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“He’s fucking cheating on me!”
“I know!”
“And I’m fucking pregnant,” I yell, but it ends on a wail. As mad as I am, the tears win over. At least now I know what I can blame that all on. Cillian Wylder and his fucking super sperm.
“I know,” she consoles, wrapping her arms around me as anger, grief, and general anxiety wash over me. “What are you going to do?”
Mom always taught us to take life as it comes. Nothing is predictable, and rarely, things go as planned. Cillian and I have talked about marriage and family vaguely. We never let the conversations get too deep because we’re still so young. Childhood dreams change as you grow, and we were not naïve to that.
Whether I stay pregnant or not, one thing I’m feeling very sure of is that I don’t want him in my life right now. Maybe that’s rash, maybe it’s more hormonal reaction.
At this moment, though, I need to be thinking about me and this potential baby, not what—or who—Cillian is doing.
Me:
The next time she rubs her face on your dick, shove it in. I’m not standing in your way.
Tell Torsten thanks for the heads up.
Fuck you.
Then, I block the only guy I’ve ever loved, in every way I can think of and on every app I have. It doesn’t take too long before Willa’s phone starts blowing up.
“You can answer if you want, but I’m not talking to him and you can’t tell him about this,” I tell her, pointing to all the pregnancy tests that I can’t bring myself to throw away just yet. “Not until I figure out what to do.”
“As if I would,” she says in disgust. She’s ignored all the calls and texts, but I can tell by the finger tapping on her thigh that she’s itching to answer.
“Go ahead,” I tell her when her phone starts to ring again.
“What,” she demands into it. “No, you cannot talk to her because you’re a lying asshole and she sees that now.” Willa pauses to let him speak, but it’s brief. “You fucking kissed Trina the twat! Twice…Yes, she heard that…Oh, cut the bullshit, Cillian! You told Isla you were going to set boundaries and you obviously haven’t. Unless the boundary is your sweatpants…”
Her tirade continues, and funnily, as I listen to it, I feel a little bit better about my current position. It’s not something I would have wished for or chosen, by any means. But with a family like I have, I’m going to be okay and so is any child I may choose to bring into my life.
If it’s a boy, I’ll teach him to be a better man than his father.
If it’s a girl, I’ll teach her to be as fiercely loyal as my little seventeen-year-old sister is as she wins a verbal argument with an NHL player twice her size.
“I will not tell her that. I hope she never unblocks you! She needs a man, not some boy who can’t even manage a few months without sex on demand. Is that all she was to you? A convenient body?”
Damn. That one hurts because it’s all too easy to believe. Cillian has spectacularly failed the first test we’ve had in our relationship. It’s telling as to how much I really mean to him. While plenty of girls throw themselves at WHL players, I was the most convenient, being the coach’s daughter and all.
“I do not know that. Because you’ve been living your life and gaslighting my sister every time she brings it up. All while she’s here, faithfully pining away for you!”
Maybe it’s finally knowing what has been going on that has brought me out of my stupor. Hearing him admit it, even if not to me, or maybe it’s shock, because for the first time in weeks, I’m not feeling much of anything now. Just a metric shit ton of muted emotions all vying for attention as Willa stomps around my living room, yelling into her phone.
“Ooh, I’m so mad at you right now! If I ever see you again, I’m punching you in the eye. Even if I have to get a ladder to do it!”
Fuck, I love my sister.
“Tell him I need a little time,” I whisper to her. There’s still a huge conversation we need to have, obviously. Right now, I’m in no shape to be remotely rational though.
“She says to give her some time. She’ll call you when she’s able to stand your stupid voice.”
* * *
Turns out it only takes a few hours for me to succumb to the pressure of telling Cillian what lies ahead of us. Or, potentially, anyway. I’ve made no final decisions, it’s something I would like to do with him. Despite the late hour on the opposite coastline, I take a chance that he’s left his ringer on in the hopes I’d call. Opting for video, because I think this is a face-to-face conversation, I hit his contact.
He answers, but it takes a second for the video to pull up. The camera bounces around a few times before focusing on Cillian’s profile on the bed.
