“Y ou’re aware that you lost last night.”
“Clearly.” I try my hardest not to roll my eyes at the reporter sitting in the third row of this morning’s press conference, but if that wasn’t the most obvious statement I’ve ever heard.
“Which means if you lose one of the next two, the Chicago Devils are out of the playoff run.”
“Was there a question in there?”
A small chuckle washes over the room of reporters. This is by far the most attitude I’ve had towards the press in my career. I’m typically even- keeled and diplomatic, but we lost last night, flew a red-eye flight home afterward, and I was immediately whisked into a press conference this morning before I even made it home.
And the last thing I need while going on no sleep and stewing over my loss is some reporter throwing out obvious statements.
“How do you feel about that?” he amends.
“Not great. That loss is on me, I know that. Coming back from my injury, I know what’s riding on my shoulders, and I didn’t deliver.”
We lost by two to Sacramento, and I was the one to miss the game winning three.
Hands shoot up around the room and the team’s media coordinator chooses the next reporter to ask his question.
“There are rumors floating around the league about a possible trade if the team doesn’t make the playoffs this season. What kind of pressure do you feel to deliver these next two wins?”
My eyes dart to Ron Morgan standing in the back of the room, arms crossed. There’s no expression on his face whatsoever, and I couldn’t tell you what he’s thinking. Is he truly thinking of trading me? The rumor mill has been spinning with that one all week.
So yeah, not only do I feel the pressure from the city and the Devils organization to finally make the playoffs, but there’s the added weight I’ve put on myself knowing my girlfriend, sister, and future brother-in-law are rooted in Chicago.
I’ve never felt more stressed about two games in my life.
“I don’t feel the pressure,” I lie. “I know what I have to do, what the team has to do in order to get the job done. And we will.”
Looking back to Ron, he gives me a curt nod of his head.
“Next question,” our coordinator continues as I sink into my seat, ready to be hounded with questions I don’t want to answer.
 |
Dragging my suitcase through the front door, I finally make it home.
I’m dead on my feet, not sleeping a wink on the airplane as last night’s loss replayed in my mind on a constant loop. All I want to do is find Indy, pull her into my bed, and sleep the entire day away.
“Ind!” I call out, but she doesn’t answer. “Blue, I’m home. Where are you?”
I check my room and her old one, the shower, and the kitchen. She’s not home. Grabbing my phone to call her, I already have a text waiting.
Blue: I have something to tell you when I get home and I’ve been so excited to see you that I couldn’t sleep! Went to grab two coffees for us and one for Dave, just in case you’re home before I’m back!
With a smile on my face, I take a seat on the entryway bench and kick off my shoes. I’m far too fucking exhausted to stand while doing it, and I’m fairly certain I’ll be sitting my happy ass right here until my girl is home and can take me to bed.
Reaching down, I tuck my shoes under the bench, but while bent over, I’m stopped in my tracks when I find a white plastic stick with a blue cap wedged underneath one of the wooden legs. As if it were dropped there and forgotten about.
I keep my house tidy as fuck, and even Indy has gotten better about it, so something so obviously out of place is easy to spot.
As soon as my hand reaches it, I know what it is, and my erratic heartbeat has a feeling it knows what it says. All the confirmation is right there in front of me as I hold it in front of my face in utter disbelief.
This can’t be happening. How is this happening? I mean, I know how, but we’re always safe. Always cautious. She told me it would take a miracle for it to happen naturally. How the fuck did this happen? And why the fuck is this down here? To hide it from me?
Clearly, she wasn’t lying when she said she has something to tell me when she gets home because in my hands, I’m holding a pregnancy test that’s practically screaming the word positive with its bold letters.
Indy’s positive pregnancy test.
