One-Timer (Carolina Comets)

“Oh shit,” I groan, sitting up on the couch where I fell asleep watching Lowell’s hockey game.

I rub a hand across my forehead, a dull throb beginning. I feel like I’ve been run over, but I assume that’s because I didn’t sleep well last night alone in my bed. I spent way too much time thinking and tossing and turning and not enough time sleeping.

I place a hand on my belly, trying to soothe the slight cramps I’m having, my stomach clearly not agreeing at all with the burrito I had for lunch. I check the score on the game and see that the Comets are losing with just seven to go in the third, and if they lose, Lowell is going to be in a mood when he comes over.

If he comes over.

He hasn’t for the last few nights, which is not like him at all. In fact, I can’t remember the last time we didn’t spend the night together when he’s had a home game. Not having him in my bed feels wrong, like so wrong it makes my stomach hurt. Or maybe that’s the burrito.

The worst part is, I don’t know whether it’s something I did wrong or if he’s feeling wrong about something we’re doing, but neither option sits right with me.

My stomach cramps again, and I wince at the pain.

“Sorry about that, baby. Momma promises not to get burritos from that food truck ever again.”

I wonder if it was the burrito though, because I didn’t feel all that great yesterday either.

“How about this? If Momma isn’t feeling better in the morning, she’ll call the doctor, okay?”

The baby kicks as if they agree, and I grin.

The first time I felt a flutter, I cried. Lowell was sleeping next to me, and I cried so hard I woke him up with my sobs. Then we stayed up until two AM just feeling our baby move.

The movements are a lot more than just a flutter now, and I’m almost positive these little moments between us are what I’m going to miss most about being pregnant.

I keep my hand on my belly and turn my attention back to the game. The time starts to move fast on the clock, and the Comets are still down a goal. There are only three minutes left now, and they pull their goalie.

I know this can always be a huge gamble to take. They can either make up the point they’re missing, or they’re giving the other team a chance to score an empty-netter and seal the deal.

Unfortunately, favor is not with them tonight, because not even ten seconds into the man advantage, the other team sends the puck flying down the ice and right into the empty net. The camera operator zooms in on Lowell’s face on the bench, and he looks completely defeated and disappointed. I know how bad they need these points tonight, but the chances are looking slim right now.

Another bad cramp hits me, and I’m almost starting to wonder if this is more than I think it is.

I push off the couch to head into the bathroom, and the moment I do, I know this is more than I think it is. The room feels all wobbly and wonky and off, and I feel like I might pass out. I collapse back onto the couch, trying to catch my breath. My head begins to throb, and I feel like there are a thousand little elephants dancing inside of it.

Something is wrong.

I reach for my phone and begin to call Lowell, then remember he’s in the middle of a game. He can’t answer or do anything about it.

Instead, I dial Harper.

She answers almost immediately.

“Please tell me you are watching this game. This is miserable. They need these points so badly. Collin is going to be so upset when he gets home. I—”

“Harper,” I cut her off sharply.

“What’s wrong?” she says, and I can already hear the panic setting into her voice. It’s the same panic that’s setting into me too. “Is something wrong? Is everything okay?”

“I need you to take me to the hospital.”

I hear Lowell before I see him.

“Where the fuck is she?” he growls, and I feel bad for whichever nurse he’s snarling at right now. “Where is Hollis?”

Not even five seconds later, he comes barreling into the tiny room I’m in.

His eyes are wide as he takes me in all hooked up to the machines, his lips set with worry as he rushes toward me. He just stands there and stares and stares and stares some more. His eyes are glassy and panicked, and his breaths are coming in sharp.

Then everything snaps back to reality for him, and he crosses the room, taking my face in his hands.

“Is the baby okay?”

He runs his hands over my cheeks and through my hair, looking me over for any signs of damage. There are none; it’s all internal.

I love that the first thing out of his mouth is about the baby.

“The baby is fine,” I promise him. “Just a little scare.”

He sags against me in relief, pressing a hard kiss to my forehead. “What happened? Harper didn’t tell me anything, just said I needed to get here. I came straight after the game.”

“Harper can be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He nods toward all the stuff I’m hooked up to. “Then what’s all this?”

“Monitors for me and the baby. I also had to pee in a cup, which is very hard when you’re this pregnant. And they checked my cervix, which was almost more painful than the reason I came in.”

“And that was for?”

“I felt a little lightheaded and had a bad headache, some cramps.”

“Cramps? Like Braxton Hicks?”

“You know what Braxton Hicks are?”

“What?” He shrugs. “I read.”

I grin. “It wasn’t Braxton Hicks. These were different. Just…uncomfortable. I was a little dehydrated.”

He pulls back and tips his head. “Dehydrated? Like you’re not drinking enough water?”

“I thought I was. I’ve been peeing enough that it feels like I am.”

His brows are drawn tightly together as he steps away from me, and it’s a good thing because I do not like the look he’s giving me right now. “Hollis, you pee all the time, even when you shouldn’t be peeing. You have a baby pressing down on your bladder. That doesn’t mean you’re drinking enough.”

“I-I’m sorry. I thought…”

He shakes his head. “It’s not just you, Hollis. This is about my baby too.”

I whip my head back at his words, surprised. I have no idea where his sudden hostility and frustration is coming from, but I know I don’t deserve it. The baby is okay, and that’s all that matters.

“Our baby.”

“You know what I mean.”

I glare at him. “No, sorry. I don’t.”

“It’s reckless of you to not—”

“Reckless? Reckless? You act like I did this on purpose! I’ve been sick, Lowell! It’s not my fault.”

“Sick?”

“Yes! And you’d know that if you were around.”

“Oh god.” He rolls his eyes. “Excuse me if I’ve been busy playing hockey. You know I can’t always be around during the season.”

“You’ve had no problems with it until recently.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, in case you haven’t noticed, you haven’t exactly been around lately.”

He hasn’t. Not for days. He hasn’t come over. He’s barely texted me. He’s been pulling away whether he’s ready to admit it or not.

“I’ve been playing hockey! In the NHL!”

“Stop saying that! Stop saying that like it matters or changes anything. Every other night this season you’ve had no problem spending the night in my bed.”

“Is that what this is?” He scoffs, pacing back and forth with a look of disgust lining his features. “You’re mad because I haven’t been around to fuck you?”

The air is sucked out of my lungs at his words, and I swear if I wasn’t all hooked up, I would be out of this bed and out of this room so fast because I cannot stand to be in it with him for another minute.

I have no idea who I’m looking at right now. Whoever it is, it’s not Lowell.

This isn’t the same man who has spent countless nights rubbing my back or helping me up to pee in the middle of the night. This isn’t the same man who had a heart-shaped pizza delivered to me just a few weeks ago because he was worried I wasn’t eating enough. This isn’t the same man who looks at me like I’m the only person in the world. This isn’t the same man who looks at me, especially not when he’s staring through me right now.

This man? This isn’t the man who makes me feel like I’m his.

I don’t know this man, and I don’t want to know him either.

“I—”

The door is pushed open, and I snap my mouth shut, not wanting to argue with Lowell in front of the doctor.

She beams at us, walking farther into the room. “Ah! Your husband is here. That’s—”

“We’re not together. I’m just the dad.”

My heart drops, and I know if I were standing up right now, I’d need to sit down.

His words are harsh and final, and even though I know we never defined just what it is we’re doing, I didn’t expect it to feel like I’m having my heart ripped out of my chest at the way he insists we’re nothing.

I’m not asking for a ring or a commitment, but does what we’ve spent the past several months doing really mean nothing to him?

Because it means something to me.

By the tone in his voice, it means too much to me.

Lowell isn’t looking at me. He’s only staring at the doctor, who is shifting her eyes between the two of us.

“Well?” Lowell prompts, lips flattened in a frown.

The doctor clears her throat. “You’re being released, Miss Kelly. Everything is looking much better now. Just need to make sure you’re drinking lots of fluids.” She turns to Lowell. “Maybe grab a sports drink or two on the way home, Mr. Lowell. As an athlete, I’m sure you’re aware of the benefits of replenishing your electrolytes.” She turns back to me. “Sound good? Any questions for me before we get you discharged?”

“No, Dr. Kane, thank you so much for your help today. I really appreciate it.”

She smiles. “It’s no problem at all. We see this happen from time to time, especially when the mother-to-be is under stress. Just make sure you’re resting, taking breaks when you can, and trying to avoid any stress triggers. It can make that mommy brain even worse.” She winks. “I’ll get these to the front desk, and we’ll get you on your way shortly.”

She shuffles out of the room, leaving us to slowly die in this oxygen-deprived space.

“Is that what you want, Lowell?”

He snaps his eyes up. “Huh?”

“When the baby comes…is that what you want to be? Just the dad?”

He knows what I’m asking.

He knows what I’m asking, and he just stands there. He doesn’t answer. Just stares at me…through me.

I hate it so much.

And in this moment, I hate him so much.

“I—”

“Pardon me, Mr. Lowell, but we wanted to go over some insurance information with you.”

He clamps his mouth shut, sending me one last glance before following the doctor out of the room, and I have my answer.

I’m not alone long enough to let the reality of what just happened simmer before a nurse comes in and helps get me unhooked and out of bed. She’s dropping me into a wheelchair—hospital policy—when she asks, “Do you have someone to take you home?”

“They’ll be waiting outside.”

She nods, then wheels me through to the front entrance. She’s helping me out of the wheelchair and into the car when Lowell comes skidding out of the sliding glass door of the hospital.

“Hollis, wait!” he calls out, jogging down the sidewalk to us.

“Thanks,” I say to the nurse. “We got it from here.”

She glances from me to Lowell, making sure I’m good, then takes the wheelchair and leaves.

“You can’t be serious,” Lowell says, coming to a stop before me. “You’re leaving with Harper?”

“What does it matter to you who I leave with, Lowell? We’re not together, remember?”

He opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it closed. He knows they’re his words I’m hurling back at him, which is why he can’t even defend himself right now.

“I’ll text you.” And I will. I’m pregnant with his baby. I’m not shutting him out. I turn to Harper, who is shooting a nasty look Lowell’s way. “Let’s go.”

She helps me into her car, glaring at him the entire time. When we’re about to pull away, she sighs, and I know she’s about to dive into the I told you so speech.

“Don’t,” I say to her quietly. “Please. Not now.”

Another sigh, then a nod.

I watch Lowell disappear in the rearview mirror, leaving half of my heart in the hospital parking lot.