Page 32 of The Final Faceoff
“This one’s for you,” she says, holding up a battered paperback.
I glance over.A Guide to Not Being a Robot.
I arch a brow. “Subtle.”
She grins. “Felt appropriate. I bought it years ago, kept forgetting to give it to you.”
I roll my eyes but take the book anyway. “I think we need bookshelves.”
Hailey hums in agreement, already shifting through another box. “Yes, and maybe a library. In the office, shelves with one of those rolling ladders.”
I smirk. “So, I am a Bond villain.”
She glances around the penthouse, expression thoughtful. “No. Bond villains have personalities. You, my friend, are just a hockey player in desperate need of décor.”
“Excuse you, I’m not justahockey player. I’m the best goalie in the league—according to some websites and numerous publications.”
“You’re my best friend. The best. And I think that’s more important—no website required to confirm the data.” She winks at me.
She’s not wrong, though. Nothing matters to me as much as she does. “You’re the best and most important,” I say, because it’s the truth.
Hailey exhales softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering there like she’s unsure of what to do with them. Her gaze shifts to the floor for a second before meeting mine again, hesitation written in the slight furrow of her brows.
“So . . . tomorrow, I have a sonogram, and I’d rather not go alone,” Hailey says carefully. Her fingers drift toward her stomach, almost like she’s reaching for something invisible, but then she stops herself. Her voice softens, like she’s bracing for rejection, and she adds, “Could you . . .?”
I don’t even let her finish. “What time?”
“Four.”
“I’ll be there.”
It’s an automatic answer. No hesitation. No second thoughts—just certainty. That’s exactly what she needs right now, someone who’ll be by her side. An adult in charge so to speak, so she can start thinking about everything that’s happening. I wonder how much she has processed yet. That she’s expecting.
Oh, fuck she’s pregnant. Hailey—my best friend, my person, the only woman I’ve ever loved—ispregnant. Obviously, it hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m probably trying to avoid it. What is that called? Oh, right, dissociation. I’m totally at the point where I’m just reacting out of need—her needs. Because if I look closely into it and I really focus on the word pregnant . . . I’ll lose my shit.
My best friend—the love of my life—is having a baby.
A baby that is not mine.
It’s not mine.
Not.
Mine.
That’s a separate crisis for another day. Right now, she needs me. And I need to keep my head on straight because she’s looking at me with those eyes—big, “I’m about to lose my shit but not sure if I should do it, if I can do it,”eyes.
One of us has to stay focused and in control. That’ll be me.
Instead, I lean back against the counter, arms crossed, trying to act like I’m totally cool with this. “You bringing snacks to this sonogram, or am I on snack duty? Because if I’m going to be staring at a screen that’ll probably look like a blurry blimp, I need sustenance.”
Her lips twitch. There it is, a brief hint of amusement. Though it’s quickly buried under the magnitude of whatever she’s feeling.
“Forget it.” She exhales. “You’ll mock the sonogram.”
“I would never mock your blurry blimp.”
“Mm-hmm,” is all that she says, and I wish she’d tell me how she feels about all of this. The pregnancy. The father. The future she didn’t plan for. Knowing Hailey, it hasn’t completely sunk in yet, even when she was already working on a plan—which wouldn’t include me.
