The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(77)

I’m going to be a father at the age of twenty-two.

A dad.

Because I got a girl I’m not in a relationship with pregnant.

Knocking a girl up is something I would have expected my old roommates to have done before they found love and settled. They’re the ones who used to sleep around, not me.

What the hell am I going to do?





Anabelle




“So how did it go at your dad’s thing?”

He’s been gone for hours, having left the house late morning, looking dapper in black dress pants and a button-down shirt. I helped him with his tie, a periwinkle blue and bright pink paisley, my trembling hands so embarrassingly unknowledgeable on the task, I had to redo it four times.

Elliot stood patiently, smelling like a fresh shower while I fumbled. Then, with a self-conscious backward glance—as if he almost couldn’t make himself go—his black leather dress shoes carried him out the door and down the steps. Headed to some fancy hotel downtown when between us, there were so many things left unsaid.

But he’s back now, sitting in my kitchen, able to rationally discuss “the situation.”

The situation—is that what I’m calling it now?

“How did it go? I honestly have no idea—I could barely concentrate on anything my father or his colleagues were saying during their speeches. This baby thing is all I could fucking think about. I sleepwalked through the entire day.”

This baby thing…

I know he didn’t mean to say it like that, but still, a knot forms in the pit of my stomach and I resist the urge to put my hands on my belly protectively. I’ve been doing that a lot lately—touching my small bump, rubbing it and gazing at it in the mirror, watching it grow.

Gunderson calls it AnaBean, convinced that it’s a girl.

That thought puts a smile on my face.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s…I know I gave you the shock of a lifetime last night.” I fiddle with the straw in my water glass. “Rex thinks I should have told you sooner.”

“Oh?” His inflection is sarcastic, lip uncharacteristically curled. “Rex thinks so, huh? What else does he say?”

I sigh, frustrated, knowing Elliot can’t stand Gunderson, but still determined to make him accept the fact that Rex is in my life. I bite back a moody reply that would probably only serve to piss him off even further. The tension at this table is already palpable; no need for me to make it worse.

“When do you leave?”

“In the morning.”

Tomorrow.

That knot in my belly tightens; he’s leaving.

Again.

“I don’t know what else to do here, Anabelle. I have to go back and finish the semester. My hands are tied—I can’t stay, you have to know that.”

I do know it.

“I felt like a dickhead leaving before. This is going to kill me.” He reaches across the table, grasping for my hands. “I’ll be back for the holidays, and we can figure out what we’re going to do then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want…I want to be here for you, dammit—I don’t want you relying on that fuckstick Gunderson.”

“Because you care or because you’re jealous?”

“Both! Jesus, both. That kid drives me fucking nuts—he shouldn’t be the one walking you around the baby aisle.”

Relief floods my body. “When did you decide this?”

“Last night. I couldn’t sleep for shit. And today, all fucking morning while I let my sisters race me around town to buy a gift for our dad, I wanted to pull my hair out.”

I’ve had a lot of sleepless nights myself, full of fear and worry and paranoia. “Are you saying you want to leave your master’s program?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s not fair that you’re doing this alone, and if the next words out of your mouth are ‘But I’m not doing it alone, I’m doing it with Rex,’ I swear to you Anabelle, I’ll lose my mind.”

“I am made of sterner stuff than that, Elliot. My father is the coach for one of the best college wrestling teams in the United States. He did not raise me to rely on any man. I can do this on my own. I can. I promise you, I’m strong enough.”

I’ve given it a lot of thought, day in and day out, until it was the only thing getting me through the week, the idea of having and raising this baby on my own while still going to school.

After this semester, I’ll only have one more to single-parent my way through.

“Anabelle…” Elliot hedges.

“Stop. We are not discussing it.” I squeeze my eyes shut, rather immaturely. “The best thing for your future—for this baby’s future”—I place my hand on my stomach—“is for you to get your master’s from Michigan. Make something of yourself—that’s what I want. You hate it in Iowa.”

“Is that what you think? That I hate it here?”

“I don’t think you hate it, but I don’t think it’s where you want to be. Before you left, you said there was nothing here for you.”

“I was an idiot,” he sputters. “I didn’t mean you.”

“Elliot,” I say patiently, “I like you too much to ask you to leave school, and I know you’re still getting over the shock of all this, but if you want to support this child, you’ll stay where you are and get your degree.” I pause. “We both know it’s the right thing to do.”