Page 6 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

Before I can protest again, or blurt out that I’m carrying her grandchild, she heads down the hall and into her bedroom.

I collapse onto the couch in the living room and Luke follows, scooping up the bottle of Coke I left behind on the counter.

“Another sip,” he demands. “You need the sugar.”

“Are you my doctor now?” I scoff good-naturedly and accept the drink.

“I’m your concerned…” He trails off, face twisting in confusion.

“Baby daddy?”

He practically chokes. “I really don’t want to be called that.”

“Fair enough. I don’t want to be called your baby momma, either. We’re…” I find myself at the same loss he is. We’re not technically together, we never made things truly official, but we’re certainly more than friends. Calling him my boyfriend, though, seems like a step too far. “We’re figuring it out,” I settle on.

“We’re figuring it out,” he repeats, sitting down on the coffee table across from me.

That silence fills the air again, so of course I start babbling.

“What are we going to do? We’re graduating and you’re joining the NHL and I’m … I have no idea what I’m doing to be honest.” I fan my face with my hands because I suddenly feel too hot all over. “And now this?” My voice goes high-pitched on the end. “What if I’m not cut out for this?”

He grabs one of my wrists in a gentle hold, tugging the flailing limb away from my face. I let my other hand drop into my lap.

“Hey.” His tone is gentle, like he’s comforting a wounded animal. “Breathe.”

He mimes breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. I follow suit and after a few breaths, I do begin to feel better.

“You’re overthinking this whole thing, B.”

I feel that same panic threatening to swell inside me once more. “I don’t think you’re panicking enough. This is a human being we’re talking about, one we’re going to have to raise and teach to be a decent person and keep them alive and stuff.”

He laughs softly and I can’t help but swat at his knee. “Sorry,” he says, but he’s still laughing.

“It’s not funny.” I pout slightly. “This is scary.”

He sobers instantly. “I know, I know. But getting yourself worked up isn’t good for you or the baby.”

The baby—I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to hearing someone say that.

When Luke’s mom finally emerges from her bedroom, freshly showered and changed into the softest looking pair of worn jeans and an oversized sweater—I’m antsier than I ever thought possible.

I give Luke a silent look. “We have to tell her,” I mouth.

There’s no way I can stomach eating dinner here without her knowing. God only knows if I can stomach it with her knowing.

“Hey, Mom,” Luke says softly. “Can we talk for a minute before you start dinner?”

“Yeah, of course.” She turns around from the fridge with a Coke. She plops in the chair and looks between us. “What’s up?” She looks between the two of us and I see the slow dawn of realization settle on her face.

“Mom—” Luke starts. He rubs his hands together nervously. “Bertie and I⁠—”

“Are having a baby?” She finishes for him.

He ducks his head. “Yeah, we are.”

She’s quiet, looking between the two of us. Obviously, I didn’t expect her to jump up and down in elation, but I’m not sure I expected silence either.

She seems to be processing it, though, slowly nodding to herself. Finally, she turns to me and places a gentle hand on my knee. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”