a small thing, Leif. You love her. You’re in this, whether or not you want to admit it.” He leans back, giving me a long, knowing look. “I really hope you two can figure out . . . whatever this is. A therapist should help you with all those feelings you’ve been bottling.”
I don’t respond right away. Because, honestly?
They’re right and I really hope that we can figure things out. I don’t have much time left before training starts and I’m going to hate being away from them.
ChapterSeventeen
Hailey
If You Have to Cross-Check Reality
This might be the lowest point of my life.
Not the fact that I puke every night like clockwork. Not the sudden realization that my body is no longer my own, hijacked by a very tiny, very demanding squatter. Nope. This right here—spying on a man who I think is the father of my child—definitely wins.
Under normal circumstances, this would be an incredibly bad idea.
Yet here I am.
Hunched behind a menu in a dimly lit, far-too-expensive restaurant, I attempt to look inconspicuous while absolutely looking like a woman on the verge of a breakdown. The mood lighting casts everything in a soft glow, smoothing edges and making flaws disappear—unfortunately, that includes Marcus Carter, potential baby daddy, who now looks even more irritatingly flawless than usual.
Across the room, completely oblivious to my low-budget-detective routine, Marcus is standing next to a tall, stunning blonde. His date, presumably. According to his latest post, he had dinner plans with @cookingwithlove2day—a cooking influencer whose poblano quesadillas look delicious enough that I briefly consider DM’ing it to George along with a link of her food blog.
If this weren’t the most awkward situation of my life, I’d probably be fangirling her. Instead, I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
Marcus doesn’t look exactly how I remember him . . . Right now, he seems polished, every detail carefully in place. Tousled hair, styled just enough to seem effortless. An expensive watch that probably costs more than what I made in my last documentary. When did he start making this kind of money? His suit—sleek, tailored—practically announces,I make high-six figures and drive a car that never breaks down.
And, oh, yeah, he might be the father of my child.
I chew my gum aggressively and sip on the fizzy lemon-ginger drink George prepared for me. A miracle in a glass. Well, technically in a water bottle I shouldn’t be drinking out of, because the waiter keeps coming by trying to figure out how to kick me out.
My phone buzzes.
Leif: Where are you? It’s puking o’clock in here.
I exhale, already feeling marginally better and respond,I’m at a restaurant . . . about to talk to Marcus Carter.
A few seconds later he responds,Who the fuck is Marcus Carter?But then there’s a second adding,Oh, that Marcus. You’re actually doing it? I thought you were going to wait.
I simply type,It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. Better doing it fast, right? You must know, you’re an injury expert.
He doesn’t acknowledge my text; instead he asks,Are you sure it’s him?
I turn to glance at Marcus again and there’s a moment of self-doubt—but if not him, then who? I’ve tried everything. I’m at eleven, almost twelve, weeks of this pregnancy thing and I have to have a plan. So far there’s not much, but telling the father and getting that part done will help. I’ll know for a fact if he’s interested or not.
