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One glance down told her all she needed to know.
“Fuck,” she whispered, her heart sinking.
Slowly, she placed the test back in the package and tossed it under the sink, before grabbing the tampons instead.
Sinking down on the toilet, she put her head in her hands, fighting the desire to cry.
What the hell was wrong with her? This was a good thing…right?
Then why did she feel this soul-crushing devastation?
For a few minutes, she just sat there, willing away the tears. Then, she took a deep breath, cleaned herself up, and headed back to the kitchen.
Her phone lay on the counter. She glanced at the clock. Elio had a home game tonight. In fact, he was probably in the locker room getting ready.
She now had the Baltimore schedule memorized, and she knew exactly what channel the games were on. He hadn’t played since leaving the injured reserve list, but Liza had texted their entire friend group this morning, telling everyone Elio was in the starting lineup tonight.
Gianna had promised to call him, but she’d already made him wait three days for a response. So she opened her contacts list and clicked on his name, sending off a quick text, certain he wouldn’t see it until after the game. He’d confided one night that he unplugged completely a few hours before game time to get in the right headspace.
I’m not pregnant.
Then she sent another text, lying about her reason for not calling, saying something lame about not wanting to make him wait. The truth was she didn’t think she could say the words aloud without crying.
Once the two messages were sent, she unpacked her groceries, made herself some macaroni and cheese, the box kind, and dipped out a more than generous helping.
Walking to the living room with her bowl and phone, she sat down and turned on the TV, settling down to watch the game. They were singing the National Anthem, the camera panning the line. Her heart did a little flip-flop when Elio’s face showed on the screen.
She glanced at her phone. There was no response, but—shit—she could see that Elio had read the message.
What did he think of the results?
Was he breathing a huge sigh of relief? Or was he feeling like she was?
Disappointed.
Chapter Fourteen
Elio laughed as Tank and Blake got into a tussle, trying to one-up each other on who was going to score the most goals tonight. It was a common argument between the two competitive bastards. It was a good thing they were best friends or the over-the-top insults about receding hairlines, sloppy stickhandling, dick size and function, as well as the obnoxious “your mama” jokes, probably would have ended in bloodshed a long time ago.
In the past, Elio usually stepped in to break things up before they got hurt, telling them to grow up, but today, he just let them have at it.
It occurred to him how much he would miss this if he decided to hang up his skates. This time, just before the game, with all the guys getting ready, talking trash about the other team—and each other—was one of his favorite parts of the job. He still loved the competition, loved being out on the ice, loved that moment when the puck connected with the stick, and he just knew that fucker was going to hit the back of the net.
Since returning, he’d been making a concerted effort to come to a decision, instituting some of Gianna’s list-making skills by weighing all the pros and cons. As such, he’d been paying closer attention to things that he had taken for granted or forgotten to notice at all because they had become second nature after so many years.
He pulled his jersey on, anxious to finally get back out on the ice. He was in the starting lineup after too many fucking weeks away. He’d gotten back to Baltimore early Saturday afternoon, heading to the rink rather than his apartment, anxious to return to his workout routine.
He’d been practicing with the team—and on his own—nearly twelve hours a day since then.
“Good to have you back, El Train. I missed you out there on the ice.”
Elio smiled at the nickname as Preston sank down onto the bench next to him.
His old teammate, Alex Stone, had dubbed him the El Train, playing on his name and the fact that, according to Alex, Elio had a tendency to fly in and take their opponents down with the force of a speeding train.
As he’d told Gianna, it really was a source of amusement amongst the Moretti family that Elio’s mild-mannered personality didn’t translate on the ice. As the enforcer on his team, he never hesitated to step in with fists flying, ready to defend any teammate he’d deemed wronged.
“It’s good to be back. That sling sucked ass.”
