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Chapter thirty-one

Katarina

N ote to self: when your body starts staging a revolt, maybe listen to it before you end up face-first in a trash can at work.

It hits me somewhere between the dull throb behind my eyes and the attempt at a rookie nutritional analysis.

I should’ve stayed home.

But the Cyclones’ hydration and nutrition profiles are due before the opener, and I’m the only one who can compile the stats, input the macros, and send them to the team’s doctor in time for pre-game clearance. So I drag myself in.

I make it until just after lunch. One of the rookies outside my door cracks a joke about pickle juice and tequila, and I’m halfway through faking a laugh when the floor tilts sideways. I grab the edge of my desk, heart pounding, nausea climbing up my throat like it wants out.

I stand to take Kyle’s measurements. My fingers go numb. My face turns clammy. The new recruit jumps off my exam table and rushes toward me.

“You okay?”

“Just—give me a second.”

I don’t get it.

Everything blinks out.

I wake up to fluorescent lighting, thin blankets, and the faint beep of machines that only mean one thing—I’m in a hospital. My head is pounding, and everything tastes like crap.

A nurse checks the IV taped to the back of my hand. “You fainted at work,” she explains calmly. “Someone saw you go down. Lucky they did—you were dehydrated and your vitals dropped.”

“Awesome,” I mumble, pushing hair off my sticky forehead. “So now I’m the drama.”

“You gave us a scare,” she says. “The doctor ordered a few more tests to rule out anything else.”

I nod faintly. Except my head feels heavier than it should.

I hate the way this place smells—like lemon cleaner and bad news. Too bright. Too cold. It makes my skin itch.

I twist the corner of the blanket between my fingers and stare at the wall. If I focus on anything else, I might fall apart.

The door opens.

My breath catches.

The doctor walks in with that steady, practiced calm I’ve learned to question.

“Miss Novak,” she says gently. “Your tests came back.”

I sit up straighter. “So, is it the Norovirus or Food poisoning?”

A pause. And deep down, I already know this isn’t just stress. Or too many drinks last weekend.

Or Griffin’s voice echoing in my head like a broken siren. ‘ He’s going to hurt you, Kat.’

She shakes her head. “You’re pregnant.”

Time slows.

I blink.

Let out a laugh— It sounds like a joke.

“Sorry, what?”

She repeats it. Clear. Measured. Final.

“You’re pregnant.”

The words hang in the room like morning fog.

Pregnant.

That word bounces around my skull like a pinball, hitting every anxiety I’ve ever buried. I count backwards in my head—when was my last period? When did Liam and I...? The math makes my stomach turn in a way that has nothing to do with morning sickness.

The doctor keeps talking. Something about prenatal vitamins and first trimester precautions. Her voice sounds like it’s coming through water.

I nod at appropriate intervals, but inside I’m calculating. Griffin will lose his fucking mind. My parents are going to have questions I can’t answer. The team—God, what about the team?

I try to speak, but my mouth won’t move.

“I… no. That can’t—there’s no way.”

She says something about accuracy and follow-up appointments. Something about options, support, and resources.

But my mind is spiraling.

Because this wasn’t in the plan.

Because nothing’s in the plan.

Because somehow, in the middle of pretending to date Liam for press optics and sneaking around with him like we were teenagers with secrets—we made something very real. Something irreversible.

I nod and sign something I don’t read. I accept a prescription I don’t hear the name of.

I don’t remember leaving. Just the sound of my footsteps echoing down the hallway like someone else is wearing my shoes.

Outside, the sun is blinding. Too bright. Too normal. Like the world didn’t just tilt on its axis.

I slide into the car and just sit. Engine off. Keys in my hand. Seatbelt forgotten.

What the hell do I do now?

I press my forehead to the steering wheel and try to breathe. But my chest won’t open. My ribs feel like they’re made of steel.

I’m not ready. I don’t even know what ready would look like.

My hands shake as I try to start the car. The keys slip twice before I get them in the ignition. Even then, I just sit there, engine running, AC blasting air that feels too thin to breathe.

A couple walks past my window, holding hands, laughing about something only they understand. They look so young. So sure of their place in the world. I want to roll down my window and ask them how they do it—how they move through life without constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The phone rings. I flinch like I’ve been slapped.

“Layla?”

“Kat? What the hell is going on?”

Of course, Griffin called her.

I laugh, sharp and hollow. “Depends on how you define ‘going on.’”

“What happened?”

“Griffin found out about Liam.”

Pause.

“You what?!”

“Yeah. That’s… just the beginning.”

“You slept with him?”

“Remember the guy from the club?”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Layla’s breath hitches. I hear it. The wheels turning.

“And now…?” she whispers.

“And now I’m sitting in a hospital parking lot trying not to freak out.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah. That about covers it.”

I want to crawl through the line and curl up beside her on her sofa, where everything smells like cinnamon tea and bad reality TV. Instead, I press the phone tighter to my ear like her voice might be enough to stop me from disintegrating.

“Are you okay?” she finally asks.

I press my eyes shut.

The silence is thick, impregnated with everything I want to say but am too afraid to admit out loud.

“No. Not really.”

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

I nod. Even though she can’t see me. “I have to tell him.”

“You sure?”

“He deserves to know.”

By the time I pull into my driveway, I’m a thread away from unraveling. I should go inside. Make tea. Call my parents. Do something productive with this information that’s rewiring my entire existence.

Instead, I sit in my driveway like a teenager who missed curfew, trying to figure out how to explain the unexplainable.

The house looks different now. Smaller, like it belongs to someone else’s life.

And then—

“Katarina!”

Griffin. Shit. He’s pacing like he owns the damn block, fists clenched, face stormy. The veins in his neck are doing that thing they do when he’s about to explode. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I’m your brother!”

“Yeah, not my damn warden!”

A car door slams behind me. I turn and see Liam walking up the driveway, keys in his hand. His eyes find mine immediately, and it makes my chest tight. Like I can’t get enough oxygen

Griffin clocks him

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Liam doesn’t answer. Just stands there, hands coiled at his sides, but I can see the tension building. He’s ready for whatever Griffin’s about to throw at him.

The second Griffin steps forward, I feel him unraveling.

His fist slams into Liam’s jaw with a crack that turns my stomach. Liam reels back, stunned, blood already blooming across his mouth.

“No—Griffin, stop!” I scream, but it’s too late.

Liam lunges, fury igniting behind his eyes. His fist connects with Griffin’s face, and the sound it makes is horrifying—a meaty thud followed by a grunt of pain. They go at each other like they’re on the ice with everything on the line.

Fists flying. Teeth bared. No gloves. No helmets. Just raw, unchecked rage.

“Stop it! Liam, stop!” I scream again, but I might as well be shouting into the wind.

Liam takes another hit to the face and something inside him snaps. His next punch is brutal—violent enough to turn Griffin’s head and send blood arcing through the air. They’re both panting, both swinging like it’s the only way to speak.

I lunge forward to stop them—too fast. My bag slips from my shoulder, hits the concrete, and bursts open. The clinic paperwork scatters across the driveway like confetti. I drop to my knees to gather it, but I’m too late.

Griffin’s gaze catches on the header of the top page.

He stops. Goes still.

“What the hell is this?” His voice is hoarse, disbelieving. He bends down, picks up the sheet, and reads aloud, his words slicing through the air like a blade.

“Pregnant?”

The oxygen’s sucked from the space between us. Liam’s head snaps toward me. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat.

Griffin looks from the page to my face, then back to Liam. “Are you serious, Katarina?”

I push up from the pavement, hands trembling.

this is not how I wanted this to come out—”

Liam’s voice cuts in, quiet and razor sharp. “What’s he talking about?”

I turn to him, eyes stinging. “Liam…” I nod, the word lodged in my throat. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest heaves like he’s been winded. “Mine?”

I nod again.

His voice cuts low. “You’re pregnant?”

Liam’s eyes widen.

The silence that follows is deafening. Griffin steps toward Liam, fists clenched.

“You think you can just knock up my sister and pretend like it doesn’t mean a fucking thing?”

I stand between them. No more secrets. No more pretending.

Just the truth.

Loud.

Messy.

And mine to tell.

“ Griffin. Go.”

I hear my voice. Strong. Steady. But it’s carrying every ounce of pressure I’ve swallowed since I was sixteen. My hands are shaking. My pulse is wild. But my voice? Steady.

“This is my life, Griff. My mess.

You don’t get to set it on fire just because you think you know best. You taught me how to fight—and now I’m fighting for me.”

Griffin’s jaw opens, but no words come. He’s trying to hold onto the version of me he always protected. But that girl’s gone.

Liam moves beside me, not touching, just there. Present. A quiet kind of support I never thought I’d crave.

I meet his eyes. “I was scared you’d run.”

“I did,” he says. “But I came back.” he says, grabbing the sides of my face. “Whatever happens, I’m in this with you.”

And right there, the knot in my chest eases just enough to let me breathe.

I don’t know what comes next. But I know who I am.

And I’m not letting anyone else write this chapter but me.

“Hey, Liam’s voice’s rough. There’s something else. Something I should have told you before.”

My stomach drops. “What?”