Page 21 of The Golden Goalie

“Brielle is Aiden’s wife, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’ve run into her a few times here and there. She’s pregnant and...” I pause a moment, wondering how much to share.

My mom puts her hand over mine. “You don’t have to give me all the details. How far along is she?”

“I have no idea.”

She gives me a considering look. “Is it yours?”

I choke on the water I just swallowed. “Good grief, Mom.”

“What? You seem to really care about her. I just thought—”

“No,” I interrupt. “It’s not mine.” She doesn’t ask anything more, and I feel bad.

“He’s a jerk,” I throw out. Her eyes widen, and I take a breath. “Doesn’t want anything to do with her or the baby. Told her to get rid of it.” My anger rises all over again.

“Rico!” She puts her hand on mine. “That’s terrible.” Tears fill her eyes, and I know she understands in a way I never could. She raised two little kids on her own after her husband walked out on her. If anybody could understand a little of what Amber is going through, it would be my mom. I don’t even remember the scumbag and certainly don’t call him my dad.

“She just needs some extra help,” I say softly, and my mom nods, wiping at her eyes. I feel bad making her cry.

“You always had a soft spot for hurting things.” She pats my hand and stands up. “I’m making her some chicken broth.”

I frown. “Just broth? There’s like nothing in there?”

“Do you still have those saltine crackers I brought you last time you were sick?”

I nod. “They’ve been in my pantry since last winter.”

“Can you grab them please?”

Just as I pick up the box, I hear a sound. I turn around and see Amber running for the bathroom. I give her a moment before I knock on the bathroom door softly. “Amber, you okay?”

She opens the door a few minutes later, looking more pale than ever. “My mom made you some chicken broth. Will you try it?” I can tell she’s going to decline my offer, so I play dirty. “She’s going to feel bad if you don’t.”

Her eyes meet mine. “Okay.”

I’m relieved. “Come on. I’ll help you get some.” I lead her into the kitchen. “Hey, Mom, Amber’s going to try some of that broth.”

My mother turns from the stove and smiles at Amber. “Oh good. I didn’t season it at all; I kept it perfectly plain. And Rico has crackers for you.” She dishes up a bowl, and I snag it from her before Amber can. I don’t know why; I just do. I pull her chair out and wait until she’s settled before I place the hot broth in front of her and a few of the crackers. I go to sit across from her, but my mom slides into the seat instead, forcing me to sit next to Amber...not that I’m complaining. I try not to stare at her as she eats, but I can’t help it. I soak in the details under the kitchen lights. Her face is so pale, her freckles stand out. She’s lost so much weight, and she looks miserable. I get up to make myself a cup of coffee, just to give my hands something to do so I don’t touch her. When I settle next to her again, I see she’s eaten a few crackers and almost half the bowl of broth.

“That tastes really good, and it doesn’t make me sick.” Amber’s words are directed at my mom, and my mom beams at her words.

“Good, Honey. That was what I ate during my pregnancy when I was so sick.”

That seems to catch Amber’s interest. She leans forward slightly. “You were sick?”

“Oh, sick doesn’t even come close to what I was, especially in my first pregnancy.”

Amber’s eyes bounce to mine. “I have an older sister,” I say quietly.

“Yes, I thought for sure I was going to die before I had my Peyton,” my mother says with a laugh. “The only thing I could eat was chicken broth, saltine crackers, mashed potatoes, and room-temperature ginger ale.”

“Mashed potatoes?” Amber asks, interested. “That does sound good.” I make a mental note to track down mashed potatoes for her to try.

My mom nods. “Yes. I craved mashed potatoes like every single day. You can tell me to butt out, but are you taking your prenatals?”

“Mom,” I warn, but Amber waves me off.

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