The Way We Score: A small-town, accidental pregnancy, sports romance. (The Bradford Boys)

“Are you still mad at me?” Mom’s voice sounds cautious through the speaker on my phone.

“No, Mom, I’m not mad at you.” I transfer the call to my headphones as I sort through the new files on my desk. “I just don’t appreciate you tricking me like that. I do have work to do, and you took advantage of the situation.”

“I did, and I’m sorry.” I can almost see her shoulders droop. “I just didn’t want you to miss out on an important family event.”

“It would’ve been easy for me to drive down for the weekend. The wedding was on a Saturday.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t have done it.” A tone is in her voice, and she’s got me.

I can’t argue with her.

I wouldn’t have done it because Garrett was there. Hell, I spent the whole week after he arrived in town hiding at my mom’s house and doing everything I could to avoid him.

I knew what would happen, and here I am, dealing with the achy aftermath. Every time I move, I can feel how hard and how many times we screwed down memory lane.

He kissed me rough and demanding, then soft and savoring. He wrapped me in those muscled arms and held on as we soared through space again and again.

We collapsed back on the bed smiling at each other as the sheet descended lightly over our glistening bodies. Then we fell asleep in each other’s arms, only to wake up and do it all again.

We revisited every position we’d ever liked as young lovers, back when we were learning what to do and how to touch each other for maximum enjoyment.

It was sexy and decadent, and I’m afraid to try and remember everything we did too much… I think at one point, the word love might’ve been uttered.

“Oh, God.” Leaning forward, I put my face in my hands. I am shooketh.

It was arguably the best night of my life with a man who knows exactly how to turn me on, and when the light of day came shining through those windows, I ran as fast as I could.

I couldn’t face the aftermath. If he’d wanted to shake hands and act like it meant nothing, I don’t know what I would’ve done. The only thing worse would’ve been if he’d suggested we try to do long distance.

I’d have said yes.

Finding a video on Instagram of my mother dancing at a friend’s birthday party the week before was my one escape, especially since she’d told me she was going to a church bingo game that night.

Garrett’s eyes were still closed when I texted her to get to the bottom of that surprise reveal.

Shaking my head, I didn’t have another word to say. She’d played me like a fiddle, and I had to get out of Newhope.

Not to mention, my heart was seriously melting for Garrett Bradford, and that was not a path I planned to go down twice. I’d already been to the end of that road, and it was slick with my tears.

There is no world where Garrett and I can be together. He’s in New York, and I’m here. I’m not going there. He’s not coming here. The end.

Now I need to work. Focus.

“Well, you have to come back,” she continues pouting. “You lit out of here so fast, you left behind a dress and two pairs of shoes.”

“I’ll drive down and check on you in a few weeks, and I’ll get whatever I left then.”

“I love you, Olivia.” Her pout turns defensive. “I only want you to be happy.”

“I know, Mom. I love you, too.” My tone is all business.

“Henny Lane misses you. She’s still acting off, and I’m sure your sudden departure didn’t help matters.”

“Tell her to keep her beak up. I’ll be there soon.” When it’s safe.

Looking down, I’m in my professional gray suit. My red-cherry dress is far behind where it belongs, with the childish hopes and dreams I put away years ago.

Or at least I thought I did.

The next time I go to Newhope, I’ll be sure the coast is clear. I am not falling in love with Garrett Bradford again, no matter how good he is in bed.

Three weeks later

And running scared.

Oh, if only, then I wouldn’t be tossing and turning in my bed every night. As hard as I try to block him out with work, I catch myself sitting at my desk, staring out the window at Vulcan and daydreaming about Garrett’s mouth on my body, my mouth on his body, his mouth on mine…

Nice. I hate that word. It’s what I said when I left him, and there was nothing nice about the night we spent together. It was dirty. Very dirty and very… disorienting.

I put my phone down, but I don’t go back to being a lawyer. Instead I slide my laptop into my messenger bag and pack up whatever I can take home for the day.

“Headed home?” Bob Semple, one of the head partners, stops me in the hall as I start to go. “Been through a divorce myself. I know it can be rough.”

“Ah, no.” I straighten my spine, giving him a confident smile. “My divorce was the best decision I’ve made in a while.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I…” He looks down.

“No worries.” I continue, faking it til I make it. “I came in yesterday, so I’ve caught up with my desk. The rest I can take care of at my house.”

“I see.” He nods, seeming uncomfortable.

Instead of apologizing, I reach out and pat his upper arm briskly. “See you tomorrow, Bob.”

Then I turn on my heel and stride to the door. As soon as I reach my gray metallic BMW, my shoulders fall. I pull the handle and toss my bag onto the passenger’s seat.

On the way home, I make a quick stop at a Safeway to grab a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, and when I get to my apartment, I pull on my plaid pink flannel PJs and pull up the old Cher movie Mermaids.

Curling up on the couch, I wrap a blanket around myself and eat my favorite ice cream as I watch Cher, Winona Ryder, and little Christina Ricci navigate life as a family of three girls on their own.

I remember watching it with Mom after my dad left us and moved to Tuscaloosa to start a whole new family. I didn’t want to be Winona Ryder. She was so obsessed with the nuns and Jake Ryan, and I couldn’t relate.

Instead, I wanted to be like Christina Ricci, the champion swimmer. That was who I’d be. I’d be the very best at something, and then he’d be sorry he walked out on us. He’d regret not wanting to be my dad. It’s when I started dancing.

Only, he never saw me dance.

Then he died of cancer.

When I met Garrett and we became more than friends, Mom was so excited. She would tell me all the time Garrett was nothing like my father. He’d take care of me, and he’d never walk out on his family.

I believed her so much. I believed in him. Only she was wrong. Garrett did walk away from me. The only thing that mattered to him were his own dreams, and when my plans didn’t line up with his, he blew up everything.

He didn’t realize I’d already seen what happened when my mom chose my dad’s life over hers. She still ended up with nothing.

Lying on the couch, I don’t know why I’m feeling like I’m going through that breakup all over again. I don’t know why these tears are on my cheeks, and I’m eating ice cream and wallowing. I don’t know why it hurts so much.

I got over Garrett years ago. It took a long time, but my broken heart finally mended.

Leaning my head on the pillow, I touch the tears away with my fingertips. I’m a strong, independent woman. I’m not crying over a memory of who I used to be.

Six weeks later

“Putnam and Barnes didn’t disclose these new witnesses in time for depositions.” I’m on the phone with Marcus Merritt in Chicago, my co-counsel on a pipeline deal gone wrong. “I’ll have to request a continuation and get back to you.”

“I’ll tell my assistant to keep an eye out for your email.”

I’ve always liked working with Marcus. He’s a good lawyer, and he doesn’t try to bulldoze everyone or be the biggest dog in the room. Possibly, because he’s married to a successful fashion designer. Either way, he’s a good co-counsel.

I do my best to be solid, dependable, and professional. If another lawyer is fucking up, I call him or her on it in a nonconfrontational way. I approach everyone as if they’re acting in good faith. If there’s irregularity, I document it and put it before the judge.

I’m a peacemaker.

And I’m about to vomit.

“Olivia, I have this filing for the new platform off Dauphin Island.” Graham walks into my office like he owns the place. “Porter is concerned we don’t have the proper permits…”

He’s halfway through his speech when I grab the can from under my desk and lean forward, barfing hard into it. It’s loud and groany, and it takes me a minute to get a handle on myself.

“Oh my… lord,” I gasp, reaching for a tissue box behind my desk. “I’m so sorry, Graham.”

I take a moment to blot my eyes and cheeks, then I grab a few more and blow my nose before turning to face my horrified partner.

“Jesus, Liv, do you have a virus?” His hand is raised in front of his nose, barely hiding his scowl. “Perhaps you should take the rest of the day off.”

Frowning down at my ruined trash can, I reach up to feel my head. “I don’t have a fever. I wasn’t feeling bad when I left the house this morning. Maybe I got some bad mayo on my sandwich at lunch?”

I’m so confused, but Graham is the exact opposite. “You need to go home. I’ll let Porter know you’re ill. Follow up tomorrow?”

“Definitely.” Standing, I’m a tad dizzy as I move the briefs into my messenger bag. “I honestly don’t know what just happened.”

“It’s okay.” Graham holds his papers over his nose as he gives me a wide berth. “Don’t come back until you’re well.”

The next day, I am not well.

After stopping by the drug store on my way home, I grabbed a box of Dramamine and another of Imodium just in case the vomit turned into something worse.

Racking my brain, I try to think of anything odd I’ve eaten, but nothing comes to mind.

I was at Mom’s a few weeks, so I had to go grocery shopping and purchase all new perishables. Not that I left anything in the refrigerator that could go bad.

I’m lying on my sofa inexplicably watching The Muppet Show on some streaming service when my stomach pinches with hunger.

Scrubbing my forehead, I don’t know what to do. Hunger is a good sign, right?

I go to the refrigerator, and a luscious bosc pear sits on the top shelf taunting me. I’d bought a bag when I got home as a treat, and the first three were so juicy and delicately sweet.

I take it off the shelf and bite into the buttery soft skin. The cool juice is soothing to my dehydrated lips, and I’m loving it so much, when all of a sudden, my stomach twists like a sponge. It feels like it’s turning itself inside out.

Dropping the brown pear in the sink, I run to the guest bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time before the bite of pear shoots back out of my mouth.

“Ugh!” I sob, flopping onto my butt on the cold tile floor. “Why is this happening?’

I continue to vomit for three straight days—still no fever, no weird foods. Staring at my phone, I decide it’s time.

Picking up the receiver, I dial my old GP’s number and leave a message.

“Congratulations, you’re pregnant.” Dr. Beck stands in front of me scribbling in large, messy handwriting on a pad of paper. “Here’s a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and I’ll get you a prescription for Diclegis⁠—”

“Stop!” My chest is tight as I shake my head. “Just stop right there for a minute.”

Dr. Beck is an older fellow with a pretty decent sense of humor and a great bedside manner.

He sits back frowning at me. “What?”

“I’m sorry, but I am not pregnant. You’ve made a mistake.”

“I have?” He says it in a tone that suggests he’s wondering when I got my medical degree.

“Yes.” I hold up both hands like he pulled a gun. “My ex-husband and I tried for two years to get pregnant until we were finally told it wasn’t going to happen. I can’t get pregnant. We have… had fertility issues.”

The good doctor’s eyes narrow, and he presses his lips together, nodding slowly. “Did your OB happen to say what kind of fertility issues you had? It could’ve been a situation where only one of you was the problem, say if your ex-husband had a low sperm count.”

“I don’t remember that part.” I’m sure the doctor told us, but I’d gone into a kind of daze when he’d said never get pregnant.

It was the final nail in the coffin of my mistake, and I was already more than a little depressed and feeling stuck in a commitment I never should’ve made.

“I see.” He glances down at the prescription pad, clicking his pen.

Somehow, I get the feeling he doesn’t see.

“We can do this the old, old-fashioned way and order a blood test if you’d prefer.” He glances at his notes. “Still, these days a urinalysis is almost 100 percent accurate.”

My head is light. I can literally feel the blood draining to my toes, and I don’t dare try to stand at the moment.

“We have to test again.” It’s barely above a whisper.

Hours later, I’m pacing my bedroom, arms crossed over my waist as I try to wrap my head around what happened. My stomach is in knots, and for the first time in days, the nausea is giving me a break—probably because of the prescription.

Dr. Beck said I’m somewhere between six to eight weeks along, and the only person I’ve had sex with, over and over, in all the positions, is more than eight hundred miles away.

It’s Thursday night, and I walk over to pick up the remote for my large, flat-screen television. Flipping it on, I bypass the streaming services and head straight to Live TV. It only takes a few clicks for me to find the game. It’s a long shot, but there it is. His team is playing tonight against some other team out of Ohio.

I don’t know how they decide which games to put on television. There must be a million teams—some states have more than one. I guess it has something to do with popularity or chances of going to the playoffs.

Two years ago, Logan and Garrett were the dream team. Even though it’s only Garrett there now, they must still be pretty good for ratings. It’s a testament to how popular they were.

Standing in front of the monitor, I chew on the side of my nail watching the players on the sidelines, straining my eyes for him. Damn these cameras focusing on the quarterbacks and the running backs.

It’s just like Garrett to have a massively important role that people don’t even realize is there.

Finally the cameras flicker to the sidelines, and I see him towering over most of the guys. I can’t help a smile, a flush of emotion, of… something more.

My eyes are fixed on him, his confident swagger, his muscular physique accentuated by the tight uniform. His expression is serious as he studies the field, almost seeming frustrated.

In the past, when he played in college, he’d always be smiling and messing with the other guys on the sidelines. They’d do their fist bump routines or he’d do a little dance when something good happened on the field. He was always playful and light and so damn handsome. My stomach tightens when I remember us being together.

Now he seems almost dissatisfied. He definitely looks as uneasy as I feel.

I’m carrying his baby.

More emotion clogs my throat, and every muscle in my body is tense. This changes everything, and it has me on edge with what I have to do. I can’t sit here watching him on television a thousand miles away.

Going to my room, I take out a small bag and fill it with a few toiletries and a change of underwear. Then I take out my phone, quickly tapping the buttons as I reserve a time slot.

Exhaling slowly, I’m not afraid. I’ve never been afraid to do hard things. I’ve just never wanted to do them alone.