Page 16 of Tight End
It wasn’t until I popped into a convenience store a half hour later to grab a bottle of water and a snack that I realized my nausea—and the breast tenderness I’d assumed was from PMS—might have another cause. The random aisle I’d walked down to reach the coolers in the back had a big section of pregnancy tests.
My pulse thudded loudly in my ears as I reached for a small box on the middle shelf. My fingers hovered for half a second—like touching the box might burn—before I finally grabbed it. The packaging felt heavier than it should’ve, as though I felt theweight of the answer it might give me while I grabbed the items I’d originally come into the store for.
After I paid, I stuffed the pink box in my tote. The bell over the door chimed as I stepped outside again, and the early morning chill hit me hard enough to make me shiver.
I wanted to go back to my hotel, but I didn’t have time.
My interviews at the rink started in under an hour, and the cab ride there was already eating into my schedule. I couldn’t afford to miss call times abroad. Not when half the reason I’d been sent here was because I could navigate the skating world without stepping on any toes.
I told myself I’d take the test later.
Except the nausea came back during the ride to the rink, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I headed straight for the media entrance, swiping my badge while trying to breathe normally. Skaters were milling around with their coaches, the hum of blades carving into ice echoing faintly through the walls. I nodded to a couple of handlers I recognized and forced myself to walk like everything was normal.
But then I veered left instead of right, ducking into the women’s restroom.
In a much-needed stroke of luck, it was empty.
I locked myself in the farthest stall, my back hitting the metal door as soon as it clicked shut. My tote bag landed at my feet with a soft thud. I dug through it until my fingers brushed the box.
I told myself I was jumping to conclusions. My period could be late because I was overworked and jet-lagged. But my hand still shook as I opened the box and unwrapped the plastic.
By the time I took the test, my heart pounded harder than it had after a long form routine.
I set the stick on the toilet paper dispenser and waited three of the longest minutes of my life for the results to appear in the window.
Two lines. Bright pink and unmistakable.
My knees went weak, and I sank onto the closed toilet seat before I could fall. The bathroom tile swirled at the edges of my vision.
“I’m pregnant.” The words barely made it out.
I tried to breathe, but everything inside me felt like it was closing up. All the fatigue, the headaches, the sore breasts, the nausea—it all snapped into place at once. Like the pieces of a puzzle I’d been trying not to solve.
One that revealed the life Raiden and I had created the night we spent together.
I squeezed my eyes shut, and the memories hit.
Raiden’s body pinning mine to the mattress. His hands gripping my thighs. Voice rough with need. How he’d looked at me as though I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I only had to think about him for heat to flow through me.
We hadn’t used a condom the night we were together, but that didn’t mean Raiden had signed up for this. He barely knew me. He was a pro athlete who was paid millions. Odds were good that he’d been warned to watch out for gold diggers with paternity suits from the day he’d been drafted. Maybe even before.
He might think I was trying to trap him.
I braced my elbows on my knees and buried my face in my hands as I thought about my situation.
I was pregnant.
On the other side of the world.
With no one nearby who could help.
I still had an entire day of interviews and filming ahead of me. And an entire week until I’d be back in New York.
Telling Raiden about the pregnancy needed to wait until we were face-to-face. No matter how hard it was to keep to myself until then.
