Dirty Game

He handed the plastic bag to me and I hurried to the car. I was only a few blocks from home.

At some point I knew the ice cravings and sudden hot flashes weren’t because I was in Texas. We weren’t going through a heat wave. October wasn’t that cruel.

And then there was the constant peeing and my boobs were killing me. They were prickly and almost hot to the touch. Something was going on with my body. It might have been eight years ago, but there was a sensation that came over me that I distinctly remembered. My tongue felt dry and I couldn’t believe how dizzy I was. I had to face the possibility that the impossible had happened.

I knew my IUD wasn’t one hundred percent effective, but given my past history, I used it as an emergency backup. Pregnancy wasn’t something I thought I’d face again without serious medical intervention. And my doctor seemed to dole out IUDs to all her patients in their twenties. She said it was the most popular birth control, so I went with it.

I took the elevator to my floor, clutching the bag between my sweaty palms.

I dropped my keys at the door and was hit with a wave of vertigo went I bent to pick them up.

“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.

35

Blake

The 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.