Page 28 of Power Play
Lacey
Holy shit, I'm dragging ass.
College was tough. It's designed to be. No one in charge of anyone else's physical health can slack or be lazy. They have to be the best of the best. So the Kinesiology and the Doctor of Physical Therapy program I attended put their students through the ringer.
I feel a lot like that. Late nights, cheap food, travel, poor sleep - it's all adding up to one very fucking tired Lacey. But I can't give up. I can't show weakness. I'm not complaining. I knew that going into sports therapy. I'm just trying to explain why my eyes are drooping and it's only ten-thirty in the morning.
I make a mental note to find a local doctor who can give me Vitamin B shots. They helped a lot in college.
I check Rick's range of motion and work a little on a shoulder that wants to freeze up on us after one too many checks to the boards.
After he's out, Jonesy's next. My feelings are mixed. I can't deny the chemistry we had that one day. Lightning sparked between us. I'd never experienced hate fucking. And I don't think that's what it was, but...frustration fucking? We verbally spar like it's foreplay. He infuriates me just as much as he pulls me in. I know, it's pathetic. It's the typical, 'damaged-bad-boy you want to change'. It's a fucking cliche, but I can't resist my attraction to him. My only hope is to ignore how much he pushes me, infuriates me, turns me on, and keep it professional.
So, when he swaggers in, three minutes late, cocky grin in place, I'm not surprised. What surprises me is that he smells like egg, and that smell makes my stomach summersault on itself and liquid to flood my mouth. Oh my God, I'm about to throw up.
I grip my stomach as it clenches painfully on itself. "What the fuck, Jonesy?! Did you bathe in an egg salad sandwich?"
I dry heave as I run out of my office, trying to breathe deeply through my nose and out of my mouth, now that I'm not around whateverthatwas. Fuck, the gym smells like sweat, dirty socks, and disinfectant and it's still somehow better than Jonesy.
I push past a few guys and stumble to the woman's bathroom before I retch into the nearest toilet.
Christ, I knew my stomach had been off from all the travel, but I didn’t think it was this bad. Fuck, maybe I needed a day off.
Lauren bursts into the bathroom a second later. She must have seen my not-so-stealthy exit.
"Hey, girl..." she whispers, hands up like she's approaching a wild horse. "You good?"
Still hugging the porcelain with one hand, I wave the other. "Just fine. Just adjusting to so much travel. And Jonesy smells like a he bathed in a fucking egg salad sandwich."
I cut my eyes to her to see her reaction. Her lips thin.
"Ooookkkaaayyy,” she says, carefully dragging out the syllables. “.... let’s say I believe that," she starts, her voice calming and soothing. "Then it won't matter when your last period was, right? Or who you've been with?"
She steps closer until she's rubbing my back. Oh God, I know exactly what she's asking.
"There's no way, I'm on the pill."
If pity had a spokesperson, it would be Lauren Novikov. She nods. "Of course, of course, but do you have an app where you track your period?"
I grip the porcelain again as I shove my phone at her. She angles it to my face, so it unlocks and then she searches my period tracking app.
I turn to the toilet again as another wave of nausea grips me.
When I look back at her, though, the blood drains from my face.
She looks at me, and I know. Holy fuck, the truth hits me like a goddamn Mack truck.
I'm pregnant.
In an instant of clarity, I realize how it happened. I'd gotten a sinus infection on the plane, moving to the new team. Antibiotics counteract birth control. I've fucked three men without birth control. Well, Jonesy used a condom at least. I wince. Condoms which are only 87% effective.
I'd slept with Ben four weeks ago in the cabin. Scott two weeks later and Jonesy, four days after that. The math is terrifying
Christ. I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting off tears. I'm single, in a new city, and a new job, pregnant by one of three men. How the fuck did I let this happen?! I'm so controlled, so measured, so constant. But I look back at all three times with Ben, Scott and Jonesy and none of it was reckless. Well, maybe Jonesy was. But I can't find it in me to be ashamed. Or to regret any of it. Each of them gave me exactly what I needed in the moment. Each time was perfect.
And I don't prescribe to the idea that men can play the field, but women can't.
I can't stop the tears now. They come unbidden, and honestly, I don't even know why I'm crying. I'm pregnant. I'm going to keep the child. I don't care who the dad is, I can raise this baby on my own. Iwillraise this baby on my own. Fuck, I never thought I'd have kids. Now, suddenly, I'm a mother? I place my hand protectively below my belly button and just cry.
