Lucas (Cold Fury Hockey 8)

"Then you need to make an effort to get to know Stephanie. If you're going to share custody of a child, you've got to have some type of established means of communication."

I don't like it, but I admit this is good advice. While Max is the romantic and would probably offer to marry a woman he got pregnant, he knows that's not me. I would never shirk my responsibility to a child, but I don't believe marriage is necessary to raise one.

"And she definitely wants to keep the child?" Max asks me, which causes my stomach to turn sour with fear.

"We didn't talk about that," I tell him in a panic. "She said she has a doctor's appointment next month. You don't think she would have an abortion, do you?"

"I don't know, man," Max says empathetically. "Is that even a possible choice for you?"

I mutter a string of curses and look at my brother helplessly. "I don't know, Max. I don't fucking know what to do."

Chapter 2

Stephanie

I pull up my mother's phone number from contacts and dial it, pressing my cellphone tight to my ear. As expected, I get her voicemail. She never answers my calls, but I prefer it that way. Over the years we've lapsed into the habit of communicating through voicemail, because it's just easier.

I'm still reeling from the news that I am in fact pregnant. There was a part of me that didn't believe the home pregnancy test, so I was actually faintly surprised when the doctor confirmed it. I mean...I didn't feel any different. Shouldn't I be feeling something if I'm pregnant? A fluttering in my stomach? Sore boobs? I know nothing of pregnancy. I have no clue what to do or how I'm going to raise a child. It's not something I had ever planned to do.

It's not something I ever wanted to do.

It's so daunting I believe I would literally sell my soul to the devil if I could just have one person I could confide this information to. A friend, a family member--hell, even a trusty neighborhood bartender I could spill the secret to and ask for advice.

Sadly, I have no one close enough I would ever feel comfortable doing that with. I've got about a million and one casual acquaintances, people at work I meet out at happy hour or some girls in my yoga class that I've gotten coffee with on occasion. A former college roommate I see occasionally to go dancing with.

But none of those people are good options to say, "Hey...I'm pregnant and I'm scared. What the hell do I do?"

I've never let anyone in close enough to me that I could tell something so personal to.

After my mom's greeting plays, I leave a message. "Hey, it's me. Just calling to check in and see how things are going. I know you're in Greece and our time zones are way off, so no need to call me back."

I hang up without asking my mom to call me back so I can tell her that she's going to be a grandmother.

I'm not even sure why I called, because I knew before I ever even picked up the phone that I wouldn't tell her what was going on in my life. We don't have that type of relationship at all, but if we did, and if I told her, I know I would spend the majority of the conversation trying to reassure her that becoming a grandmother didn't mean she was getting older.

With a sigh, I turn back to my email. I'll often come in and work on the weekends to do administrative stuff, but this weekend I just didn't have it in me what with finding out I was pregnant and needing to have an awkward conversation with the daddy. So this morning is all about trying to catch up on some neglected emails.

Saturday was wholly unpleasant because I spent most of the day psyching myself up to break the news to Lucas. The actual telling him I was pregnant Saturday night in a bar parking lot was awful, and even though I know he was justified in asking for it, I wasn't prepared for him to question paternity. That told me he thought I was pretty loose, which is and isn't true. I'm a liberated woman who thinks sex is pretty damn awesome. I don't shy away from one-night stands, and in fact prefer them. But I don't do hookups often. I don't go looking for them. If a situation presents itself and I'm interested, I'll act. But if I go months without, I'm okay with that too, because I've got a fucking awesome vibrator.

Sunday I pretty much lay on my couch and binged on Netflix, not feeling motivated to do anything at all. I'm pretty sure any therapist worth a damn would diagnose me with some situational depression. I'm just glad it's now Monday and the work week has started, because that is something I can't avoid. Work will force me to occupy my mind with other thoughts.

A tapping on my door causes my head to snap up and I call out, "Come in."

Philip Wagoner steps into my office, and that causes me to sit up straighter in my chair. He's the director of the museum and my boss. He's the one who decided to promote me to interim director of acquisitions from my assistant curatorial duties.

Note the key word being interim.

This is not a career opportunity, as I don't have the education or the experience to hold the position long term. The last director of acquisitions had a PhD, and I have a lowly master's in geology. I've only been here at the museum for two years, and before that, my geology degree lay wasted while I worked in retail. There was no way I was going to be considered for anything more than an interim position.

Mr. Wagoner gives me a smile as he steps just inside my door. "Just stopping in to see how things are going with you."

I blink in surprise. "Um...things are going well. I've got a bead on a partial Claosaurus specimen. There were suspected gastroliths found with the skeleton."

"Good, good," he says quickly, and I notice quite distractedly. I don't even think he heard what I just said because that would be a huge acquisition for the museum if I can get it.

Bobbing his head up and down on his bulky frame, he puts his hands together and starts to wring them. A classic sign of nervousness, which causes my nerves--which are already quite frayed--to fire up.

"So listen," Mr. Wagoner says to me. "We are going through final interviews for the director of acquisitions position. We should have a choice made within a few weeks."

"That's wonderful," I say with genuine smile.

While things are going well for me at this point, it's only because the man I replaced had some very good leads for me to follow up on. But I don't have the contacts he did in this industry and I know there's going to come a time when I run dry. I just don't have the necessary experience and this was only ever meant to be temporary.

"Yes, yes," he says, the repeat also a sign that he's nervous talking to me. "It's wonderful news indeed. But I actually have some not so good news to tell you about."

My stomach flips over and I know from some of the research I've done on pregnancy it is in no way associated with morning sickness as I'm still too early for that. I incline my head toward him and wait for him to finish.

"As you know, we've been seriously underfunded for the last few years, and while the gala last month raised some very nice money for us, we are still struggling to meet our budget constraints."

"Let me guess," I say softly. "My job is on the line."

Mr. Wagoner's face turns soft with empathy. "I'm sorry, Stephanie. But we're looking to combine the director and assistant curator's responsibilities into one job. The person we're hiring will be doing your job as well."

"How much time do I have?" I ask, my head already spinning with the implications of what this means to me.

"At least a month," Mr. Wagoner says, and then he adds something that gives me a tiny ray of hope. "But we don't want to lose you. We're actually looking to see if we can move you laterally into another department."

I'm not going to count on that happening, though, and I'll immediately start looking for a new job. This ordinarily would not be something that freaked me out. I've moved from job to job over the years managing to take very good care of myself. But these are not normal circumstances. I'm twenty-eight years old, pregnant and have no real job security now. I need health insurance and I need money to put a roof over my head and food in my belly to ensure the baby is healthy. If I can't find a job that meets my needs, t

his whole pregnancy thing is about to get a lot scarier.

"I'm really sorry," Mr. Wagoner repeats. "This is the part of my job I hate the most. But we will work hard to see if we can find a place for you here with us. Obviously, I will give you an excellent reference letter and I'm sure you'll find something very quickly."

I nod at him, and even attempt a brave smile. "Thank you, Mr. Wagoner. You don't know how much that would mean to me."

His smile back to me is sad but relieved to have that over with and he leaves my office without shutting the door behind him. A headache starts to brew and I put my fingertips to my temples to massage the pain away. I close my eyes and let out a frustrated groan, wondering how my life could get any more complicated.

I hear a soft knock on my door and I slowly raise my head as I open my eyes. I suppress another groan as I take in a big mountain of complication standing there.

Luc Fournier at the threshold to my office.

"You okay?" he asks, his expression worried.

I put on a completely fake smile, my voice coming out not as light as I'd like it. "Yeah. Totally fine. What are you doing here?"

Luc apparently takes that as permission to come into my office and he takes a seat in the only extra chair I have across from my desk. He leans back, props one of his ankles over the opposite knee, and grips the armrest casually with his hands.

"We didn't get a chance to talk the night before last," Luc says quietly. "You kind of rattled me with the news."

I nod in understanding because I've been rattled ever since I took that home pregnancy test.

"I was going to email you," he continues. "But that seemed too impersonal. Then I was going to call you, but that didn't seem right either. So I decided to come here to see you."

"What is there to talk about?" I ask him curiously, because honestly, until he gets the paternity test back, I assumed he wouldn't worry about this.

"Are you considering an abortion?"