The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(63)

“For who?” I ask curiously.

“Coach Death.”

I almost choke on my tongue. “Okay. Let’s back this up. Did you just say Coach Death?”

His boom of laughter tickles the side of my face. “Yep. Not even joking, darlin’. My very first hockey coach was named Paul Death. Apparently it’s an old British name. Or maybe Welsh? I can’t remember now.”

I shift around so my back is to the railing. “Was he as evil as his name suggests?”

“Nicest dude you’ll ever meet,” Tucker declares.

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. He’s the first person who told me I had potential. I was five at the time. Begged my mom for hockey lessons, so she drove me to this arena an hour away because Patterson doesn’t have a rink. Coach Death popped a squat, shook my hand, and said, ‘Yup-yup, I see it, kid. You’ve got potential.’” Tucker chuckles. “That was his catchphrase—yup-yup. I started saying it around the house and it drove Mom crazy.”

I laugh. “So Coach Death was your idol growing up?”

“Pretty much.” He slants his head. “What about you? Who was your idol?”

“I had five.” I grin at him. “They were called NSYNC.”

His jaw drops. “Oh no, darlin’, say it ain’t so. You were into boy bands?”

“So into them it’s not even funny. Nana took me to an NSYNC concert when I was twelve. I swear I had my first orgasm that night.”

He throws his head back and hoots.

“I told you, it’s not funny,” I grumble. “I was obsessed. I used to doodle Sabrina Timberlake in all my school notebooks.”

“I honestly can’t picture that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re so serious all the time. When I picture you as a kid, I see you reading textbooks for fun and studying for the SATs four years in advance.”

A wry smile tugs on my mouth. “Yeah, I did all that too. But I always made time for Justin. I’d take study breaks and kiss his picture. With tongue.”

Tucker hoots. “Jesus, Sabrina. I don’t know if I can be with you anymore.”

Just like that, my good humor fades. Not because of what he said—I know he’s joking—but because… Because of the pink or blue elephant, damn it.

Tucker and I had only been dating for a few months before this baby bomb. Would we have even had a future? I love being with him. It’s easy being with him, easier than it’s ever been with anyone. I was starting to see a future for us, but what about him? What if he’d gotten sick of me and wanted to dump me?

If we keep this baby, then the future is set. We’ll be a part of each other’s lives, whether we want to or not. Whether he wants it or not.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in concern.

I gulp through the lump in my throat. “I…” My face crumples. “I haven’t made a decision yet.”

His voice turns hoarse. “I know.”

“I’m…scared.” I stare down at my boots. “I’m really scared, Tuck.”

“I know,” he says again. Then he rubs his face. “So am I.”

My gaze flies to his. “You are?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m goddamn terrified.” A groan slips out. “I’m trying to be strong for you here, Sabrina. I’m really fucking trying.”

I blink back tears. “I’m usually the strong one. But right now I don’t feel strong at all.”

He draws me into his arms and suddenly we’re clinging to each other again. I’m pretty sure everyone on the ice is staring at us, wondering why we’re power-hugging like a couple of maniacs, but I don’t care. I’m on emotional overload, and maybe that’s what drives me to say, “I don’t think I want to keep it.”

Tucker eases back slightly. His expression is somber. “Are you sure?”

“No.”

“Then you need to take some more time to think about it,” he says softly. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble.

After a long beat, he reaches for my hand again. “Come on, let’s keep walking. I’ll tell you more about Coach Death and you can tell me all about how you French-kissed your Timberlake posters.”

I croak out a laugh. God. This guy… just… this guy. I want to thank him. Kiss him. Tell him how amazing he is.

But all I do is twine my fingers through his and let him guide me back to the path.





22




Sabrina


The phone feels like a brick in my hands. I have to schedule the D&C soon or I’ll be outside my window. I should’ve done it a month ago, damn it. It’s nearly the end of February and I’m fifteen weeks along. I don’t know why I’ve let it go so long.

Well, I do know why. Because I can’t make up my mind. Half the time, I think I’ll be better off without a child. The rest of the time, I can’t get the image of Beau’s casket out of my head.

Wetness dribbles down my cheeks and I swipe the tears away with an angry hand. Great. I’m crying in public. You would’ve thought I cried all my tears at Beau’s memorial. That was hideously brutal.