Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(41)

“Let’s feed you two. Think you can handle dinner?”

She nods, a soft smile on her face at the mention of feeding both her and the baby. “I’m starved, actually.”

“Good. Something bland and easy on your stomach, or . . .”

“Enchiladas from Casa Mana.” She grins, her eyes lighting up. “With extra jalape?os.”

“Or that,” I say with a chuckle.

“And maybe a movie. A comedy.”

Rising to my feet, I can’t help the smile on my face. “I’ll order dinner. You can pick the movie.”

Ana lets out a happy sound. It’s just a sigh, really, but I can tell she’s starting to believe that maybe everything really will be okay.

Somehow.

Maybe.

I hope.





17




* * *





Going Home





Ana



Waking up in my childhood bed is a strange enough experience. But hearing the distant clatter of my father down the hall, starting the morning coffee? It’s almost like I’ve gone back in time.

Actually, I’ve come home, but only for a few days. I got in late last night and surprised my father. The look on his face when he answered the doorbell to find me on the stoop was sweeter than any pastry I could whip up.

I check my phone. Almost eight a.m. I wonder if Grant’s already at practice.

Reminding myself that I don’t need to be thinking about Grant right now, I toss my phone aside. I snuggle briefly under the worn covers, willing myself back to a time when boy troubles only went as far as Corey Sullivan in the tenth grade. To a time before I found out I was pregnant.

But coffee lures me out of bed, like it has every day since I started drinking it. And since I’m still allowed one cup a day now that I’m pregnant, that’s exactly what I’ll have. I pull my tangled hair into a low ponytail, then slip off my pajama pants and oversized T-shirt to step into some jeans and a sweater.

In the kitchen, my dad is standing over the stove, flipping what I assume are pancakes, based on the slight burnt smell.

“Good morning,” I call over the hiss of the batter in the pan.

“Ana! Help me out with this.” He waves the spatula in the air. “I haven’t made pancakes in years. It’s like riding a bicycle. Gotta run into a few trees first.”

“What’s the occasion?” I smile, plucking the spatula from his hand and then removing the pancakes from the pan. He forgot to add cooking spray.

“You’re home.” Dad chuckles. “That’s an occasion for me.”

I pause my rummaging through the cabinets in my search for something to grease the pan, and turn to give my father an apologetic frown. I know how distant I’ve been the past few years. I’d blame it entirely on Jason, but that wouldn’t be the whole story.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say, taking a step toward him. “I felt like I had to do everything myself, you know? I just wanted to be independent.”

“I suppose I taught you that,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling, so I’ll call that a win. “C’mere.”

My dad pulls me into a bear hug and squeezes me so hard, for a second, I can’t breathe.

“Sorry.” He grins when he releases me. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I say softly, reaching up to gently squeeze his shoulder. “Now, let me get back to the pancake crisis over here, and then we can sit down and catch up.”

? ? ?

“You’re sure?”

I nod, biting my lip.

My dad’s array of reactions to the story of Jason’s misdeeds varied. Anger, to sadness, and finally to a deep disdain. But now that I’ve told him about the little human growing inside me? His expression is unreadable.

This is exactly why I haven’t been telling people. Even after I knew, and half the hockey wives and fiancées kept calling to express their support after the video of Jason and me leaked, I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone the rest of my news. I just accepted their support and stayed quiet about my pregnancy, like maybe if I didn’t say it out loud, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this yet. Because the truth is, I have no idea how to deal with it.

Sadly, I know that’s not the way this works. Ready or not, I’m going to have a baby.

“I took two pregnancy tests. I was thinking about visiting Dr. Hao while I’m here, if she has any openings.”

Dr. Hao was my mother’s ob-gyn, and mine. Well, during high school and before I moved away.

“I can call her. I saw her at the rally a few months ago, and we chatted.”

My heart swells three times its normal size. First, because my father is still participating in our town’s awareness campaigns for drunk driving. For my mom. And second, because my father had a conversation with an attractive woman, something he couldn’t do for years after Mom passed. And third? Because I can’t find a hint of anger in his voice about my pregnancy news.

“You’re not mad?” I ask tentatively.

Dad reaches across the table, taking my small, smooth hand in his big, scratchy one. “Ana. I couldn’t be mad. I’m so proud of you. Proud that you left that piece-of-crap ex of yours. Proud that you’re taking care of yourself. Proud that you’re going to be just as excellent a mother as your mom was. And proud that you’re making me a granddaddy and giving me another human to love unconditionally.”