Page 13 of The Unexpected Lineup (Lost in Translation #2)

I KNEW YOU FANCIED HOCKEY PLAYERS, BUT DAMN

HAISLEY

A fter my talk with Rasmus, I need some alone time. Tonight has been too emotional for my liking. My chest is tight, and my mind races with thoughts that I can’t unravel right now. Not with all these people around.

I walk past guests who all greet me. Some reach out as if to stop me, but I don’t slow down. I nod politely as my heels click against the hardwood floor as I make my way upstairs.

On the second floor, I head straight to my childhood bedroom. When I push the door open, the familiar scent of my favorite perfume since my teen years greets me. It’s a mix of vanilla and floral notes. Both sweet and soothing.

The rest of the space is like a time capsule.

My parents have kept it exactly as it was when I moved out.

Soft lavender walls, a white canopy bed with floral sheets, and shelves lined with books ranging from romance to design textbooks greet me.

The old corkboard above my desk is still cluttered with fashion sketches, magazine clippings, photos, and faded concert tickets.

The fairy lights I insisted on still hang around it .

I don’t bother with my hair or dress, kicking off my heels. Collapsing onto the bed, I stare up at the ceiling—the same ceiling I spent hours staring at as a teen, dreaming of what my life would be as an adult.

Oh, how confused a younger Haisley would be if she could see her thirty-four-year-old self. No husband, no dream fashion empire. Instead, she has an unexpected pregnancy with a man she barely knows and lots of emotional baggage. Her life surely hasn’t gone the way she planned.

A knock breaks through the quiet.

“Come in,” I call softly, sitting up as the door opens.

Hunter steps in, his broad shoulders filling the frame. “I figured I’d find you here,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“Where else would I be when I need some quiet?”

He nods, brows pulling together in a serious expression. “Are you pregnant?”

The question hits me like a punch. “What makes you ask that?”

He crosses his arms, his expression unreadable. “I was watching you earlier, and you kept holding your stomach as if something was wrong. And every time a waiter passed you with plates of food, you looked as though you were about to be sick. You didn’t have champagne either—a major red flag.”

I press my hands to my face and groan. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.”

Knowing my brother, lying would be pointless. Even if I tried, Hunter has always been good at reading people, including me. I lower my hands and whisper, “Yeah, I am. Around thirteen weeks today. ”

Hunter’s posture softens immediately, his arms dropping to his sides. “I’ve got a million questions. But first, are you okay?”

His quiet, gentle words bring tears to my eyes and my vision blurs.

I blink rapidly, but it’s too late. One tear spills over, then another.

Hunter mutters a curse under his breath and takes two big steps forward, closing the distance between us.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me into a tight hug.

It’s the kind of hug only he knows how to give.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “Let’s take one day at a time.”

“That’s my general plan,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

He pulls back to look at me. “How long have you known?”

“About a week,” I admit. “I had some weird ass symptoms and went to see a doctor. This was the last thing I expected.”

“And, um…Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m allowed to ask.”

“Rasmus Westerholm,” I say, cutting him off.

Hunter freezes, his hands dropping to his sides. I can almost see the gears turning in his head. “As in dad’s new star play—” His eyes widen as realization dawns. “Well, fuck. I knew you fancied hockey players, but damn, Haisley.”

“I had no idea who he was!”

“How did you manage to get pregnant and not recognize him?” he asks. “Never mind, I don’t want to know the details.”

“Well, if you must know, it was Halloween, and he was wearing a mask.”

“H—”

“Hunt— ”

My brother snorts. “So much for that old rule where family members don’t play for the team.”

“He’s not?—”

“Rasmus is the father of my future niece or nephew, so that makes him family.”

His words spark something warm inside me, and I manage a watery smile. “I guess you’re right.”

“When are you telling Mom and Dad?”

“I thought I’d wait until the bye weeks, so our entire family is in one place without a party going on in the background. So later this month.”

“Fair enough. Is there anything I can do in the meantime?”

“Keep everything I told between us. Okay?”

Hunter hesitates. “I’ll try. But I don’t know how I’ll keep my mouth shut when we play against the Peacocks.”

I point a warning finger at him. “Don’t you dare to do anything stupid, Hunter Wayne Lavigne.”

He scowls. “Stop using my middle name like mom does.”

“Then stop pushing me,” I counter.

“Fine, fine. But seriously, who thought choosing our boys’ middle names after hockey legends was a clever idea?”

“At least none of us has Stanley in our name. That should mean something.”

“Maybe you can name my niece or nephew that.”

“Don’t tempt me. ”

We both laugh, and for the first time tonight, the weight on my chest feels a little lighter.

The following morning, I sit cross-legged on the floor of my childhood bedroom.

My fingers hover over a stack of photographs in the open box before me.

I trace the curve of my biological mother’s smile in a faded Polaroid, committing it to memory once again.

Still, I’m terrified I’ll never remember enough.

The door behind me creaks open, and I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I would recognize her steps anywhere. They’re much softer than my dad’s or brothers’.

“Cielito,” Mom says softly, using an old nickname of mine. “What are you doing up? It’s only seven.”

I swallow hard and turn to look at her. She’s standing in the doorway, wrapped in a soft pink robe, her mahogany brown hair loose around her shoulders. The warmth in her hazel eyes is the same as it’s always been.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I murmur.

She lowers herself onto the floor beside me. “I thought I heard you moving around.”

Her gaze drops to the box, taking in the pictures, the yellowed letters, and pieces of jewelry my dad kept after my mother’s passing. Understanding dawns in her expression. “You’re looking for answers once again.”

I nod around the lump in my throat. “I don’t even know what I was hoping to find.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Even if I don’t remember much, I miss her. ”

Mom’s hand finds my hair, smoothing it back in that comforting way she’s had since I was a little girl. “Of course you do, Cielito.”

“I wish I had more time with her.”

She exhales, her fingers brushing over my cheek. “I wish that too, sweetie, even if my life would be very different if that was the case.”

“I…”

She waves her hand in dismissal. “Don’t even think about it. That’s life. But I hope you know how proud she would be of you.”

I let out a quiet, watery laugh. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She glances down at the photos and picks up one, her thumb running over the image. “This is exactly how I remember her. Always smiling. She had this way about her.”

“Tell me more,” I ask, thinking about how Gloria was my backup babysitter before becoming my nanny. She met my mother a few times.

“She was strong and stubborn, never letting anyone tell her who to be or how to act in certain situations.” Her eyes flick to mine. “Remind you of anyone you know?”

“Maybe a little.”

“You have so much of her in you, Cielito. But you’re also your own person, and she would love that most of all.”

“It brings me so much joy hearing that,” I take a shaky breath and glance at the locket next to the pictures, running my finger over the tiny clasp, trying to open it. “But I’m balancing so many roles. Her legacy, dad’s hockey world, my job. Being a daughter, a sister, a…”

I almost say a future mom , but I catch myself. Mom seems to have missed it. Thank god.

“Yes, you’re all those things and so much more. You can always take time off from one or more things. Nobody expects you to always keep going. It’s a lot to manage.”

I let her words settle into my heart as they ground me. Running my finger over the locket again, it finally clicks open to reveal the tiny photograph inside. A picture of my mother holding me as a baby. A fresh wave of emotion washes over me, and I blink back my tears.

Mom notices and wraps her arm around me. “She loved you more than anything. That kind of love doesn’t fade. It’s always with you.”

I turn to her. “Thank you.”

Mom smiles. “For what?”

“For always being here.” My voice wobbles, but I hold her gaze. “For loving me like your own.”

Her eyes start to water. “Oh, Cielito. That has always been the easiest thing in the world.”

Tears prick at my eyes, as well, but they aren’t sad tears. They’re full of love, gratitude, and something else. If I hadn’t realized the importance of our talk, I would blame my pregnancy hormones.

Instead, I rest my head on her shoulder, and we’re wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence .

A loud knock at the door breaks the moment. “When’s breakfast?” Hendrix’s voice carries through, sounding far too awake for the early morning. “I’m starving.”

Mom chuckles, giving my hand one last squeeze and pushes herself up. “Guess that’s my cue.”

Wiping the last remnants of tears from my cheeks, I shake my head. “Boys.”

She gives me a knowing smile. “Tell me about it.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Mom leans down and presses a kiss on the top of my head. “Take your time, Cielito.”

When she leaves the room, I glance at the open locket and close it again. Maybe I don’t remember much, but what I remember is that she truly did love me until her last breath.

I wish to be that type of mom to the little one inside me.