Page 20 of In The Game

There’s a pause, quick suck of a cigarette, and then exhale.

“What do you mean, youthinkyou’re pregnant?”

She’s pissed, I know because she took the cigarette out of her mouth to say it.

“I was feeling sick and couldn’t remember my period. I took a test and it came back positive. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, what did you expect, Ral? You open your legs for anybody with a hockey stick. Is this really any fuckin’ surprise?” She chuckles.

She likes to keep tabs on my Instagram. There’s a few pictures of me with players at bars and clubs. I’m almost positive she does it so she has ammunition to throw in my face, not because she actually cares to see what I’ve been up to. Not that it matters anyway, even before I started sleeping with hockey players, she thought I was a “hussy” because of the way my body looked. What’s the difference?

“Can we not do this right now? I fucked up. I’m calling because I need advice. What should I do?”

“Welp, do you even know whose baby it is?”

I wince at her words.I don’t, but I have a pretty good idea.I’ve gone without a condom with other men before, but they always pull out and I’m on the pill. The last guy I slept with was Barrett and the condom broke. And I literallyfelthim come inside me.

“Not entirely sure.”

She laughs, actually laughs. I roll my eyes as an act of rebellion. She hates when I do it. Why does she have to be so mean? And she’s one to talk, because it’s not like I know who my dad is. The only men around were the awful boyfriends she shuffled through. That pisses me off.

“I’m sorry, did you finally remember who your baby daddy is?” I snark.

“Don’t be a bitch, Raleigh, or I’ll hang up. You have no idea how much I’ve done for you! You’re a spoiled brat who thinks she’s better than everyone else because you get to party with big-time hockey players, and now you’re running back to me for help because you got no one else.”

That hurts. I tuck my legs up on the mattress and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m freaking out. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

It’s quiet, and she either walked out of the noisy casino or hung up.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, just gimme a minute,” she barks. “Okay, first, find out whose baby it is. Wait, is it really an athlete’s?”

I sigh. Proving her right doesn’t feel good. “Yeah.”

“That’s good! ’Cause babies are expensive, you’re gonna need every cent you can get.”

“Who’s the guy?” She says it like we’re trading stories, it makes me sick.

“I think it’s Barrett Conway’s, but I don’t know for sure.”

“He rich?”

How the hell would I know his salary? I haven’t thought that far. Jesus. This conversation reminds me of our last big fight, the one that sent me to Minnesota. She hooked up with some rich local big-timer and bragged about all the money he made. She was obsessed with how our life would be better because of this guy. Her life improved, but mine got much worse. He was the biggest creep she ever brought home. I scratch at my neck remembering how he used to corner me in our tiny kitchen and try to put his hands up my shirt. I finally told a social worker at school, and that’s when all hell broke loose between us. He ran off scared and she never forgave me for it. This is all she ever cared about.How much money does he make?If I have this baby, I will always put them first.Always.

I run my fingers through my hair again, and a few strands fall out in my hand and I shake them off. Habit.

“I don’t know what he makes.”

“Well, you need to tell him, like tonight, Raleigh.”

“We didn’t exchange numbers.”

“You don’t have his number? You have no way to get ahold of him?”

I shrug, even though she can’t see me. “I was going to message him on Instagram.”

She takes another puff of her cigarette. “Tell him tonight.”

---