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CHAPTER TWENTY

Ally

A couple of weeks later, the golden light of morning filters through the sheers of my bedroom windows, casting soft streaks across my bedroom walls.

The shadows dance in the shape of the silhouettes of the branches outside. I groan as I roll over, my stomach twisting in knots.

Something doesn’t feel right.

My head is pounding, my body feels heavy, and an unsettling queasiness churns in my gut.

Stumbling out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom, the cool tile under my feet sending a slight shiver up my spine. The faint scent of lavender does little to calm the growing nausea.

As soon as I reach the toilet, it hits me, a wave of sickness so sudden and powerful that I barely have time to lift the lid.

Afterward, I sit back on the cold bathroom floor, my forehead pressed against the cool porcelain of the tub. “Great,” I mutter, my voice hoarse. “I’m getting sick.”

I shuffle back to the living room, wrapping myself in the soft cocoon of my favorite blanket.

The couch welcomes me with its familiar plushness, and I stare blankly at the TV, not really seeing the morning news scrolling across the screen.

Was it something I ate? My mind sifts through the past couple of days, but nothing stands out. The leftover stir-fry? No, that was fresh. The old lady coughing at the grocery store? Maybe. I sigh, pressing a hand to my still-churning stomach.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with notifications. The group chat with the guys is active, of course.

It starts with Nick.

You good, Ally?

Then Tyler chimes in.

Yeah, Doc. Everything okay?

You guys must have a sixth sense. I don’t feel great. But I’m okay.

Brooks responds right away.

If you need anything, just say the word.

I smile, my heart swelling despite how awful I feel.

I’m fine, maybe just a bug. I’ll bounce back soon, don’t worry.

The responses come in rapid-fire.

Tyler I can bring you soup.

Nick No, let me bring her soup. Tyler always gets the cheap stuff.

Brooks You two are idiots. Ally, do you need medicine? Or anything?

I can’t help but laugh, even as I feel like death warmed over. Their sweetness is almost overwhelming.

Thanks guys, but I’m okay. Promise.

The emojis start flooding in, hearts, winks, and even a few random gifs. Each of them seems to be trying to outdo the others, vying for the title of “Sweetest Guy of the Year”.

I hug the blanket closer, letting their love wash over me. How did I get so lucky? Three incredible men, all so different, yet all so devoted in their own ways.

It’s almost too good to be true.

A soft chime interrupts my scrolling through their messages. I glance at the new notification and see an email from the pharmacy.

Your prescription has shipped! Apologies for the delay in fulfilling your order. Expect delivery in 2–3 business days.

My brow furrows. Prescription? Then it hits me, my birth control. The one I haven’t had on hand for…how long now?

My heart skips a beat as the realization sinks in.

I’ve always used birth control for practical reasons, managing acne, keeping my periods regular. It was never about contraception because, well, I wasn’t sexually active until…now.

The air feels heavy around me as my mind races. I open my pharmacy app, pulling up the refill history. Two weeks overdue. Two whole weeks without even realizing it.

My stomach flips again, but this time, it’s not just nausea, it’s full-blown panic.

I bolt to the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. Leaning against the sink, I grip the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are pale, my eyes wide with fear.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

My mind replays every moment from the past two weeks, every time I’ve been with the guys, every time all three of them indiscriminately came inside me.

The laughter, the intimacy, the heat of their touches, all of it flashing before me in vivid, overwhelming detail.

I sit on the edge of the tub, my knees pulled to my chest, as a wave of nausea rolls through me again. This can’t be happening.

Dragging myself to the toilet, I lean over, the cold porcelain pressing against my skin. My stomach clenches, and I get sick again, my body trembling.

Afterward, I slump back against the wall, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I press a hand to my forehead, willing myself to calm down.

Think, Ally. Think. It’s not guaranteed. It’s probably nothing.

But the gnawing fear won’t let go.

What have I done?

I pull myself together, wiping my eyes and splashing some cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me, pale and shaky, but I force myself to move.

Throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, I tug the hood over my head and slip on my sneakers.

The walk to the car feels surreal. My heart pounds as I slide into the driver’s seat and pull out of the driveway. The streets blur past as I make my way to the local pharmacy, the neon "Open 24 Hours" sign indicating I’ve come to the right place.

Stepping inside, I’m hyperaware of everything, the fluorescent lights glaring overhead, the soft muzak playing, the occasional squeak of a cart wheel.

My hands tremble as I walk down the aisle, scanning the shelves until I find the pregnancy tests. Grabbing a box that has a bunch of tests in it, I clutch it to my chest, as if shielding it from view.

At the register, the cashier, a disinterested girl with chipped blue nail polish, lazily asks, “Anything else you need?” Her tone is indifferent, but my mind twists it into judgment. My cheeks burn as I stammer, “N-no, just this.”

Her lackadaisical movements only intensify my spiraling thoughts as she bags the test and hands me the receipt. I fumble my way out, feeling like every pair of eyes in the store is boring into me, even though no one cares.

The drive home feels like a blur. By the time I pull into my driveway, my heart is racing so fast I can feel it in my throat.

I grab the bag, slam the car door, and rush into the house. Tossing my keys onto the counter, I head straight for the bathroom. The silence inside feels deafening, broken only by the crinkle of the bag as I tear it open.

Five tests. Five chances to confirm, or deny, my deepest fear. My hands shake as I open the first one, the plastic feeling cold and foreign in my hand. I follow the instructions, then wait.

One line. Two lines.

My stomach drops.

I try another. Then another.

Each test delivers the same result. Pregnant.

The word blares in my mind, louder and more insistent with each passing second. I sink to the bathroom floor, clutching the last test in my hand as hot tears stream down my face.

“What am I going to do?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

The thought of telling the boys makes my chest tighten. How will they react? Will they even want to be involved?

I curl up in bed, clutching a pillow as sobs wrack my body. The walls of my bedroom feel like they’re closing in, the enormity of the situation suffocating me.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I glance at the screen through blurry eyes. It’s a text from Kenzie.

Hey! How’s it going?

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Can I trust her? She’s been nothing but kind since we met, but spilling something this huge feels impossible.

Can we talk? I really need someone right now.

Her response is almost instant.

Of course! Want me to come by after work?

My fingers fumble over the screen.

Yes. Please. Thank you.

She sends back a heart emoji, and I clutch my phone to my chest, a small thread of comfort weaving its way through my panic.

The hours stretch endlessly as I lay in bed, staring at the blank wall. Every time I close my eyes, tears well up again, and my thoughts spiral. What if Kenzie judges me? What if she doesn’t understand?

By the time her car pulls up outside, I feel numb from the constant waves of fear and despair.

As I wait for Kenzie to knock, my mind conjures the worst scenarios.

What if the guys run the second they find out? I suddenly think of one of those trashy daytime shows, the crowd jeering as DNA results are read aloud. My best friend in high school always loved those shows.

My breath hitches at the thought.

I see it all play out: people shouting accusations, the boys arguing about who’s responsible. My baby, a tiny, innocent life, caught in the crossfire of chaos and judgment.

I bury my face in the pillow, sobbing quietly.

“What have I done?” I whisper, my voice muffled and broken.

My thoughts shift to the practical, how will I afford a baby? How will I work? What will my dad say? He’ll be devastated to know his daughter got herself into such a mess.

The ache in my chest grows unbearable. I clutch the blanket tightly, curling into myself as though I can shield myself from the reality crashing down around me.

I can’t do this. I can’t raise a baby alone. But the thought of asking the guys to step up feels just as impossible.

Tears streak down my cheeks, hot and relentless, as I rock myself gently. My future feels like it’s crumbling around me, each sob pulling me deeper into despair.

I don’t know how long I lay there, shaking and crying.

The sobs rack my body again as I lie curled up in bed, the blanket pulled tightly around me like a shield against the world. My dad’s voice, loud and angry, echoes in my head even though he isn’t here.

“I didn’t raise you as a hockey fan so you could become some puck-bunny slut that gets knocked up by three men on the same team you work for!”

The imagined words cut deep, and the tears pour down my face in hot, relentless streams. I can almost see the disappointment in his eyes, the way he’d shake his head, unable to even look at me.

My stomach churns, and a wave of nausea hits me, not from the pregnancy, but from the thought of how furious he’ll be. Dad’s always been my rock, but this? This might break him.

I clutch the pillow tighter, trying to muffle the sound of my sobs, but they just keep coming, raw and uncontrollable. My throat feels raw, and my chest aches like my heart is physically cracking apart.

Then, suddenly, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the quiet of the apartment.

I freeze, my breath hitching. For a second, I think I imagined it. But then it rings again, sharp and insistent, echoing through the empty spaces of my small living space.

I sit up slowly, wiping at my tear-streaked face with trembling hands. Who could that be?

Dragging myself out of bed feels like wading through quicksand. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I shuffle toward the door, and a groan escapes my lips.

My reflection stares back at me, puffy-eyed and blotchy, my hair sticking out in wild directions. I look every bit the emotional wreck I feel like inside.

Taking a deep breath, I try to pull myself together, smoothing down my hoodie and swiping at my face one last time. Whoever’s at the door is about to see me in my absolute worst state, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

When I open the door, Kenzie is standing there, her expression a mix of concern and determination.

“Ally!” she exclaims, rushing forward and pulling me into a tight hug before I can even say a word. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

I nod weakly, though it’s clear I’m anything but.

Kenzie steps inside, shutting the door behind her, and guides me to the couch. She doesn’t let go of me as we sit down, one hand rubbing soothing circles on my back.

“Talk to me,” she says gently, her gray eyes searching my face. “What’s going on? Did…did someone die?”

The absurdity of the question almost makes me laugh, but instead, a fresh wave of tears wells up.

“No one’s dead,” I mumble into my hands, my voice muffled and trembling. “Not yet, anyway.”

Kenzie’s brows knit together in concern, and she scoots closer, leaning in like she’s trying to physically pull the truth out of me.

“Ally, you’re scaring me,” she says softly. “What happened? You’ve got to tell me.”

I shake my head, burying my face deeper into my hands. How am I supposed to explain this? Kenzie doesn’t even know I’ve been sleeping with anyone on the team, let alone three of them.

The words feel like they’re caught in my throat, a lump of fear and shame that refuses to budge.

“Ally,” Kenzie urges, her voice firm but kind. “You know you can trust me, right? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

I peek at her through my fingers, her kind eyes and genuine concern chipping away at my walls.

Still, the thought of saying it out loud makes my stomach twist.

“I…” I start, my voice cracking. “It’s…complicated.”

Kenzie places a hand on my knee. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in her voice breaks something loose inside me, and before I can stop myself, the words come tumbling out.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurt, the confession hanging in the air like a thunderclap.

Kenzie’s eyes widen, and for a moment, she’s completely still.

“You’re…what?” Kenzie finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, my voice trembling. “And it’s…complicated.”

Kenzie’s face shifts from shock to a warm, supportive smile. “Okay,” she says simply, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

And so I do.

I tell her about Nick, Tyler, and Brooks. About how it started, how amazing it’s been, and how it’s also left me in this impossible situation.

Kenzie listens without interrupting, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as I talk. When I finally finish, tears streaming down my face, she pulls me into a tight hug.

“Ally,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring. “We’re going to figure this out. You’re not alone in this, okay? Even if…even if the guys don’t step up, I will. I’ll go to appointments with you, help you plan, whatever you need.”

The weight of her words sinks in, and for the first time all day, I feel a glimmer of hope.

“You mean it?” I ask, my voice small and vulnerable.

“Of course I do,” she replies firmly. “You’re my friend. I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

We hug again, and for the first time since seeing those tests, I feel like I can breathe.

“I think I’m going to stay with my dad for a few days,” I say. “Just to clear my head.”

Kenzie nods. “Good idea. Take some time. And remember, I’m just a text away.”