Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

35. Callie

35

CALLIE

“How are you feeling?” The OB snaps her gloves on as she preps for the ultrasound.

I’m lying on the table, Owen by my side. How it’s been twenty weeks already, I have no idea. I wrap my brain around it. But as she applies the jelly to my bump, I realize just how obvious this little human is becoming.

“I’ve been good. Tired.”

“That’s normal before and after pregnancy.” She chuckles at her own joke as she pulls out the wand. My chest fills with butterflies. “Alright, next question: do you want to know?”

“Do we want to know what?” Owen asks.

He’s been staring at the screen almost since the minute we walked in the room. It’s like he lives for these little glimpses of our baby.

If he’s this excited before the baby is here, how much more in love is he going to be when they’re in our arms?

The image of Owen cradling our child is actually too much for me to handle. I have to bury it deep down so I can focus.

“Well, assuming baby plays along, we should be able to see the gender today,” the doctor explains. “But it’s up to the two of you whether you want to find out or not.

I look at Owen, and he looks at me. I bite my lip. His eyes warm as they meet mine.

“Your call,” he says, squeezing my hand.

Owen and I have sat up many nights, going back and forth about names and possible futures for this little one we made. We tangled together in bed and dream up what our family might look like.

It’s been nice.

I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of the fantasy of it all just yet.

“Could you not tell us and put it in an envelope?” I ask.

The doctor gives me a two-fingered salute. “You got it.”

“A surprise. I love it.” Owen wags his brows. Somehow, his eyes are smiling. Like happiness is bubbling out of him.

Whatever this slice of magic is, I want to hold onto it for as long as possible.

The doctor gets started, and Owen and I are both enraptured by the screen. It’s the same black and white muddle, except this time, it’s much easier to tell what’s what. We smile and laugh and gasp as we recognize things.

“There’s a hand!” Owen points.

“And the nose.” I cover my mouth, overcome by cuteness.

“He’s sucking his thumb,” Owen laughs.

The OB looks at him with a quirked smile. “He, huh?”

Owen shrugs. “I have my theories.”

After the scan is over and we have a new photo to take home, she hands me a towel to clean my stomach.

“Everything looks great, Callie. Strong heartbeat, everything growing exactly as we’d hope. Y’all are going to do amazing. I’m not worried at all.”

Once she leaves, I hop off the table and adjust my red dress. It has a high waistline that distracts from my bump and does wonders for my ever-growing chest. Owen takes notice, studying me in the reflection of the full-length mirror.

I’m only wearing the dress because I have plans with Kennedy tonight. I bailed on our plans last night, claiming to be sick—which wasn’t entirely untrue; my run in with Rodger Santos left me nauseous all day—but now it’s time to pay the piper. The way Owen is watching me, though, I have half a mind to call it off again. She’d understand if I told her I had an incurable case of horniness, wouldn’t she?

“What if I don’t go out with Kennedy tonight?”

“She’d be pissed. And why wouldn’t you go?” He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. “You look great.”

He slides his hands down my hips, and I sink back against his chest.

“I don’t know. I kind of want to go home with you.”

Accidentally—or on purpose, I’ll never tell—I shift my hips back against him. Owen exhales against my neck. His expression in the mirror is suddenly darker, focused. “Callie,” he warns.

I give him wide, innocent doe eyes. “Yes?”

“Kennedy has been texting me for the last week, telling me I’m being selfish with you. Don’t put me in this position?”

I turn in his arms, my fingers laced behind his neck. “Which position are you thinking of?”

He growls, melding our lower bodies together until I can feel exactly what this is doing to him. Every second we stay like this, the likelihood of him taking me on the exam table gets higher.

Then there’s a knock on the door. We spring apart half a second before the nurse peeks her head in. “The doctor said to give you this. She said to open it whenever you decide the time is right.”

She hands me an envelope, and I suddenly know what it’s like to hold your entire future in your hands.

“Our baby’s gender is in there?” Owen asks.

“I think so.” I smile, rubbing my thumb gingerly over the seal. “See? Look how exciting this is. I think we should go home, open this, and then celebrate with?—”

“Don’t even think about it.” He holds me at arm’s length like I’m a wild animal. “I’m driving you to dinner with your cousin. You’re going to get some kind of virgin cocktail, order a charcuterie board, and listen to Kennedy complain about Lance. It’s going to be good for you.”

I pout, but Owen settles his hands on my bump. “And then, when you get home, I’m going to make you pay for giving me a hard on at the doctor’s office.”

I cackle, but he quiets me with a kiss that has me debating canceling on Kennedy yet again.

“I think you should just give me the envelope.” Kennedy says, swirling a glass of merlot as we wait for our food. “Safe keeping you know? So you can’t peek.”

“I’m allowed to peek,” I tell her, sipping on my lemon water. “I’m allowed to find out whenever I want. I just don’t know if I want to.”

“Which is why I should hold onto it until you decide. Otherwise, it’s going to burn a hole in your pocket until, one day, one of you is just going to rip it open. And bam! Surprise ruined.”

“I like to think we have more self-control than that.”

Kennedy nearly chokes on her wine. “Self-control? You and Owen? Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but you wouldn’t be where you are right now if either of you had an ounce of self-control.”

“There isn’t a right way to take that.”

“Just give me the envelope so you can have your big surprise on delivery day. Or we could do a gender reveal at the baby shower!”

“Whose baby shower?”

“Yours! Who else would I be throwing a—” The realization hits, and she goes scarily quiet for a few beats before she explodes. “Don’t tell me you don’t want a baby shower! There will be food and gifts and stupid games like making men eat melted candy bars off diapers! You’re having one!”

I bite my lip.

“Callie,” she groans. “You’re ruining this for me!”

“Am I having a baby or are you?”

“I just mean— I feel like you guys need a baby shower. And I need to throw it for you. Summer and I could plan it together! It will be fun.”

“It would be fun,” I say, going quiet until the waitress sets our food down and leaves. “If I was ready to tell people.”

She points at my stomach with enough flare she might as well shine a spotlight on it. “You can’t possibly pretend you are still keeping it from people.”

“I mean, I’m trying to.” I pop an olive in my mouth.

“But people know. You know they know, right?”

“Not everyone.”

Kennedy picks the onions off her salad before drenching the whole thing in a gallon of ranch dressing. “Callie, people know. And if they don’t, they’re at least suspicious. You look amazing… for a pregnant woman.”

I gasp, but she only shrugs. Kennedy is a truth teller, even when it hurts.

“Who are you even hiding it from?” she asks.

I don’t like saying his name out loud, so I don’t. But my silence is enough.

“Spencer? Cal, he might look stupid and act stupid, but he isn’t actually stupid. There’s no way he doesn’t have a Google alert on your name, like the creepy creep he is.”

“That’s why I don’t want him to know know. He’d lose his shit and it would be one more thing he could hold against me.”

She takes a bite and shakes her head. “I just don’t see why it concerns him that Owen got you pregnant five months ago.”

I sigh, not wanting to admit the words I have to say next. “Because the whole thing that happened with Spencer… happened right before I met Owen…”

Kennedy nods as she chews, absorbing, absorbing… I know the moment it’s sunk in because her fork clatters to the table. “Oh my god! Are you saying there’s a chance he’s?—”

“No!” I say a little too loudly. “No. I had a period after that. But only one. So no, that’s off the table entirely. Everyone except Owen is off the table entirely.”

Take a picture of Kennedy and slap her in the dictionary next to “relieved.”

“But Spencer doesn’t know that,” I add, picking at the cheese on my board.

“Have you said anything to Owen yet?”

The brie spills out around the crackers. I’ve never been this sad while eating a cheese board before. I shake my head.

“How long are you going to wait?”

“Forever?”

“When it comes out, he’s not going to be happy. The longer you wait, the less forgiving he might be.”

She’s right, but there’s more at stake than that. She knows there’s more at stake than that.

“Kenny…” I dip my chin, looking up at her under lowered brows. “I can’t say anything. If that video leaks?—”

“I don’t care about the video.”

I gape at her, waiting for some sign that she’s joking. But she just picks up her wine and takes a long drink.

“How can you not care about that video? It shows— It’s a?—”

“Listen. Is it mortifying? Sure. Do I regret every second of it from accepting the drink to hitting the dance floor to following him home? Obviously. But if I live in fear, he wins. And living in fear is worse than picking up the shattered remnants of my reputation if the video ever leaks.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean I should do anything that would make him leak it.”

“I don’t think he’d actually go through with it. Think about it,” she says, as if I haven’t done exactly that every single day since Spencer showed me the video. “Yes, it’s me in the video, but it’s also his dick waving around on camera. Not to mention, I’m clearly drunk in that video. Some guys will high five him for it—men are disgusting that way—but a lot of people will see it for what it is. Plus, it would fuck with his dad’s reputation, too. I just can’t see it working in his favor.”

She’s not entirely wrong, but it would still be bad.

“You know how hard dating would be after something like that?”

“You say that like I’m interested in dating right now. Which, I’m not. You also say it like I’m capable of keeping a healthy relationship, which also, I’m not.” She tosses back the rest of her wine.

“That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think? Your track record isn’t that bad.”

“That’s what you think. The last guy I was with, it was like a roman candle. But instead of shooting into the sky in a lovely display of color and sparks and lights, it backfired and blew up in our faces. I am still picking ashes out of my hair. Thank you, but no thank you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you talking about Lance?”

She takes a bite of her salad.

“When are you going to tell me what happened? I am dying over here.”

“It doesn’t matter. Lance Craven is the bane of my existence and the story isn’t even worth mentioning.” She waves it off. “What is worth mentioning is your history with the new winger on your baby daddy’s hockey team.”

“But you and Lance?—”

“Yum,” she practically shouts. “This salad is delicious.”

“You and Lance?—”

“Yum!” Her eyes pierce into my very soul. “This salad is delicious. It’s all I want to talk about.”

I sigh and pick up a cracker. “You’re annoying.”

“And you love me.”

She’s right. I do.

Which is why, no matter what she says, I can’t let Spencer release that video. I’ll figure this whole mess out some other way.