The fanclutched her bosom. “Oh my gosh, what a handsome man! And a great defensemantoo! Philadelphia is so lucky to have him.”
Thecamera panned the stands, zeroing in on signs that read, “Marry me, Beckett!”or “I love you, #20!” with hearts for the o’s. Yech!
“Apparentlyother admirers agree,” the interviewer informed the smitten fan.
“So arewe playing hockey or what?” Paige growled.
Thethrobbing in her gut suddenly swelled, and something warm gushed between herlegs. She scuttled to the bathroom and pulled her pants down. Bright blood anddark clots saturated her underwear. No, no! Horrified, hands trembling,she wet a washcloth and wiped herself. The bleeding continued, and she grabbedher phone and called her obstetrician’s office.
“Thedoctor’s on call,” a kind voice at the answering service said. “Stay on theline, and I’ll try to reach her.”
By thetime the obstetrician picked up, Paige was seated on the bathroom tile, hereyes squeezed shut, her heart hammering in panic. Her breath hitched, and shefought whimpers as she described her symptoms to the doctor.
“Paige,can you get to the hospital?” Paige said yes, she could. “I’ll meet you there.”The doctor’s voice was calm, but Paige heard urgency. Thin hope stretched tothe ripping point.
.~ * * * ~.
Hours later, Paige stumbled back inside her home, her armwrapped protectively around her tender belly—a belly now devoid of life. Hertears had been falling in earnest from the time the obstetrician had laid agentle hand on her arm and said, “I’m so sorry, Paige, but you’ve lost thebaby.”
Thoughthe doctor had assured her miscarriage was common, and that chances were evenhigher with an IUD, Paige couldn’t help turning over the same thoughts in herhead. What caused it? Was it the wine I drank before I knew? Did all the sexwith Beckett dislodge something? Was it because I twisted my body that time Iheaved the box of tile? Did I drink too much coffee? What did I do wrong?
The dochad said nothing could have prevented the miscarriage, and though Paige wasn’tconvinced, she had nodded anyway.
Alonein the darkness, she sobbed. “My little sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Now I’llnever know what color your hair was or if you had blue eyes. Were you my littleprince or my princess? I’ll never get to meet you.”
Sheslipped into bed, hollow and desolate, more alone than she’d ever been. Thereshe remained for days, locking out the world, despair brushing dingy grays overeverything she cared about. For a while, she forgot she’d been abandoned allover again.
.~ * * * ~.
Beckett had always enjoyed the kids, whether in hockey campsor hospitals or the stands. They were always genuine, their love of the game sopure. It was something he understood. But lately, he’d been looking at themwith different eyes. He’d catch on a little girl with cinnamon hair, wonderingif that’s what a daughter might look like. Or a little boy with blue eyes andlight brown hair like his. Would they love hockey, maybe play? Would they becreative and design the hell out of structures? What would Christmas be likewith them tearing around the house long before the sun came up, jumping on abed he shared with their mother?
Allthese musings floated through his brain like jettisoned debris as he packed hisbag after the game. It had been a good game, and the crowd had been into it.Unfortunately, he’d turned over the puck which had led to the other teamnetting a goal. In the end, the Flyers won, but he hated when he fucked up. Histeammates had tried to take the sting out, inviting him to join them for dinnerand clubbing. They got it. He was family now. But like most nights, he optedfor solitude. Alone to dream about the little person growing in Andie’s belly,alone to plan winning a place in her—and the peanut’s—life.
He’dnever been less in control. He had no say; it wasn’t his body. The realityshook him to the core.
Windinghis way through the fans and their crazy signs outside the arena—who asks astranger to marry them on poster board?—he tapped his phone and held hisbreath. His dad picked up on the second ring.
“Hey,Dad. What’s going on?”
“Beckett!What a nice surprise. We just watched the game, son. You played well.”
“Otherthan the goal on my watch, you mean?” he snorted.
“Thatwas a tough break. It happens. Do you remember the time …” and Dad launchedinto regaling moves Beckett had executed as a bantam.
SoonBeckett was laughing, driving without recalling getting behind the wheel orarriving at his building. Why had he never reached out to Dad before?
“Sohow’d you do it, Dad? You and Mom were always there, with my hockey, Cooper’sstuff, school.”
“Wejust did. You make it work.” Beckett could practically hear his dad’s stoneshoulders shrug. “It helps when there are two of you. You’re a team. You helpeach other. Sometimes one of you carries the load.”
Beckettstarted to say something, but his dad let out a long sigh. “I guess that’s whyMarion and I wed so soon after your mom died. I know that was hard on you, butraising kids as a single parent—that’s tough too. I just couldn’t see myselfdoing it. And I missed your mom so much. Marion took some of the hurt away, andshe needed me too. Taking care of you boys, taking care of her and her kids,made me a better man and a better dad. And you, son, you really grew up thatyear. Sooner than you should have. I want you to know how proud I am of you.”
A lumpswelled in Beckett’s throat. He and his dad had never talked about Mom’s death.Beckett had resented him for it, and now he glimpsed his father’s suffering.But Beckett couldn’t ask the question lodged in his chest. How can you be adad if your child’s mom won’t let you?
His dadjolted Beckett from his wallowing. “So how’s that girl of yours? Is Andie withyou in Philly?”
Beckettswallowed. “Uh, she’s not with me anywhere, Dad.”
Dadpaused a beat. “I’m sorry to hear that, son. I really am. I thought you and she… Well, I liked her. She reminded me a little of your mom. Smart, spunky, andwarm-hearted.”
“I missher.” Beckett surprised himself when he said
