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Warriors Cheerleader: I’m Pregnant With GoGo Heller’s Twins

Heller’s response: “f*ck u b*tch I gave you $$$ to take care of it”

The bombshell sent a ripple through the NFA fandom, with many people questioning the validity of the texts that Prats posted, especially given Heller’s fairly recent and vocal pivot towards Christianity and his heavy level of involvement in his wife’s career at the moment.

In social media comments, Prats states that she met Heller when the Las Vegas Rogues played the Warriors early in the current NFA season, and that the pair spent a torrid romantic weekend in Missouri together while Heller’s wife was home in Miami.

A few weeks later, Prats discovered that she was pregnant.

“He likes her down there because he has his freedom,” she commented. “She doesn’t do all the things that he likes tho [sic] so he gets freaky when he’s out of town. He likes blondes he says.”

Prats posted ultrasound pictures indicating that she was 12 weeks pregnant, with an estimated due date of May 25, 2026. She also stated on X/Twitter that she had undergone early testing, and that both infants were girls.

Representation for GoGo and Gabrielle Heller declined to comment

***

“I’ve gotta say,” Ryan says, beholding you on his doorstep, “I didn’t know if you would actually show.”

Ryan’s house is a split-level Craftsman in East Eugene; four bedrooms and 2.

5 baths. Perfect for a growing family. Eugene is a lot colder than you were banking on five days before Christmas.

There are potted red poinsettias on Ryan’s front porch and a wreath on the front door.

The whole house radiates warm, yellow light.

Ryan looks exactly the same as last time you saw him.

His brown hair is cut short, and he’s wearing a Fair Isle sweater and faded jeans.

The look is very Pacific Northwest. It looks good on him, and you tell him so.

“That’s rich, coming from the best-looking asshole in the Northern Hemisphere.” He rolls his eyes. “Well, are you going to freeze your balls off on my porch or are you coming inside?” As you make your way across the threshold, he calls over his shoulder, “Sienna! Ster is here!”

Ryan’s wife Sienna is a short brunette with sparkling dark eyes and a broad, freckled nose that would have been yassified with plastics and bleached ‘til it had no speck of character or individuality left, had she lived in Hollywood.

You like it. The two of you only met once before, at the wedding, but, when she comes into the room carrying their daughter, she gives you a big, one-armed hug.

Hazel, you notice, has grown tremendously since her newborn photoshoot, and looks much cuter now.

She blinks at you with big brown eyes, copious drool escaping her mouth as she chews seriously on a rubber giraffe.

“Sorry, she’s teething,” Sienna says. “Can you say hello to Sterling, Hazel?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Hazel,” you say gravely. “I like your giraffe.”

That gets her to crack a smile and coo loudly, her chubby little arm shaking the poor, slobbery toy like a maraca.

“I wish we could hang out,” Sienna says, “but this little miss needs her bath, her stories, and her bedtime routine. We just transitioned her into sleeping in her own crib, so the ritual is kind of important to us all getting some shut-eye.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to show up right when you guys were settling in for the night.”

“Not at all!” she insists. “It’s not something that requires both of us.

Besides, I figured that you boys wanted to catch up.

I just didn’t want to be rude.” She smiles at you.

“If you’re still here after bedtime, I want to hear about your dad and the pickleball saga.

Noemi told Ry all about it, and now I’m fully invested. ”

“Count on it,” you promise, and she heads upstairs.

“Let me take a good look at you,” Ryan says, when it’s just you two again. He holds you at arm’s length, scrutinizing you carefully. “You’re too thin,” he pronounces.

“That’s kind of rude,” you laugh.

“Nah,” he counters. “Your mom thinks so, too. You still working out like crazy?”

“Not as much as when I was touring. You look good, too. Do you have time to hit the gym?”

Ryan looks over his shoulder as he leads you through the dining room and into their kitchen.

Beyond those two rooms, you can see his Christmas tree in the living room, all lit with strands of multicolored lights.

There’s a mountain of pink-wrapped gifts underneath the boughs, all Minnie Mouse and Disney Princesses.

The kitchen smells delicious, like coffee and something sweet having been recently baked.

“I was doing CrossFit four or five times a week before Sienna’s third trimester.

Then she was on bed rest, and Hazel came, and things got kind of crazy.

” He laughs. “I’m rocking the dad bod currently, but I’ve been slowly getting back into it.

” He pats his belly, which barely just rounds out his sweater.

“You still take your coffee with a little cream and no sugar? Or are you avoiding caffeine right now?”

“I only avoid caffeine before I’m performing,” you answer. “And, yup, you know how I like it.”

“Sit,” he insists. The kitchen is spacious, but homey, with mossy Shaker cabinets and moody green-mottled tile for the backsplash.

The floor is warm, weathered brick. Against the window, there’s a small breakfast nook with four chairs.

You slide into one against the wall so you can watch Ryan move around in his space.

“Sienna made cinnamon babka,” he says, “and she’s going to be very hurt if you don’t have some.”

“I can’t possibly hurt Sienna,” you concede. Carbs and sugar are the least of your problems right now.

He cuts you a slice of the sweet bread that’s bigger than both your fists put together. You are about to protest, when he throws a fork at you.

“Shut up and eat it,” he says, preempting your complaint. “You need something sweet. I can tell. Whatever you’re about to drop on me, it’s major.”

You look up. “How did you know I had something to drop on you?”

Ryan scoffs. “Bro. I’ve known you forever. You’ve always had a lousy poker face, at least to me. I haven’t seen you in years, and you randomly decided to show up on my doorstep five days before Christmas? Something’s eating you. Am I wrong?”

Casting your eyes down, you poke at your dessert with the tines of your fork. “No.”

“Your folks all right? Noemi?”

“Yeah. Thanks. They’re great. It’s not them.”

He slides your coffee across the table and sits down beside you. “‘Kay. No time like the present. Spill.”

“Would you say that you and Sienna are happy together?”

Ryan laughs. Takes a sip of his coffee, and makes a face when it’s clearly too hot. “Yeah. Tired and chronically busy in this stage of our lives, but definitely happy. At least, I am. She seems like she is. Hasn’t indicated otherwise.”

“What do you do when you screw things up with her?”

His eyes widen, and he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s gonna be one of those types of problems, huh? Okay. How bad a screw-up are we talking, here?”

“That’s a complicated question,” you hedge.

“Not really. Did you cheat?”

“No.”

“Did you lie?”

“Um.” You rack your brain. “I’m not sure. I was accused of withholding truthful feelings, though.”

Ryan stabs a big piece of babka and sticks it in his mouth.

Talks while chewing. “It really would be easier if you would just tell the full story,” he says.

“My time’s not quite as valuable as yours, but we’re gonna be here all night at this rate, and then you’ll be telling the same story to Sienna.

And she won’t be nearly as considerate of your manly feelings. ”

You take a moment to sample the pastry. It really is good, brown sugar and cinnamon dancing on your tongue. The texture is delicate and flaky, and there are chopped nuts in the center. You will need to get Sienna’s recipe. Then you heave a deep breath and spill your guts.

You start at the beginning, telling Ryan about how you and Kai were set up, and give him the quick-and-dirty rundown of your early relationship.

You mention GoGo and Gabi and everything that went on there.

Face hot, you recount all the disasters that have taken place in the last half-year: the hate comments, the rocks thrown at windows, Artemis’s kidnapping, the bomb threat in Miami.

Kai’s concussion and recovery. And then, holding your coffee mug so tightly that you are worried about it shattering in your clenched fingers, you tell him about the fight.

You don’t hold anything back, making sure to fill him in on all the nasty details.

You don’t mention how you and Kai fucked in a garden shed, but you do tell him about that argument as well.

You sit back, feeling slightly unburdened, but also raw and wrung out.

It’s not like you to share your problems. Even with your therapists, you parcel out little necessary disclosures like bread crumbs.

It’s not in your nature to overshare. Whether Ryan knows it or not, you have just unlocked the chains around your heart and spilled its contents all over his kitchen table.

He tries his coffee again, realizing that it is much cooler now that almost ten minutes of rambling have gone by.

“Let me get this straight,” he says slowly.

“You refused to talk to him about all this shit you have going on and bottled it up until you had a temper tantrum? You accused him of trying to sabotage your reputation? And you doubled down and wouldn’t apologize even when he told you that’s what he needed? ”

“When you sum it up like that,” you say miserably, “it sounds pretty shitty. What do I do?”

“It is shitty,” Ryan agrees. “Brother, there’s only one thing you can do when you fuck up like that, and it’s grovel with everything you have.”

“Grovel?” you repeat blankly.