Page 84 of Pucking the Single Dad
"That's exactly why I should go. Before I fail him worse. Before—"Before I bring another child into this for you to protect from my incompetence."Before he loves me too much to recover when I inevitably fail him."
"You didn't fail anything! You're scared. I get that. But you don't run from scared."
"I'm not running—"
"Yes, you are." He grabbed his gear bag with sharp movements. "Just like Marcus said you would."
The name of my ex-fiancé in his mouth felt like betrayal. "You don't know anything about Marcus."
"I know he convinced you that you weren't enough. And now you're proving him right."
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Maybe he wasn't wrong."
The words hung between us like a challenged penalty, waiting for review. Brad's face went blank, professional athlete's poker face sliding into place.
"The bus leaves in fifteen." He moved to the door, paused. "If you're going, at least pretend for him tonight. Let him watch the game thinking you give a shit. You owe him that performance."
The door closed with devastating quietness. I heard him in Finn's room, promises about bringing home the Cup,reminders about using his inhaler during excitement. Then the garage door grinding open, his car engine fading into distance.
I made it to the bathroom before vomiting—morning sickness or emotional violence, impossible to differentiate. The pregnancy test I'd hidden might as well have been radioactive, pulsing with potential I couldn't face.
My phone buzzed. A text from Brad:Theo will get Finn at 5. A car service is scheduled for you both. Please show up—if not for me, then at least for Finn.
Even furious, even devastated, he'd still arranged everything. Still made sure I'd be there.
When Theo arrived, he found me with my bag, coat on.
"You're not serious." His disappointment felt parental.
"I need space."
"You need your head examined." He blocked the doorway. "That man is about to play through a knee that should be amputated, and you're bailing because you're scared?"
"You don't understand—"
"Whatever the reason, they need you — both of them." His voice gentled. "Serena, being scared doesn't mean you're failing."
"I almost hurt Finn—"
"And tomorrow you might save him. That's parenthood. Fucking up and showing up anyway."
Through the window, Finn was practicing his celebration dance for when Brad scored, unaware his world was shifting.
"If I stay, I'll fail them."
"If you leave, you'll guarantee it."
The words should have cut through, but fear clouded my head. I was walking away before I’d even decided — a coward’s exit.
I drove to Maria's through tears that turned the taillights ahead into red stars, the mountain roads serpentining beneath me like a drunk's signature. Twice I pulled over to vomit. The pregnancy made everything smell like copper and regret.
Maria opened her door, took one look at my devastation, and yanked me inside. "Jesus, you look like someone died."
"Someone did. Sarah. And she would never have—" The words dissolved into sobs that came violent and raw, the kind that shake your entire body.
"Okay, okay." Maria guided me to her couch—the same one where we'd shared countless wine nights before my life turned into this mess. "Start from the beginning. Actually, wait—" She reached for a bottle of wine and offered it to me, but I shook my head.
"Why aren't you drinking?" Her eyes widened. "Oh my god, don't tell me you're pregnant."
