Page 151 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

“Of course,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intend.

She swallows, then slips her hand into mine. Her palm is cool; her grip is iron. We turn back to the bathroom together, step by small step. I can feel the quick thrum of her pulse against my skin. I squeeze gently, a silent promise.

The test waits by the sink. A tiny strip of plastic that somehow weighs a ton.

We stand there an extra heartbeat, both of us just… looking. She turns her phone over on the counter; the timer’s already running.

1:41.

We don’t talk. The fan hums. Somewhere in the house the fridge kicks on, then off.

0:58.Her grip tightens.

At0:12the numbers start to speed up. At0:05I’m not sure I’m breathing.

The phone chirps. She flinches; I squeeze her hand.

We lean forward.

Positive.

The word blurs, like my brain won’t accept it.

For a second, I think I’ve read it wrong, but when I look again, it’s still there. Clear as day.

I turn to her, my heart pounding so loud it drowns everything else out. Her eyes search mine, wide and glassy, caught between fear and something that looks a lot like hope.

I can’t seem to find the right words, but I know she needs something solid from me.

“It’s real,” I say, emotion thickening my words. “We’re going to have a baby.”

A tear slides down her cheek, and I swipe it away with my thumb. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

She presses closer, forehead to mine, and everything else fades away.

I kiss her forehead. Fear runs a cold finger down my spine. Right behind it is awe. There’s also a spark of relief at finally being on the same page with her. When I pull back, there’s something different in her eyes. A flicker of courage breaking through.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Let’s get out of here.”

She hesitates, glancing at the test one last time like it might change its mind. Then she lets me lead her out. Sunlight spills across the floor in wide beams as we make our way to the kitchen.

I fill a glass and hand it to her. Her fingers shake only a little when she drinks. Mine do too, but I keep the glass steady. We make it to the couch and sit.

I stay close, our knees touching. “I know it’s a lot. More than either of us expected. But we’ll figure it out, okay? I’m in this with you.”

She studies my face like she’s checking for cracks. “Are you… okay?”

“Honestly? I’m a little scared,” I admit. “But also… weirdly relieved. At least we know.”

Her lips wobble as she nods. “Me too.”

She exhales, long and shaky, like she’s been holding her breath for a week. Without thinking, her hand rests lightly against her stomach. I feel something shift in my chest—protective and fierce and brand-new, layered over everything I already feel for her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, the sound too loud in the quiet.

“It’s the trainer,” I murmur. I answer, and after a short conversation, I hang up.

“I’m out for Game 3. They think I’ll be cleared to play in Game 4.”