Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

30. Little Grainy Photos

30 /

little grainy photos

Tripp

The waiting room of an obstetrics office is not a place I ever thought I’d be. There are at least three heavily pregnant women sitting around, plus one young mother with a tiny baby in a carrier contraption thing that she casually rocks with the toe of her shoe. It’s very tiny. Like, are they always that tiny? It seems like it would be really easy to break. Or misplace. I know guys who wear bigger shoes than that baby.

My leg bounces nervously as I look around, accidentally catching the eye of one of the pregnant ladies. She gives me a smile and says, “It will be fine,” as if she’s just read my mind.

I try to smile back but I’m sure I just look constipated. In truth, I want to throw up. Like, right now. I swallow it back, breathing through my nose, closing my eyes.

Lila sits next to me, reading an old issue of Sports Illustrated . She’s bypassed the many different parenting magazines, and I have to give her credit for that. I grab one of them, though, only to use to fan myself as I pull at the collar of my shirt.

“Is it hot in here?” I ask.

Lila sighs. “For heaven’s sake, Tripp. That baby is less of a baby than you. Go outside and wait if you’re going to be squeamish the whole time.”

I shoot up out of my chair like I’ve been shocked, heading to the door and out into the fresh air. I’ve never had a panic attack, but this seems like an ideal time to start. I mean, seriously, what was I thinking? I’m going to be a shitty father. Lila deserves so much better and here she is, stuck with me. We fucking got married. What in the seventh circle of hell possessed me to marry a woman who clearly doesn’t like me that much—at least not outside the bedroom—and to think we could make something like a family work out?

I have never been around a baby. I don’t know anything about keeping another human alive. Christ, I haven’t even told my parents what kind of idiot shit I’ve gotten myself into. Oh, hey, Mom and Dad, I had sex with a woman thirteen years younger than me and, oops, I got her pregnant and now we’re married, and I am just a colossal fuckup. Sorry.

My hysterical laughter probably makes me look like a seriously deluded individual. I need to get a grip. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I force myself to slow down my breaths, a trick I learned a long time ago, when I was a teenager and nervous pre-game.

Once I’m centered again, I head back inside, finding Lila gone. At the front desk, a smirking nurse tells me she’s gone back for her appointment and that she can lead me back if I’m done having a breakdown.

“Very funny,” I mutter.

“You’re not the first man to panic at the thought of being a father,” she says smugly as she walks me down the hall. “In fact, many women panic, as well. It’s a pretty big thing, bringing another human into the world. It’s normal to be nervous.”

She holds out her hand to a room. I grip the door handle, take a deep breath, and step inside. The sight nearly sends me right back out into the hallway. Lila is lying on the table, legs in stirrups, and the doctor has some wand-looking tool up between her legs. I freeze, unsure what to do. Lila pays me no attention, her eyes on a small television-set-looking-thing, a grainy black-and-white image displayed there.

I step closer, peering at the screen. It’s hard to make out and certainly doesn’t look like a human. It looks more like a gummy bear, in truth. The cursor moves as the doctor says, “See that? That’s a tiny little heart beating.”

Somehow, I’ve found my way to Lila’s side and I’m holding her hand. That one little thing, a tiny heartbeat in a grainy, bear-shaped little blob on a screen, has nearly undone me. The panic I felt earlier? Gone. In its place are a million emotions. The first? Holy shit, that’s my kid right there.

The doctor says things look good. Gives us a due date in the summer. Tells us to schedule another appointment in a month. Prescribes a prenatal vitamin. And while all of this is happening, I’m just thinking about how much I have to lose right now. That’s our baby. A baby that I made with a beautiful woman I’ve wanted for a long time. And this is my last season on the ice as a player. By the time this baby arrives, I’ll be post-career. I can go anywhere, do anything. Maybe this is meant to be the next thing for me. Maybe I can do something good with this little baby.

I look at Lila, studying her face for any idea of what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling, but she’s impassive. There is nothing on her face. Just nothing. And since she isn’t showing any kind of emotion, I won’t either. She steps behind a curtain to change as the doctor prints out those little grainy photos that people always stick to their refrigerators.

When Lila emerges, she ignores the outstretched hand of the doctor, those photos dangling from her fingertips. I reach out and grab them, though, taking a quick peek before pocketing them.

Once we’re inside the town car headed back to the arena, Lila is quiet, hands clasped in her lap as she looks out the window.

“You okay?” I ask.

She lifts a shoulder, not looking at me. “I’m supposed to move to Ohio this summer.”

As the car pulls up to the arena entrance, she’s got the door open before the car is even in park. She’s out the door before I can undo my seat belt. I follow, hoping to get her to talk to me, but she just walks like a woman on a mission, all the way through the halls, to the elevator. She doesn’t wait for me and the doors shut before I can step in.

If a man rolls his eyes and no one is around to see it, did it really happen at all?

Fine, I’ll take the stairs.

I bound up the stairwell and catch Lila just as she puts her purse into her lock drawer. She sees me approach and snaps.

“I don’t need a damn babysitter, Tripp. I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself.”

It’s loud enough that my first inclination is to look up to see if Laura Gallant has heard it from inside her office. She’s staring right back at me, eyes wide, so I’d say the answer is yes.

“You’re right,” I say, eyes back on Lila, whose expression is hard as stone. “You are a grown woman. I understand how you’re feeling right now.”

Lila snorts, a derisive sound. “No, you don’t. You’re not twenty-three and just starting out, just trying to get a career off the ground. You’re not the one whose life plans just got upended. You’re not even the one who has to carry and birth and raise a child you didn’t plan.”

My hand automatically goes into my pocket, to the thin paper photos in there. I think about pulling it out, about telling her that this is our child. That we made this tiny thing that will be a human soon. But as Laura Gallant stands and makes her way toward us, I just can’t find words. Instead, I stand there like a big dummy with no response that will in any way make this situation a good one.

“Just go, Tripp,” Lila says tiredly, sitting down in her office chair, focusing her attention on her computer. “I have work to do.”

Laura is there, now. She has her hand on Lila’s shoulder protectively and pins me with an intense gaze. It’s not mean or contentious, just intense. I wait a moment and when she doesn’t say anything, I realize it’s best to go. To give Lila space.