He nods, looking uncertain. “Of course, dude.”
“Right now, Ana and I are just friends. But earlier on when she moved in . . . some things happened between us. And the baby . . . um, might be mine.”
His eyes widen. “Oh. Damn. Wait… Might?”
I nod somberly. Part of me wishes I knew the truth too, but the other part of me doesn’t care. Ana’s important to me and so is her baby, regardless of whether it shares my DNA.
Owen breathes out. “Shit. I had no idea.”
I nod. “I figured as much.”
“So that’s why she’s still living there?”
I don’t have an easier answer to his question. Swallowing my pride, I say, “She’s welcome to stay as long as she wants, but she’s mentioned getting her own place.”
He nods, seeming to read something in my tone that hints at my unhappiness about the situation. “Anyone else know?”
“Pretty sure Jordie suspects it, but he hasn’t pressed me for details.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I came across as a dick. That wasn’t my intention. I was just trying to look out for you.”
“I know that,” I say with a shrug.
Owen gives me another concerned look. “I know we haven’t always been close, but I’m here, man. If you need anything. If you want to talk.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anytime. And if you need any help or advice on baby stuff, you can ask, but be warned—I have no idea what I’m doing.”
I chuckle, some of the tension of our conversation draining away. I know he really does mean well. “Thanks for that. I’ll keep it in mind. And, hey, before I go, can I, uh, talk to Becca for a second?”
Owen scratches at the stubble on his neck. He’s overdue for a shave. Then again, so are most hockey players. “Of course.” He leads the way into the nursery where Becca is rocking their brand-new son in a gliding chair.
“Angel?” Owen’s voice is softer than I’ve heard it before. It’s a far cry from the Owen I know in the locker room. “Grant’s here.”
Her gaze lifts from her son’s angelic face to mine. “Oh. Hey, Grant.” She smiles weakly. She looks tired.
“He wanted to talk to you,” Owen adds.
“Never mind if this is a bad time. I’ll come back.”
“It’s not,” she says around a yawn. “What’s up?”
Owen gestures me over to the oversized navy ottoman across the room and I take a seat as he leaves us alone. It’s only when I’m eye level with Becca do I notice that she’s not just holding Bishop, she’s nursing him.
My eyes dart away in a big damn hurry. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Seriously, I’ll come back another time.”
This makes her smile widen. “Calm down. It’s a boob. I don’t care if you don’t.”
I can feel my face turning warm, even though I thankfully can’t see said boob. It’s covered by a blanket and her son’s head, but I can hear him suckling noisily on it like it’s his last meal. It’s kinda cute in a weird way.
I get it, buddy. I really do.
Boobs never stop being awesome. Doesn’t matter if you’re two weeks old or thirty-two. I still want them in my mouth too. But not your mom’s. Don’t worry, little man.
When I picture Ana nursing our baby, Ana murmuring soft sounds and cradling a swaddled lump in her arms, I get an achy feeling in the center of my chest.
“Just tell me what’s on your mind,” Becca says warmly.
Scrubbing one hand over the back of my neck, I consider this. “God, where to start.” A dry, humorless chuckle pushes past my lips.
“This isn’t about seeing me and Bishop, is it?” She grins.
“Um . . .” I hesitate, suddenly feeling unsure. Owen and Becca have just had their baby—a tiny, helpless little thing. They’re probably exhausted and overwhelmed. And the visitors who have shown up have probably come bearing gifts and offering well wishes, not selfishly seeking advice like I am.
Before I can answer, she says, “It’s okay if this is about Ana.”
I smirk. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me.”
I recall a conversation I overheard in the dressing room a few weeks ago.
“You don’t think there’s anything going on between Grant and Ana, do you?”
“God, no. He would literally break her.”
It was a funny observation—a six-foot-four dude with a petite girl like Ana. I can see how that would make people do a double-take. But no, I hadn’t broken her. If anything, she’d broken me, but it’s not like I could say that without inviting some serious questions. Questions I don’t have the answers to. But I’m hoping to get some of those questions answered today.
With a deep inhale, I try to organize my thoughts. I’ve felt so scattered lately, so raw and helpless. I’m in way the fuck over my head with Ana and this pregnancy, and I don’t like feeling so out of control.
“I just thought since you’d been through this recently, maybe you could tell me some things that might help. Like when she goes into labor . . .”
Becca nods. “Well, labor can be slow, or it can be fast. Everyone’s different. But just be prepared, it can take a day, or even two. If she’s comfortable with it, you could help out with back rubs or massaging her feet. Or even just being her advocate with the nurses.”
I’m not even sure that Ana will want me in the hospital room, but I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees. “Like how?”
“Well, like for instance, Owen was constantly asking the nurses questions, like when I needed more pain meds, or if I could have something to eat. It was nice not having to be the one to think about those things.”
“Makes sense. What about delivery? She’ll be in a lot of pain, right?”
Becca shifts, her mouth softening as she gazes down at Bishop for a second. “That depends. Do you know if she’s planning to get an epidural?”
“I’m not sure.”
Becca nods thoughtfully. “Natural childbirth is incredibly painful, but rewarding, from what I hear. I can only speak from my experience.”
“Of course. So, what was it like?”
She touches Bishop’s cheek with her index finger, lightly stroking it. “It wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.”
I nod. “Okay. That’s promising.”
She glances over at me. “This is going to sound stupid . . .”
“Becca, it’s not. I’m here pumping you for information about a woman I’m not even sure I’m dating.”
“Stop.” She frowns at me. “I know you’re important to Ana.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“Well, I would.” She gives me a pointed look. “But when she loses her mucus plug . . .”
My eyes widen. “Her what? Like a plug that pops out?”
She chuckles at my response. “It’s not like a champagne cork, Grant. You know what? Never mind. It’s just . . . once I lost mine, my labor came on quickly, but my experience was just that—my experience. So, why don’t you just ask me what you came here to ask me?”