Floored Page 11

  A good offense created smart mismatches, pitting your best offensive player with their weakest defensive player. Maybe I couldn't do exactly that with Logan and Paige, but I could bring in my staunchest ally: Claire.

  She was on her way to their house, ready to sit with them while I delivered the news and jump in if I needed backup.

  It was also imperative if I had any intention of maintaining control, that I only tell Logan and Paige. At least for the first phone call. Molly and Isabel loved me, but I couldn't gauge how they'd react, so for the time being, I couldn't risk my offense being outmanned and overpowered.

  In my head, I could imagine our scheduled phone call at seven in the morning Seattle time (three in the afternoon my time) as a play mapped out on Logan's whiteboard in his office. Xs and Os and arrows, signifying who would run which way, who would run the post route, who would run the fade, and if it was a pass play or a run.

  For today, I was the quarterback, and my family was in the strange position of being lined up in front of me, blocking some invisible goal line. I didn't even know for sure what I wanted from the phone call, other than like, I didn't want to end up bursting into tears.

  No crying = success.

  As the hands on the clock slowly circled closer to three, I felt a nervous tightening in my belly. Maybe I should've waited until Jude could be a part of it and fortify my O-line, if I was taking this sports metaphor even further.

  Maybe it was because I'd spent the day in the quiet of his beautiful home, that the slow creeping of time felt particularly ... well, slow. No one was around to distract me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't focus on the work I was supposed to do.

  My laptop had sat untouched on his kitchen table all day, and I'd moved from the couch to the teak furniture in his private garden a few times, managing some disjointed scrawling in my notebook. I read a few pages of the book on Charlotte that I'd brought from my flat, but the words bled together, and I found myself reading the same page for a solid hour.

  It was that frustration that had me wandering slowly around Jude's home. Was it low-key stalking? Yes.

  But come on, I was having his child, so I didn't think it was too strange to peek around a bit when he left me unattended in his private space.

  All the rooms were immaculate, and it seemed like as much of a reflection on his personality as it did on the fact he had a full-time housekeeper. Who, he'd assured me, had the day off and wouldn't randomly stop by.

  The house was updated but still held the charm of almost all the buildings in England. It was in the slope of the ceiling in the guest bedroom decorated in sedate blues and whites, in the curling wood detail of the crown molding and the wavy spots of the glass in the windows overlooking that beautifully landscaped garden. Jude's garden was separated from his neighbors by tall ivy-covered brick walls, and it gave the space a magical, old-world feeling that I liked very much.

  I spent the most time in his bedroom, which was just as clean as the rest of the house, but there was an astonishing lack of personal details anywhere to be found. I stopped in front of the large dresser and slid open the drawers, finding everything neatly folded. In the bottom drawer were a few faded photos underneath a dingy gray shirt with a farm logo on it, probably his parents' place—based on what he'd told me. My eyes narrowed when I saw something soft and white and fluffy peeking out from underneath the shirt. I tugged it out, smiling when I held the small little sheep in my hand. It was made of some sort of soft wool, and the tiny pink nose and black circle eyes were quite cute.

  I found myself clutching it to my chest like a talisman.

  "Do you think the sheep is cute?" I whispered to little Raspberry. "Maybe we'll do sheep in your nursery."

  When I left the room, I couldn't stop my brain from whirring with nervous speculation of how this phone call was going to go.

  My phone buzzed.

  Claire: I'll be there in ten minutes. How do you want to do this?

  I took a deep breath and went down to the kitchen, where I'd decided to do the FaceTime call on my laptop, so I could see their faces more clearly. Unconsciously, my hand drifted to the nonexistent bump of my belly.

  My little raspberry baby was still hiding, invisible to the naked eye, except for maybe the tiniest tightness on the waistband of my pants. A thought zipped into my head, completely unwanted, where I wondered if our mom—Brooke—had shown much, or if she'd been one of those pregnant women who suddenly looked like they'd shoved a basketball under their shirt.

  And it was just another question I couldn't answer. I'd maybe seen one picture of her pregnant with me and Claire. Revisiting those parts of our past wasn't exactly high on the priority list. All I remembered of the picture was a giant bump covered by the black lace of some fancy dress she'd worn for a black-tie event she'd attended with our father.

  The heel of my hand—still clutching the small sheep—pressed on the sudden spike in pressure on my chest, and I forced that image out of my head. Claire. I needed to answer Claire. How did I want to do this?

  Me: Quickly and painlessly.

  Claire: I know. But I meant more like, do you want me to mentally prep them?

  I sat at the table and flipped open my MacBook. My hand shook a little when I pulled up the FaceTime.

  Me: Just let them know that I'm okay, but I need to talk to them about something and I wanted you there for support.

  Claire: You've got it.

  Claire: It'll be okay. I promise.

  Claire: Heading in. I LOVE YOU, LEE.

  "I think I'm gonna puke," I whispered. With a quick glance at the clock, I wondered if I could shove another scone down before this circus kicked off. Pinching my eyes shut, I resisted because no matter how delicious it was, the scone would not solve anything. And that was the truth with Jude, as well. Having him with me to do this wouldn't make the words any easier to get out. Not to mention that, despite what he might believe, I wasn't worried about their disappointment. I was worried about their worry.

  They'd want me home immediately.

  They'd want to wrap me in their arms and help me carry the load, and the worst thing I could ask of my big, chaotic, opinionated family was to stay away.

  When the bridge of my nose started tingling, it was the first warning sign that my entire playbook for this call was going to go to shit. I clenched my jaw together and took a deep breath.

  "Stupid hormones," I said in a voice that wavered dangerously. And they were stupid. In my mind, I imagined my emotions like an angry ocean—white-capped waves that had stayed off in the distance until this very moment. My hand went to my belly again, and I felt calmer. It would be fine. We would be fine.

  Claire: They're worried, but okay. I'm calling now.

  Before I could second-guess it, I stood, darted to the cupboard, and snatched the bag of scones, shoving a piece of one in my mouth before I took my seat again. I set the sheep just beyond the laptop, where I could see the smiling black mouth. The ringing began as I swallowed my scone, and I clicked the touchpad to answer the call. At the sight of Logan and Paige, huddled close at the table where we'd eaten a million meals, I almost lost my grip.

  "HI! We miss you. Are you okay?" Paige asked. Logan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and studied the screen with so much intensity that I almost laughed.

  "Hi." I exhaled. "It's good to see your faces."

  They exchanged a quick look. "You doing okay, kid?" Logan asked.

  "I'm eating a scone in England. How can I not be okay?" I lifted the baked good in question, and Paige gave me a tiny smile, but they were not fooled by my answer.

  Claire popped her head in behind Logan's shoulder. "I'm sitting over here, but I can hear you just fine."

  "Why is your sister here for this?" Logan asked.

  Right. Okay then.

  "Logan," Claire said, "don't interrogate her. I'm here because she asked me to be."

  His face gentled, which took a lot because my big brother had never been des
cribed as gentle. Ever. He was a bruiser, an iron-willed coach. The only piece of his life that received softness was us.

  "You look good," Paige interjected. "I miss looking at your face."

  "You could always look at Claire and pretend it's me." At my joke, her bottom lip wobbled, and her big blue eyes welled. I sighed. "Oh, Paige, don't cry, please."

  She waved her hands in front of her face. "Sorry. I didn't expect it to be so hard to have one of you move away."

  "I didn't move away. And Molly travels for work all the time."

  "I'm a big ole hypocrite, I know." Emotions under control, Paige tucked errant strands of her red hair behind her ears and gave Logan another loaded look. "I think we're just worried. You've called, but anytime we want to see you, you find a reason you can't. So when you have your sister show up, and you're in an unfamiliar place"—she gestured to the background—"I think you can understand why we're a little caught off guard."

  I sat back in my chair and rubbed my face. "I know."

  "Where are you?" Logan asked.

  From their vantage point, all they could see was the French doors that led from Jude's kitchen to his beautiful garden, a far cry from my tiny student's flat, which they'd seen pictures of.

  "I'm at a ... friend's place."

  Paige visibly fortified herself. "Lia, your brother and I love you, and no matter what it is, you need to tell us. We will still love you."

  "I know you will." My hand went back to the lil raspberry again. Could it sense my nerves? I let out a slow breath to calm my racing heart.

  Paige took the reins again. "And if you're scared to tell us, like ... you found someone we weren't expecting and maybe you think we'll be disappointed, we won't be. I'd love another daughter, and if that's who you love, then I will be the best girl mom in the whole world."

  My head tilted. "What?"

  I heard Claire clear her throat, but I couldn't tell if she was laughing or redirecting.

  Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Paige, just let her talk."

  She looked at him. "I just want her to know we love her."

  "She knows. How about you let her tell us."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked.

  Claire popped her head in the camera again. "Paige thinks you're coming out. That you're trying to tell them you have a girlfriend."

  "Oh." My heart warmed impossibly at how she'd prepped for any and all news. "I'm happy to hear that you'd love me regardless, but I'm not trying to tell you I'm gay."

  She swallowed, eyes searching my face. "Okay. Whatever it is ... we're your family."

  Lips pursed, I blew out a breath, and ripped off the Band-Aid. "I'm trying to tell you I'm pregnant."

  Silence.

  For four solid seconds, there was nothing but wide eyes and silence.

  "Holy shit," Paige whispered.

  "You're what?" Logan asked. "How?"

  I raised my eyebrows. Claire choked on a laugh.

  His cheeks reddened. "Forget I said that. "

  Paige blinked rapidly. "Okay. Okay. I'm ... who? Who? What happened? And when?"

  Logan's chest expanded on a deep breath, and I could practically see him shift gears, see the helplessness written all over his face. "Are you okay?"

  I nodded. "I'm good. And Paige, I'm just about ... nine weeks along."

  Paige pulled out her phone and started tapping on the screen. "So that was ... pretty much right when you got there."

  "Y-yes."

  Logan's eyes flipped to my sister. "You knew?"

  "Yeah. I was on the phone with her when she took the test a few weeks ago."

  He nodded slowly. "That's why you were acting so weird when I asked about her."

  Claire laughed. "You know I'm the worst liar."

  Paige kept her eyes on her phone, which was when my worry started to grow again. Every second I couldn't see her eyes, it got worse. "Apparently, you're a good secret keeper, though," Paige said evenly.

  Logan sighed.

  "I asked her to," I said. "I wanted to tell you myself."

  "Great," Paige answered. "Now you've told us, and I've got flights up right now. How soon can you pack?"

  "I'm not booking a flight home, Paige."

  Her hands froze. Logan's eyes closed, but I saw his hand curl tightly around her shoulder.

  Paige's face finally lifted, and her eyes were bright with tears. "You're staying?"

  "There's no reason I can't finish out the semester."

  "You're pregnant, Lia, and in a foreign country and alone. There. That’s three reasons to come home." A tear spilled over her cheek. "You don't have any of us there with you. Have you been sick? I got so sick with Emmett; it was awful. Don't you remember? And I can't i-imagine you in that tiny flat all alone, with no one to bring you crackers and hold your hair like you girls used to when I was pregnant, a-and"—she stopped, hiccupping around a sob—"I hate the thought you're doing this alone when you don't have to."

  My own eyes watered, and I curled my fingers into a fist, the sharp edges of my nails providing just enough pain to keep my emotions at bay. "I was only sick for a couple of weeks, but it's better now. I feel okay, Paige, I promise. Just tired. I'm taking my vitamins and eating well and drinking a lot of water." I leaned in, fighting the urge to wrap her in my arms because it was hard seeing the toughest woman I knew this way, out of worry for me. "And I'm not alone."

  Logan's jaw clenched. "What's his name? Does he have a job? Is he …" He cleared his throat. "Is he treating you well?"

  "His name is Jude McAllister, he's thirty-one, and yes. A very good job, actually. He's the one who set up the doctor, and I'm at his place right now while he's at work. We're ... getting to know each other."

  Logan's brow furrowed. "What was the name again?"

  "J-Jude McAllister."

  His eyes narrowed.

  Heeeeeere we go, I thought.

  "Why does that name sound familiar?"

  Paige glanced at her husband, swiping at her cheeks. "Does it?" Before I could stop her, her fingers started flying across the screen again. The moment she saw it, I knew. Her eyes got huge, and her jaw dropped somewhere to the vicinity of her belly button. "Holy effing shit, Lia, is this him?"

  "That Jude McAllister?" Logan yelled. "The footballer Jude McAllister?"

  I nodded weakly.

  They both stared dumbly at the phone screen, and I could only imagine what headlines and images had popped up.

  I mean, Paige could hardly argue with the why of it. He looked (and played) like David Beckham and Tom Brady's DNA were combined in a lab somewhere. And Logan definitely couldn't argue about his ability to financially help with the baby. The Brits were generous with their football players, that was for sure.

  Logan dropped his head into his hands. It took a second, but he let out a groan. "I swear, you girls have an athlete radar, and it's going to be the death of me. Couldn't one of you end up with a lawyer or a teacher or a dog trainer or something?"

  Claire's hand appeared on the camera, giving our brother a condescending pat on the back. "Bit hypocritical coming from you, don't you think?"

  "No!" he shouted, lifting his head. "Because I know exactly what goes into this life. The drinking and the drugs and the parties and the women. Do you know how hard it is to be an elite athlete and not succumb to all that bullshit?"

  It was Paige's turn to be in the comforter role. She gave me a small smile, even as she wrapped an arm around Logan. "You managed it, though. And we know a lot of guys who do. Maybe Jude is one of them." When Logan turned to her, she cupped the side of his face. "And even if he had a past, we can't hold that against him as long as he's doing right by Lia."

  "Thank you," I said quietly. My heart was still hammering, but mainly because I hadn't anticipated this part being the largest hurdle. "Logan, look at me." It took a second, and I could tell my big brother was struggling with this just as much as his wife had but was far more reticent to show it. "I need you to try not t
o worry, okay?"

  "Impossible," he answered, voice a gruff, tortured whisper. "I worry about you four every single day as it is, and not because I don't trust you. It's part of the deal when you love someone so much that you'd die for them. The worst thing you can imagine is them hurting and you can't do anything about it." He shook his head, and that was when I lost the battle.

  Playbook was out the window.

  I sniffed as the first tear fell. Even with the quick movement of my hand to make it go away, he caught it.

  Logan's eyes held mine. "I don't know this guy, and I hope he is doing whatever you need him to do, but the second he doesn't, he has to answer to me, because that is my job. The moment you were born—you, Claire, Molly, Isabel, and Emmett—it became the most important responsibility of my life to make sure you're taken care of and loved the way you should be. I won't apologize for that."

  "I don't want you to," I told him. There was no disguising the tears in my voice, all thick and wobbly. "It took me so long to tell you guys because I knew it would kill you to be so far away from me."

  "We love you, Lia," Paige said.

  "I love you too." I exhaled heavily. "It will be okay. I promise."

  "But you're coming home at the end of the semester, right?" she asked.

  My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I didn't know. Did I want to be an ocean away from Jude when his child was born? Was that even fair?

  "That's the plan," I managed, but her eyes narrowed because she heard the pause all the same.

  "What about a job?" Logan asked. "You won't have your master's yet, will you? You'll need a semester off if you're due in the spring."

  "I don't know." My voice sounded about as big as a church mouse. "I-I haven't thought about it."

  Claire appeared behind Logan. "We have plenty of time to figure that out."

  That was why I wanted Claire there. Because she could probably sense my inner freak-out building.

  Paige smiled. "Can we talk next week maybe?"