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I blinked at Nicole, a little … unaccustomed to being asked after repeatedly turning someone down. Most folks got that I wasn’t a sharer after I avoided the question a couple times. But Nicole was genuine and it twisted my gut to rebuke her with silence. I didn’t like getting close to people, but I wasn’t a dick.

“Um, yeah, actually. I’m … pregnant, by a couple of months. So I’ll have a handful of appointments over the next few months before the big 'outage.'” I chuckled nervously and Nicole’s eyes widened.

“Oh, Leah! That’s wonderful, congratulations!” She started to stand up, but I waved my hand at her.

“Thank you. Also, not a hugger.”

“Oh. Duly noted.” Nicole sat right back down. “Um … well, congratulations again. Let me know when your next appointment is and I’ll get your sub scheduled. And we can discuss plans for the ‘big outage’ once you’re further along.”

“Thanks. For that and checking in on me. It’s nice.” I cringed at my awkwardness and rushed out before I said anything else stupid.

Once I got to my car, and after a few deep breaths so I didn’t let my anger speak for me, I pulled up Niall’s number. He texted me last night, a short hello, here’s my number, signed with his name. After our conversation in the PT room, I would’ve thought his first text would be full of assurance. Stuff about how he was excited for the kid, how he was committed to being a part of their life, questions about what was next in terms of doctor visits, maybe even a sweet message for me about how I was strong and he respected my boundaries.

Instead he kept it short. And despite knowing next to nothing about him, I thought he was being considerate of me. He knew I was already overwhelmed and didn’t want to add to that.

But maybe I’d given him too much credit because it seems in the day since we’ve spoken, he went to his fucking PR office. And now they were freaking out and calling my references, likely trying to suss out if I was a fucking gold digger. Maybe if I took a second, I could understand that this was probably basic procedure for rich, famous people. Do a background check, ask for paternity tests. I just didn’t think Niall was one of those people. And maybe that feeling of betrayal was why, as soon as the line connected, I shouted, “What the fuck, Niall?”

“Shit, sorry,” some gruff voice that I didn’t recognize said. “I thought it might be an emergency or something, so I answered while Christenson’s in the shower.”

“Is that my phone?” Niall asked, voice far in the background.

“Yeah, sorry. I saw it was Leah, so I thought—” The mystery man was cut off with a flash of static before someone else started talking.

“Hold up, that was the new mama yelling?” another man asked away from the speaker, then said directly into the phone, “Hey Leah, congratulations on growing life, that’s pretty cool. I dunno what Cap did, but I promise he means well. He just has a tendency to overdo things.”

“Brooker,” Niall sighed. “Please hand over my phone.”

“Shit, Christenson, you didn’t order, like, furniture or clothes yet, did you?” someone else asked, his voice slightly accented.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she came home to her door completely blocked by packages,” a man with an aggressive Irish accent said.

Just when I was considering looking up how many people were on a soccer team, there was another rush of static and Niall’s voice came through.

“Sorry about that,” he said, voice weary. “Kean was definitely trying to be helpful, but Brooker—”

“Hey, I was being helpful too!” Brooker shouted in the background and Niall sighed again.

“Give me a second to get some clothes on and I’ll find somewhere quiet to talk.” There was a small thunk as Niall set the phone down, followed by the shuffling of clothes and more friendly razzing from his teammates. And then it all faded with a clink of a door shutting. “Sorry. The guys mean well, they can just be a little nosy sometimes.”

“Nosy? I couldn’t tell,” I said with a little laugh before remembering why I called. “Wait, no. I’m mad at you.”

“What? Did I accidentally check out something from my cart? Wait, no, I don’t have your address yet, so it wouldn’t—”

“No, I’m mad because your team PR person or whatever the hell he is—”

“Freddie?”

“Yeah, Freddie. He called my boss asking if I was a good employee or some shit.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he said, voice soft like he was horrified and my anger started to fizzle. “I had no idea he’d do that. I’m so, so sorry, I … I’ll talk to—fuck, he’s probably already gone for today. But I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow, promise.”

“Well …” It kinda defeated the purpose of me yelling at him when he was immediately apologetic. “Why’d you tell him in the first place?”

“Because … part of my job as captain is to maintain a good public image,” he explained, voice quiet, bashful even. “I don’t think anyone on the Dastards staff cares about out-of-wedlock children, but there are some news outlets that do. So I just wanted them to have copy or whatever ready should our … news get public. But I didn’t think he’d be so … proactive about it?”

“Okay, I guess that’s reasonable,” I grumbled and let my head thunk back onto the headrest. It was kind of frustrating to have all my anger met with a softly delivered and reasonable explanation. “But why would he call my boss? Does he need a background check to write a response to a reporter’s questions?”

“Ah.” I could feel the cringe in his voice. “I thought he was going to take my word for it, but … he was concerned that since I don’t … get involved with many women and this pregnancy came out of nowhere—not that it did and not that I think this, but he was worried you might be a gold digger.”