Grinder (Seattle Sharks 1)

Her grin was instant and electric. “Go bring her home, Gage.”

I nodded and then hauled the suitcase into my room. The flight left only a matter of hours after the game. My phone rang, Dr. Patterson’s private number coming up on the caller ID and I answered.

“Hey, Doc, thanks for returning my call.”

“Hi, Gage,” he said slowly in his serious tone.

“Don’t sound so glum doc. I just have a quick question for you.” I tossed the suitcase onto the bed and popped the latches.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m glad you called. I need to talk to you about your test results from your checkup.”

My stomach fell to the floor, and in that moment...everything changed.

Chapter 18

Bailey

I clutched the cold, immaculately polished porcelain in the bathroom of my Paris apartment. My stomach churned, despite having just thrown up the lone cracker I’d had for breakfast.

I pushed myself to standing, running the icy water in the sink over my hands and splashing my face. I didn’t know if it was the stress from the internship at the gallery, the food here in Paris, or some weird combination, but that was the third time I’d fell ill in two days. After a few deep breaths in an attempt to settle the sour mess that was my stomach, I opened my tiny medicine cabinet in search of some Pepto.

I paused in my frantic search when my fingers brushed across the top of my tampon box. I scrunched my eyes, mentally counting the days. Had I really not had a period since I’d gotten to Paris? How had I not noticed that?

A wave of nausea hit me again, and I leaned over the toilet just in time.

No way. It wasn’t possible. Was it?

The minute I felt solid enough to find out, I hurried to the corner shop near my complex and purchased a multi-pack of tests. My heart raced each step I took home, forcing me to be oblivious to the beautiful Parisian architecture I normally stopped to admire.

Back in my bathroom in less time than I could think of the odds, I quickly took the test, thankful the positive and negative readings were universal in any language. Waiting as the seconds ticked by, I tried to convince myself of how highly unlikely this was. My sickness and being late on a period could very well be stress induced. And what was more stressful than undergoing a massive breakup right before plunging head first into a foreign gallery internship? Not to mention saying goodbye to Lettie. Which had broken my heart completely. Our Skype sessions were the highlight of my week, but it wasn’t enough.

I thought about the email I’d received a few days ago, filling me with hope. The Seattle gallery I’d first applied to—and had been denied due to lack of space—had written to see if I was still interested, as they had a slot opening next month.

Three more weeks and I can go home.

It wasn’t that I didn’t adore the culture that made this city beautiful, inviting, and romantic, but my heart was in Seattle. Where Lettie was; where Gage was. Just thinking his name hurt, the absence of his voice, his touch, his smell had left a cold empty hole in my heart these past few weeks. I’d been a fool to think the gallery or Paris could fill it.

The timer went off on my phone and I stood up to look at the test.

My fingers shook as I grasped it in one hand and the box in the other, triple checking the pictures to make sure those two little pink lines meant what I thought they meant.

Excitement and fear and doubt encompassed my heart like a battle between heat and ice. I set the items down and rubbed the skin of my tummy underneath my shirt.

Could this happen?

Maybe the test was a mistake? False-positives happened all the time.

I decided to wait an hour and try again—during which I pulled out my cell and googled how common vasectomies reversed on their own. Turns out, it was pretty rare but did happen to tons of couples all over the world. The process was technical, but it came down to the body healing itself, and I’d never met anyone who had worked as hard as Gage to heal himself before—not that this was the part of his body he was trying to heal. Good God…what if it did?

Finally, after waiting what seemed like forever, I took another test. Thank goodness it was my day off. If I had made this discovery while at work? I wouldn’t be able to focus even a little bit.

I paced the small length of my bedroom while waiting for the test to work, my hand on my belly and my eyes on the three bags I already had packed and ready for when I returned home in a few weeks. When the Seattle gallery had emailed me, it had been a no-brainer, and I’d instantly started preparations to make it an easy transition back home. The Paris curator wasn’t even upset, as he had countless applicants in his database who were chomping at the bit for my position.

Three bells chimed from my phone, and I froze as I silenced the alarm. The odds of two false positives were more unlikely than Gage’ vasectomy reversing on its own. My throat went dry as I slowly made my way into the bathroom, and scooped up the test.

Tears coated my eyes.

Two pink lines.

Again.

Paired with my late period, and the unexplainable aversion I’d had to food lately, and it was clear. I was pregnant with Gage’s baby. Gage, who didn’t want to have another baby. Gage, who’d refused to entertain the thought, yet had stolen my heart regardless.

I held my stomach as I sank onto the closed toilet, rubbing the skin below my navel as I tried to think of a plan. How could I explain this to him? Would he even want it? Want us?

My heart tripled in size with the thought of us.

Me and you, baby. I laughed as tears ran down my cheeks, the vision of the baby I’d dreamed about popping behind my eyes. Gage’s smile, my eyes, his hair, Lettie’s attitude. Perfection. The one thing I’d wanted more in life than to work at a gallery.

I jolted when I heard someone pound on my door.

I rarely had visitors in the short time I’d been here, but my neighbor had taken it upon her sixty-year-old self to stop by once or twice a week asking if I’d taken the paper off her welcome mat. Honestly, I think she just wanted to have a conversation with another woman, so I always indulged whatever idle chitchat she had for me after we’d both concluded I hadn’t in fact thieved her morning paper.

“One second, Elise,” I called toward the door as the pounding continued. I quickly shut the bathroom door behind me. “I’m a little busy---“ my words died in my throat as I opened the front door.