Sweet Satisfaction

“Oh God.” I clutched the wall for support, trying to stand up without falling over .

As soon as I opened the door I sprinted to the bathroom, tore open the first box in the bag without reading the instructions, and held it under me .

I swore after the last time I’d never take another pregnancy test like that again. The next time I was going to be married. It was all

going to be planned. Down to the birth month. And my husband and I would sit on the edge of the bed waiting for the results. We’d make jokes and be nervous. Giggling together and worried together. Maybe even daring the other one to look at it first .

But hell no, that wasn’t how this was playing out. I was alone. Completely alone. I looked at my phone for the hundredth time, waiting for the minutes to tick by .

What was I going to do when I read the results? How was I going to tell Blake? Or what if it was negative? Maybe I wasn’t pregnant and instead I had some horrible incurable illness. Maybe I was alone and sick. My fingers began to shake. I had to know what was happening. I needed the truth .

I picked up the stick on the counter and sank to my knees .

I knew the answer before the flashing words told me what my body had been screaming for weeks .

I was pregnant .

Thirty-Five

Blake

T he wind whipped hard across the sound. It cut to the bone it was so damn cold. I couldn’t stay long, but a few days here was what I needed. A place to figure out why this season had been harder than any other. Why no matter what I did, I couldn’t keep the team together .

While the rest of the team was in Cabo for the weekend mending bruised egos, I was back on the island, looking for the answers I only found in this place .

A place I could be quiet. A place I could think away from the noise and the speculation. Orlando had given up on us. The fans were disgusted. The commentators saw the writing on the wall. The Thrashers were wasting talent every Sunday .

I still had to make it through the rest of the season knowing everyone had given up .

I tossed a log on the fire I had made in the pit behind the house. I took a sip of beer and cushioned my guitar in my lap .

The strings stung my fingers as I strummed the first chord. Every part of me felt the chill through the wire. But it was what I needed. I wanted to linger in the numbness as I drank myself drunk. As I watched the flames turn to embers. As I sang words I didn’t have the guts to admit to anyone else except an empty backyard .

The fire crackled as I put the song together, one broken thought after another. I reached for the last beer in the case. How in the hell was I all out of beer? Maybe if the Thrashers released me I had a backup career. I kicked the coals with the heel of my boot. Fuck. That wasn’t even funny .

I didn’t have anything if I didn’t have football. I shook my head. It was worse than that—I didn’t have anything if I didn’t have her .

And that’s what I had to face here. That’s why I truly came back in the middle of the season. I never showed my face here in the fall .

I had to let go of Sierra once and for all, or I was going to re-break over and over. There wasn’t anything I could do until I said goodbye. She was like a ghost on this island. I saw glimpses of her when I drove over the bridge. Every corner took me back to the first time and the last .

I knew there was a bottle of bourbon in the house somewhere. I staggered inside, fumbling for the lights and grabbed the bottle from the back of the kitchen cabinet .

I twisted off the top, feeling the thirst pool in my mouth for the relief of the whiskey. My salvation might be in the bottom of that bottle. I tipped it back and strolled to the fire .

I picked up the guitar and let the words tumble .

I had to remember before I could forget. I knew she had forgotten. Tonight I’d drink the whiskey. I’d let the fire burn and I’d remember enough for the both of us .

Thirty-Six

Sierra

I t was hard to believe this morning I was sitting on the floor in my tiny apartment crying my eyes out and now I was here .

My hands trembled as I parked the car in front of the boathouse. This had to be the single most insane thing I had ever done. I looked through the window of the workshop building and saw a figure walk past the glass. An instant swirl of butterflies descended on my stomach, followed by nausea .

Of all the nights for Emily to work late, this would be the one. I needed her. Needed her more than any other time. It was nine o’clock, and my phone hadn’t rung once. I had left her three desperate voicemails .