Down and Out(96)

“Ryan!”
Both of our heads turn at the loud voice booming from the opposite end of the hallway. We release each other as one of the fight coordinators, Chuck, comes barreling towards us. It takes me a second to realize “Ryan” is Savannah.
Slightly out of breath, he pulls his headpiece down around his neck and says, “You’ve been pulled from the match. We need you to head back to medical.”
“What? Why?” She looks up at me, concerned, before refocusing on Chuck.
I glance at the clipboard in his hand, trying my best to remain calm, but it’s not working. I’ve never seen someone pulled minutes before a match. This is serious.
My brows furrow as I struggle to find my voice. I think it left with the air in my lungs. “Did something show up on her pre-fight physical?”
Chuck looks from me to Savannah, his expression wary. “You didn’t pass your pregnancy test,” he says to her. His gaze swings back to me, full of contrition, as his burly hand pats me on the shoulder. “Congrats, you two.”
I stand there dumbly, watching him walk away as my mind tries to reconcile what he said. “Did he just say . . . ?”
Remember how I said I was freaking out earlier? Yeah, I didn’t even know the meaning of the word until now.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.





“I don’t understand.”
That can’t be a tiny embryo on the fuzzy black and white ultrasound screen, and that little fluttering circle inside of it can’t be its heartbeat. It just can’t.
“You’re pregnant,” the doctor says again. He keeps his eyes on the monitor while holding the ultrasound wand still over a certain spot on my lower stomach. “About four to six weeks along, I’d say.” After pressing a few buttons, the machine starts to print out a row of sonogram pictures.
Sonogram pictures. Of my baby.
Oh my god. . .
“Are you sure?” Declan asks.
I tear my eyes away from the screen and look at him for the first time since that tiny flutter appeared on it. His arms are crossed and he’s frowning at the screen.
The doctor hangs up the wand and rips the pictures away from the printer, handing them to Declan. “I’m pretty sure,” he says dryly.
I watch Declan stare at the row of pictures in shock as the doctor grabs some paper towels and wipes the clear gook off my belly, then offers his hand to help me sit up.
“Thank you,” I murmur absently. I turn and dangle my legs off the exam table, gripping the ledges beside me so hard it hurts my hands. I feel like I might fall off the edge of the earth if I don’t have something to hold onto. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand how this is possible. I took a pregnancy test last week and it was negative.”
Declan’s head whips up. “You did what? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
I glance at the doctor, kind of embarrassed to be having this part of the conversation in front of him, and mutter, “I was late, and we hadn’t exactly been . . . you know, careful. But since it was negative, I didn’t think there was anything to tell you. I’ve skipped periods before, so I just figured that’s what this was.” I let out an exasperated sigh and rub my head. “How could I possibly have gotten a negative result if I was— if I’m—”
I can’t get the word “pregnant” out of my mouth. It’s like my brain refuses to recognize the word just because my mind can’t wrap around the fact that it now applies to me.
“Stress can affect your cycle. So can weight fluctuations.” The doctor shrugs and leans his hip against the counter. “It’s entirely possible that you ovulated later than usual, and if that’s the case, then last week might’ve been too early to register a positive result.”
I’ve had both. Fighting with Declan and training for this match was apparently a perfect storm of stress and weight gain.
“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” the doctor says, stepping away from the counter. “Unless you have any other questions?” he asks as he pauses by the door. He probably thinks we’re idiots who don’t know how basic human reproduction works, but I’m fresh out of f*cks to give right now.
Declan and I both shake our heads, so he leaves the exam room and then it’s just me and Declan. The father of my child.
Oh my god, I can’t even. . .
My stomach suddenly feels queasy for the second time that night, and I realize it’s not because of nerves, like I thought.
I place my hand on my stomach and glance down, wondering how there’s a baby in there. A tiny living being. The idea seems ludicrous.
I’m not ready for this. We’re not ready for this.
Shit, Declan probably hates me right now. I told him we were fine. I told him there was no need to worry.
I bite my lip, realizing that all the hard work I put in at the gym training, all the blood, sweat, and tears, it was all for nothing. I won’t be able to fight now.
I’m surprised at how disappointed I am. I mean, yeah, I was a little scared of getting hurt, but I wanted to prove to Declan that not only could I do it, but I could do it and put myself through school with it.
I wanted to prove it to myself, too. . .
But a baby doesn’t necessarily have to mean the end of the road. It’s a detour, sure, but there’s daycare and student loans, and hey, maybe I’ll even get more financial aid—
“I’m sorry.”
I look up at the sound of Declan’s pained voice. He looks downright tortured as he takes the rolling stool and sits in front of me.