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Because maybe I could do it, you know?
Maybe I could be a dad. If she was doing it with me, maybe I could.
Except the kid might not be mine.
The kid might belong to a tall basketball player with “golden boy” written all over him.
“Fuck!” I snatch my helmet off the bench and smash it down on the floor.
CHAPTER 37
CAROLINE
The Cougars lost the game by one goal.
Casey got kicked off the ice for fighting, and rumors are already circulating that the loss is his fault. Mean comments were peppered all over my social feeds this morning, and I can’t stop reading them and crying, because this is my fault.
I contributed to his behavior last night.
He wouldn’t have been in such a foul mood if I hadn’t lied to him.
I feel sick. My head is killing me, and although I haven’t puked again, my stomach is a ball of nauseous knots.
It’s only being made worse by the fact that I have to somehow find the courage to see Casey again and get this paternity test underway. I realized that I don’t have to talk to Ben, I can just get a swab from Casey and if he’s the dad, then sweet, Ben never needs to know.
But Casey probably hates me even more than he did before.
So, my only other option is to ask Ben, but that feels a million times worse. Sure, he likes me now, but he definitely won’t when I tell him I’m pregnant and the baby might be his, but it also might not.
“Don’t suppose you could give me a swab of your DNA so we can find out.”
Ugh! Can you imagine?
That’d go down like a bucket of cold sick.
And I just… I can’t.
All I want to do is hide under my bedcovers until this whole thing is over. Even then I might not resurface. The life of a hermit wouldn’t be so bad, right?
There’s a sharp knock at my door and I tense, curling in on myself and slipping my phone under my pillow. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, they’ll go away.
“Cinnamon,” Dad calls through the door. “It’s us, baby girl. Are you well enough to open the door?”
I have no idea what they’re doing here, but the little girl in me forgets that I don’t want to see anyone and flings back my covers. Bolting out of bed, I open the door… and the second I see my dad, tears fill my eyes.
“Baby girl.” He gives me a sad smile and wraps his arms around me. He doesn’t even know why I’m crying, but he comforts me like the best dad in the world, because he is.
As I’m clinging to his shoulders, it starts to sink in that I’m gonna have to tell him the truth, because I’ve always told my parents everything. Well, mostly. You know, the really big stuff… it comes out, especially when we’re around each other. I can’t hide behind a phone call this time, and I start to cry a little harder.
“Oh, Ronnie, she must be feeling so sick.” Mom bustles about the room, tidying up my clothes, sniffing them and either folding them away or throwing them toward the bathroom. She’ll do a load of laundry for me while she’s here. She always does. “When was the last time you washed anything?” She frowns, then shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll put a load in for you today.”
“What are you guys doing here?” I mumble against Dad’s chest. I’ve curled myself against his side, my arm around his waist, as we watch Mom tidy.
“You sounded so sick on the phone yesterday, we had to pop down and make sure you were okay.”
“But don’t you have that birthday party thing today?”
“We sent our apologies.”
