Handful by C.R. Grissom
CHAPTER TWENTY
Everest
Three words can change your life. Not the three I’d hoped to hear from Kirsty. A simple I love you from her would have done the job. Instead she blurted, I am pregnant, and my heart stopped. It went cold in my chest for what would have been five beats if it had the capacity to do its job.
My heart learned how to beat again and is currently banging along at three times its normal pace to make up for the fact it went to sleep on the job. There’s an incessant buzzing in my left ear and my right eye twitches.
Body malfunction. Anxiety and adrenaline warring for supremacy.
I’m going to be a father.
If I’m honest with myself, I’ve always wanted to have kids. Someday. Well, someday will arrive in a matter of months. I’m not ready. The breath clogs in my lungs. Master of understatement.
I raise a shaking hand to my eye and press my fingers against the skin to stop the twitching. I inhale deeply and hold it for ten seconds, then exhale. Focus. Control. Calm the fuck down. I love Kirsty, I remind myself. She respects me. I have her affection, I think. Love? Who the hell knows?
How will she ever love me now? I created the exact scenario she wanted to avoid at all cost.
Guilt hits hard. Kirsty’s greatest fear became a reality. No matter how successful we are at handling her pregnancy, her path to graduation just got outrageously harder. Mine, too.
I blame myself. I did the pursuing. I convinced her that we could make a relationship work without endangering her goals.
I’m such a clueless prick. Just like Dad.
No.I refuse to be like Dad. I won’t take off when shit gets hard. My vision wavers and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Kirsty chokes. “I’m sorry, Eric.”
“No. Don’t do that. We’re in this together. Are you okay? That’s the most important thing. You need to take care of yourself. We’ll figure out everything else later.”
We’re speaking on FaceTime. Her breath hitches. Tears pour down her face. “I don’t think I can end it. I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine…”
The relief takes my breath away. While I didn’t plan to have a kid at my age, it happened. We’ll deal. “It’s okay. It’s your body and you get to decide. I’ll respect your decision.” I feel that point is vital. She needs to know she has my support. “I’m here and I’m not going away no matter what.”
“I’m scared, Eric.”
I nod. “Same.”
“You must hate me.” She swipes her hand across her streaming eyes.
“No, I really don’t.” I’m not willing to say more over the phone. This is an in-person conversation. “Listen to me. We’re a team now, you and I. You’re not alone.”
Her face goes blank. “I have to go inside.” She gestures to the hospital building behind her.
“Call me later. We’ll talk more. How’s Collin?”
“He’s healing. They might release him to a regular room in a couple of days if he continues to progress.”
“Excellent news. Please don’t stress—it’s not good for you or…”
“I know,” she admits quietly.
“Good. I really wish we were in the same town right now.”
She swipes at her face. “I’ll call you later.”
“Stay safe, bye.”
“Bye,” she repeats.
I disconnect the call. We’ll need rules and a plan. First one’s not negotiable. There’s no possible way I will abandon my child. Our child. The second, Kirsty can’t ignore the first. I have to find a way. Shit. She’ll need healthcare. She’ll have to move in with me when the baby comes. One of the guys will have to go—Dax or Chrysler—we’ll need a room for the baby.
Bile rises up fast. I head to the nearest trash can, grab the top off the receptacle, and hurl onto the top of the garbage pile like a rookie after getting flattened on his first tackle by a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound lineman.
Phoebe chooses this exact moment to run up to me. “Hey, Everest. Are you okay?”
No. Actually, I’m not. I can’t fix this, and it’s fucking with my capacity to think critically. “Sorry you had to see that. I’ll be fine. Avoid The Canteen sushi today.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she adds. Rubbing my forearm that’s not holding the trash top. She passes me the vacuum bottle from her backpack. “It’s water. Rinse. Drink. We have an extra bed since Kirsty’s in Boston. Why don’t you come to our suite and lie down until you feel better?”
I set the plastic top back on the can. Uncapping the bottle, I get some water into my mouth and swish it around. I take two steps away from her and spit the water onto the grass. Then swallow a little more water to ease my dry throat.
“Thanks,” I say, passing the bottle back to her. “I’m heading home.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
No. I’m so far from being okay it’s not in the same hemisphere. “Yes.”
“Will you text me when you get home? I’m worried about you.”
“Sure, Phoebe. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Today was a conditioning day. I’m clear from football obligations for the afternoon. I head to the lot where I left the Baja this morning. Once I get home I can stretch out and force myself into think mode. I pull into my driveway fifteen minutes later. I realize I drove home on autopilot. A dangerous move. I can’t afford to fade and let myself cruise home barely aware of my surroundings.
I have to be careful. I have to think of Kirsty and the baby.
Jesus.
Letting myself in, I’m instantly relieved to find an empty house. The guys are still on campus and I’m grateful I won’t have to talk to anyone else.
I type a text to Phoebe: Home.
Seconds later she adds the like reaction to my text.
I close my bedroom door and sit at the foot of my bed. I lie back, feet on the floor, suddenly exhausted. My eyes drift shut. I’m empty: stomach, heart, and brain. I won’t help anyone if I can’t function.
I can’t stop obsessing over Kirsty’s expression when she told me. Fear and resolve transformed her face to stone while tears tracked heedlessly down her cheeks. Damn it. I did that to her. We were careful. We both used birth control. She’s on the pill and we used condoms for fuck’s sake.
Our combined fertility must be in the stratosphere or fate came along and gave us both a stiff middle finger for imagining we were playing it safe. Despite the green light from Kirsty on telling CW, I’m not ready to talk about this yet. Once I have a plan I will. Maybe.
I’ll have to tell Mom at some point. And won’t that go over well? Shit.
I compose lists in my mind, healthcare being the top priority and keeping Kirsty and the baby safe competing for space at the top. I’m going to need to get a job with benefits. Preferably one that will accommodate my class schedule. Football too, if I can swing it. I’ve had one injury this season. Do I risk another especially in light of the baby? I’ve only ever worried about myself. Now I’m forced to factor in Kirsty and the little one.
Holy shit. We made a baby.
I need to talk to someone. Coach Larry. He’ll help me gain perspective. I pull my phone out of my pocket and send him a text:
Talk soon?
A minute later, my phone chimes with a text. I check the screen—it’s from Coach Larry:
Phone call or meet up?
I type:
Meet up, if possible.
Three dots appear as he types:
I’ve got time now. Want to swing by the church?
Yeah, I need a face-to-face with him. I reply:
On my way.
In addition to coaching youth sports, he’s a minister at a non-denominational church.
Coach Larry’s church is located about five miles away in South San Jose. After Dad left us, Coach became a regular fixture in my life. At the time, he coached recreation league football in my hometown of Modesto.
When he was offered the opportunity to take over for the former minister, he moved to San Jose with his wife and son. Yet, he’d drive all the way out to Modesto Friday nights to watch me play high school football. He’s my mentor, a role model, and someone I aspire to emulate. He took Dad’s place after he left. Bottom line, he’s a good man who taught me how to be a leader.
The thing about game-changers is that with one phone call, I no longer care about what we found inside the storage locker. Shane hasn’t called. I don’t know if I’ll ever hear from him again. Now that Kirsty’s pregnant, I can’t bring myself to give brain space to something I have no control over.
Shane has the ball on his half of the field. In fact, I’ve played defense with him this entire time. He showed up and dropped Dad’s death in my lap. He makes a move and I react or countermove. I see no reason to change that. No need to go on the offensive. It’s his choice and he controls this proverbial game clock.
I find Coach pulling weeds from the walkway leading up to the small church. He’s tall, six five, Black, and carries three-hundred-twenty pounds of pure muscle. He played two seasons for the San Diego Chargers, back when the team was still in San Diego. “Hey, Coach. Need help?”
“Mostly, I’m out here enjoying the sunshine. It’ll keep, son.” He studies my face for a beat, then he stands, extending his hand to shake mine. “Let’s go to my office. Less chance of interruption.”
I nod. “I appreciate your time.”
“How are your mother and sisters?”
“Fine, sir. Mostly, at any rate,” I amend.
We step inside through a side door. The church is on the small side, accommodating a maximum of seventy people. Coach once told me he enjoys a smaller congregation, feels like he has more direct impact preaching to a limited group of people.
It’s simple in design. Gray carpet, white walls, canned lighting illuminating the space. An unadorned lectern up front with a freestanding wooden cross, flanked by two five-foot-tall candle stands placed a few feet behind. Leafy green plants sit in bright white planters under the hanging cross. To the left, a section for the choir, with a piano tucked into the corner gleaming in the sunlight.
Coach Larry’s office is in the back of the church behind the choir space. He opens the door and gestures me inside. I wait for Coach to walk behind his desk, sitting after he does.
“My girlfriend is pregnant,” I blurt without any lead-in.
Coach’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “I see.”
The breath I’d been holding explodes from my chest. “We were careful, Coach. I know your feelings on premarital sex, but we took care.”
His lips quirk. “The only true way to take care is not to do it.”
He’s the only person capable of making me squirm with guilt. “I know.”
“Okay, son. What now?”
That’s why I’m here. To figure out the what now, I think in exasperation. I raise my hands palms up. “Healthcare, housing, continuing our education, to name a few items at the top of my list.”
He nods. “An excellent start. Where does marriage fall on your to-do list?”
“I love her, Coach.” I sigh. “But I seriously doubt she’d walk down the aisle with me anytime soon. We need to focus on our most immediate needs. Then I can work on getting her to love me back.”
He laughs. The sound reverberates around the office like a car backfiring. “Girls throw themselves at you, and the one you fall for doesn’t genuflect in your presence?” His lips stretch into a wide grin. “I have to meet her.”
Great. I’ve entertained him. “You will. Someday.” I wipe my hand across my mouth and find the courage to ask, “Do you think I’ll make a good father?”
The grin slides off his face. “You take care of those around you and always have done. Know this, you are not your father. His shortcomings will never be your reality.” He points his index finger at me. “Son, you’ve grown into a young man of substance and character. And I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
I swallow back the lump that formed in my throat at his words, his absolute confidence in me. “You’ve been more of a father to me than he could have ever been. Thank you, Coach. I’m going to do my best to hold your good opinion of me.”