Page 32 of Slapshot Baby

The nurse leaves to check.

I settle back against the pillows. My head hurts, my body is wrecked. Four years of my life are missing and might stay that way.

But for the first time since I woke up in this bed, I'm not waiting for answers to come to me.

I'm going after them.

7

AVA

The Donovan Charm

I've decided I'm telling him today.

That's my plan as I drive to the hospital to see Kai again.

I rehearse the conversation fourteen times in my car before I kill the engine.

Fourteen versions of, Hey, so, funny story... you got me pregnant.

Every one of them makes me sound like a lunatic delivering a bomb to a man who can't remember lighting the fuse.

The hospital parking garage smells of concrete and exhaust, the same as last week.

I check my reflection in the rearview. My hair is in a loose knot. My eyes look more gold today.

You’re not going to stare at his mouth. You’re not going to think about the fact that his baby is currently the size of a raspberry inside your body. Ava, you’re going to be normal.

I grab the bag of takeout I brought because hospital cafeteria food is usually a human rights violation, and I head inside.

Luckily, Laura has cleared me for visits so going to Kai’s room is a breeze. The elevator ride takes forty-five seconds. I count.

His door is open. I stop in the frame.

The first thing I notice is the room's empty. No Laura hovering by the window. No Mira folded into the visitor chair with her cold coffee. No Charles filling the doorway like a load-bearing wall.

Just Kai, propped up against the pillows. He’s sitting up straighter than the last time, wearing a soft black shirt.

His color is better. The bruising around his temple has shifted from purple to a faded yellow that's almost gone. His dark hair is still messy, but it looks intentional now instead of neglected.

He's reading something on a tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration. The beard is trimmed closer. Someone helped him clean up or he did it himself, which means his coordination is improving.

He looks up.

Those brown eyes settle on me with an attention that makes my skin prickle.

"Brought you real food," I say, holding up the bag. "The nurses can fight me about it."

"That's the second time someone's said that in this room."

"Great minds work together." I drop into the visitor chair and start unpacking containers. Chicken, rice, roasted vegetables. Nothing fancy. "Where's your family?"

"Mom went home to shower. Dad's making calls. Mira has gone to work."

I smile.

The last time I came here, I had an audience. A buffer. Today it's the two of us, and my heart forgets its own rhythm.