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CHARLOTTE

My fingers ache from an afternoon of rapid-fire googling.

What size is a baby at 7 weeks?

When do you feel the first kicks?

What is a suggested diet when pregnant?

What are pregnancy symptoms?

Is sex safe when pregnant?

Is it normal not to have pregnancy symptoms?

Noah Caruso Barracudas Quarterback.

Okay, the last one was more out of sheer curiosity of how famous my best friend turned fake boyfriend turned baby daddy is, all things considered.

Answer: Super Mega Fucking Famous.

There were pages and pages and pages of articles on “Noah Caruso: Tampa Bay’s Newest Shining Star,” “Heisman Winner Paving His Path in Tampa,” and my personal least favorite, “Noah Caruso: Tampa Bay’s Most Eligible Bachelor.”

Like, excuse me, bitches, he is not eligible. Did the photos of us on his Instagram not award our relationship the respect of “off the market”? Not to mention the fact this man’s baby resides in my womb. Although that’s not public knowledge for obvious reasons…

Actually, Noah may not want anyone to know. The headlines “Heisman Winner Got Horny: Baby On The Way” or “NFL Quarterback and Daddy at 23: What Will This Mean For His Career?” ring in my head, and suddenly I’m glad I’m way further off their radar than I originally hoped.

Groaning, I throw my head against the back of the couch. Stop torturing yourself. Tossing the phone on the cushion, I get up to grab a drink. According to my thorough research, pregnant women need to drink water. Lots and lots of water. Like, almost one hundred ounces per day. And people wonder why we have to pee so much.

After hydrating and a quick bathroom break, I settle back into the couch, tugging a soft cozy blanket over my legs. I pull my shirt up and stare at my stomach, poking it with a finger. Maybe it’s a little firmer than usual? Although I exercise pretty regularly, so I’m used to having a harder stomach.

I tap on it. “How you doing in there, little blueberry?” I pause, as if actually waiting for a reply, then have vivid Finding Nemo flashbacks. “Oh, shit. I probably shouldn’t tap on your fish bowl, baby.” I rub soft circles around it. “Mommy’s sorry.”

The word feels foreign, but that’s what I am now. A mom. And I knew it from the second the first test turned positive on the bathroom counter. And especially after the second, third, and fourth.

The motion-censored doorbell sounds, alerting me someone pulled into the driveway, and yanks me out of my pity fest. I jump off the couch and pad over to the window, attempting to hide myself as Noah’s not home.

We need a dog.

A gorgeous powder-blue, four door Bronco Heritage is in the driveway, and I wait for the person to leave, but instead, my brows draw together at the sight of Noah stepping out of the SUV.

“What the…” I say to myself, rushing outside.

He smiles wide. “Hey, soffione .”

“Don’t you ‘hey, soffi-whatever’ me. What is this?” I walk around the brand-new Bronco that has a Tampa Barracudas sticker on the back windshield directly next to another that says Baby On Board. “Did you trade your truck in?”

“Nah,” he says casually. “I’ll pick it up later. This is yours.”

My mouth falls to the floor. No, scratch that. It falls to the center of the actual earth because what in the ever flabbergasting fuck is he talking about?

“Noah, you can’t buy me a car.”

“It’s not a car. It’s an SUV.”

“Okay,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Then you can’t buy me an SUV.”

“Fine, then I bought a second vehicle, and I’m letting my girl use it.”

I sigh heavily, staring at his grinning face. It’s so hard to stand firm when he looks at me like this. Like all the answers to the universe reside behind my eyes.

“Why?” I ask.

He takes a few long strides, quickly eating up the space between us. “We’re gonna need something to drive the kids around in, Charlotte.”

“ Kids ?”

“Sorry.” He beams, cheeks flushed. “Kid.”

“Are you already planning our football team?” I ask, my own smile widening.

“Semantics,” he says, waving a hand, brushing off the subject.

“Can’t we use your truck?”

He blows out a frustrated breath. “I need it to get to and from the stadium. How did you plan to get to school or appointments?”

I gnaw on my cheek. “I don’t know, the bus?”

“As if I’m going to let you rely on the bus. We live in Florida, not a big city. In case you forgot, public transportation isn’t exactly in abundance here. You need a vehicle.”

“Even if so, it didn’t have to be brand freaking new.”

“It’s safe, kid friendly, and you’ll look sexy in the driver’s seat.” Noah grins, and I roll my eyes, stomach flipping.

My gaze trails the beautiful blue paint, and I sigh. I’m trying to hold my ground, but damn is it pretty.

“Noah, this is too much,” I say, guilt settling in my chest. This particular problem is one I could solve if I put my passions aside. “Maybe I should change my major back to pre-law and my parents will give me my old car back.”

“Hell no,” he says. “No way. You are meant to be a teacher. And the paperwork has already been finalized for the Bronco. No returns, no refunds, Charlotte.”

“You’ve already done so much for me.” I place a hand on my stomach. “For us.”

“And I’m gonna keep doing it,” he says, smiling wide. “We’re family.”

Family.

My heart soars to the moon.

Never when we started this did I think it would end with Noah Caruso calling me his family.

I love the sound of that.

* * *

The paper crinkles beneath me as I shift in place. Any attempt to steady my breathing only makes me hyperventilate more. The thin sheet over my legs does nothing to alleviate the chill from the room’s cool temperature, and I shiver. Noah sits beside me, his warm hand on mine, giving me a soft smile.

“Whatever happens,” Noah murmurs, placing a soft kiss on my knuckles, “I’ve got you.”

Nodding, I squeeze his hand tight.

“How have you been feeling?” Doctor Rigou asks, grabbing latex gloves and pulling them on with a slap.

“Besides a little weight gain, I haven’t had any symptoms at all. Is that bad?” I ask, panic setting in. Of all the things I read during my Google extravaganza, the lack of symptoms is what has me most concerned. “Could that mean something is wrong with the baby?”

“Not necessarily. All women experience pregnancy differently. My best friend was five months pregnant before she realized it.”

“And there were really no signs?”

“Besides her hangovers being worse than usual, no.” Her round rolling stool squeals as she slides towards the monitor.

“Probably because there were two people drunk instead of one,” I say, huffing a laugh, and the expression on Doctor Rigou’s face tells me it wasn’t a funny joke. Noah and I share a look, and he fights a smile, telling me it was, in fact, a good joke. I clear my throat. “But surely there would’ve been some signs,” I argue, hoping for clarity.

“Cryptic pregnancy is more common than you’d think,” she says.

“Cryptic pregnancy?”

“Yes,” Doctor Rigou says, grabbing a large wand-looking thing. “Some people have really minimized symptoms, and some have none at all.”

“Weird,” I say, glancing at Noah, who gives me a tense smile.

When I look back at the doctor, she’s holding a large lightsaber in her hand. “Could you please bend your knees and spread your legs apart?” Excuse me, what?

“I thought this was a stomach ultrasound?” I ask, clenching my thighs together.

“Before twelve weeks we do a transvaginal ultrasound, as it’s the most accurate.”

“Okay.” I gulp.

“You may feel a slight pressure, but this shouldn’t hurt,” Doctor Rigou assures me, rolling a condom onto the vagina wand and squirting a gel-like substance all over it, which relieves me a bit that it will slide right in.

Although sliding it in is what got us into this mess in the first place.

I take a deep breath and tug up the sheet, spreading my legs.

Pull yourself together.

Doctor Rigou slides the wand in, and as she mentioned, I do feel a slight pressure, but it doesn’t hurt. She angles the monitor so Noah and I can watch as she probes me like an alien. Noah takes my hand again, giving me a light squeeze.

A little sack comes on the screen, and I gasp. “Is that their tiny head?”

“Yep,” Doctor Rigou says.

This is for real.

“Baby Caruso is pretty cute,” Noah says to me, and we share a teary smile.

We’re family.

“How can you tell?” I ask Noah teasingly. “I’m only eight weeks.”

“I’m going to switch to an abdominal ultrasound,” Doctor Rigou says, removing the big wand, and my vagina is grateful.

“Because it’s ours,” Noah says as I cover my legs with the sheet and push up my shirt, exposing my stomach. “It’ll have your eyes and my great sense of humor.”

“Oh god, this baby is in trouble,” I say with a laugh as Doctor Rigou squirts the cool gel on my stomach, rubbing it around with the much smaller, much less invasive probe and pulling our attention back to the cute baby blob on the screen.

This is the best day of my life.

“So…” She taps around on a computer, her tone making me nervous. “You actually look to be around fifteen weeks.”

Every single bit of oxygen leaves my lungs at once. My eyes bounce from the screen to Doctor Rigou to Noah, then back to the screen.

“I’m sorry,” Noah says, hand squeezing mine. “Did you say fifteen weeks?”

“Yes,” she says, gliding the probe over my stomach. “I can even tell you the gender right now if you’d like?”

“Really?” I ask, my voice a whisper, glancing at Noah, whose face is white as a ghost, eyes glued to the screen.

“Yes,” she says, gaze meeting mine. “Would you like that?”

I nod, body trembling. Has it gotten colder in here?

“See these three little lines?” She points a finger on the screen and smiles. “Congratulations. It’s a girl.”

Tears blur my vision, my brain running on overdrive while she finishes answering rapid-fire questions from Noah. About what? I have no clue. A printed ultrasound is placed in my hand as we leave the room.

Noah guides me to the parking lot and helps me in his truck, buckling me in without a word.

My eyes fall to my hands containing the first photo I’ll ever have of my daughter.

The photo that confirms how real this all is.

My finger traces her little body. She’s so perfect.

The gestation stamp pulls me back to reality.

15 weeks. 3 days.

Noah climbs in the truck, and our eyes connect. The agony behind his slices through me.

He doesn’t deserve this.

Looks like we’re not family after all.