Long Shot (Hoops 1)

He turns the phone to show me the screen. At first, I don’t know what I’m seeing, but then, as my brain and my eyes connect, I get it.

And what I wouldn’t give to slam his face into the urinal.

An ultrasound.

This isn’t happening. Not to me, and I wish it wasn’t happening to Iris.

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me?” Caleb stares down at the little cloudy image before sliding his phone back into his pocket. “I’m gonna be a dad. Iris and I are ecstatic.”

I can’t do it. The image of Iris pregnant with this man’s … spawn … strangles the words in my throat. I just stare at him, nauseous, before nodding and walking to the door with still-not-quite-dry hands.

“I feel like I should apologize,” Caleb says at my back, rushing the words because he probably realizes I’m not pausing to hear him out. “I mean, first the Stingers. Now Iris. I just keep taking the things you want, don’t I?”

I do turn then, meeting his mockery head-on.

“What makes you think I want her?” I ask, cocking one brow for good measure.

“Oh, come on, West.” Caleb laughs, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “How long have we known each other? I’ve never seen you look at a girl the way you looked at my girl.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“An asshole who has the girl and the team you want.” A bright smile breaks across Caleb’s face before he turns toward the urinal and I hear his zip slide down. To the sound of him whistling and pissing, I stalk out of the bathroom, ready to blast Lloyd for putting me anywhere near Caleb and his damn ultrasound. My teeth ache biting back curses. What I wouldn’t give to punch this dude’s pretty face.

What I wouldn’t give for a few moments with Iris to remind her of our last conversation.

Don’t lose yourself in him.

Don’t forget your dreams.

Don’t follow him.

Most of all …

Don’t choose him.

I didn’t have a right to say those things before, and I certainly don’t now that they’re having a baby together. He’ll convince her to marry him. I know it in my bones the way you know two trains racing toward one another will collide. With this baby in the picture, it’s a whole new ball game.

For the first time in my life, I’m riding the bench.

7

Iris

The bleeding hasn’t stopped. It’s been heavy, constant since last night. I didn’t want to, but I called Caleb, who predictably freaked out. I’m freaking out, too. Is it anxiety twisting my stomach into knots, or am I miscarrying? Are my breaths short and quick because of fear, or is it something else? What’s happening to me? To the baby?

My OBGYN told us to meet her at the hospital. I’m nearing the end of my first trimester, when miscarriages are most likely. God forgive me, but there is a small part of me that would be relieved if I miscarried. Like I’d dodged a bullet and could go on with my plans undisturbed.

I know there are women, probably on this very floor, so joyful and grateful to be pregnant. Some of them made sacrifices, lost babies along the way, underwent fertility treatments to have what I don’t want and never asked for, but I can’t argue with that renegade part of me that sees this as a possible escape.

The door to my room swings open slowly, and Lotus pokes her head in.

“Hey, Gumbo.” Her smile belies the concern on her face.

I wave her in, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. She hurries over and plops onto the bed beside me, her arms encircling me. I bury my face in her shoulder and try to hold all the emotions in—the anxiety, the guilt, the hope, the frustration. They all swirl inside of me, as mixed up as the soup I’m nicknamed for.

“How you holding up?” Lotus asks, pulling away to study me closely.

“I’m okay.” When she levels a skeptical look on me, I give up the pretense. “Alright. I’m losing my mind.”