Page 23 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

She holds my hand there for a bit longer until I shake my head. “I can’t wait until I can.”

This pregnancy feels like it’s flying by, but I also realize while she’s eighteen weeks pregnant, I’ve only known for four, so of course it feels fast. With our graduation next week, she’ll be moving into my mom’s place until we move to Nashville in August ahead of my rookie season. Originally, I wasn’t going to be moving in until September, but when I called Tanner Crowley and explained the situation, he didn’t hesitate to tell me that Bertie living with me was fine and for us to come sooner and get settled ahead of the baby’s due date in September.

Bertie scoops up her bag from the floor of my truck and climbs out. I have to manually lock the doors on my truck when I get out, not that I really think anyone would try to steal it. I love it, but to most people I know it’s just a hunk of metal junk.

I follow Bertie to the elevator, and we get off on the third floor of the building.

“It’s not too far from here.”

I wasn’t feeling nervous before, but suddenly my throat feels tight. Bertie slows as we approach a set of double glass doors. I step ahead of her and hold the door open so she can pass.

I grab a seat in the waiting room while she checks in. I don’t want to loom over her and her think I’m trying to be all in her business. I’m just grateful she let me come.

It’s a few minutes before she plops in the chair beside me with a clipboard stack of papers. She’s quiet as she fills it out and when she’s done, she hops up and hands it to the receptionist.

Plunking back down, she sighs and says, “I need to look for doctors in Nashville. It sucks I’m going to have to change doctors so close to my due date.”

I wince. “I’m sorry. We can⁠—”

She waves away my worry. “No, please don’t be sorry. It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to be so agreeable,” I assure her. “This is a lot of change for both of us.”

She exhales a sigh. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

I tap my fingers on my thighs. “I was already scared for my rookie season and now I’m…” I struggle to find the right word to use. I feel like terrified sounds wrong, because I’m not terrified of being a father, but I am of the unknowns of it all. I’m not used to infants, how to take care of them and, frankly, keep them alive. I like to be good at things, and when I’m not I spiral a little.

I might have to ask Daire if I can borrow his kid for a day and see if I can survive.

“Now you’re what?” Bertie prompts.

“I guess I’m in the same boat you are—I just want to be a good parent to this kid and do things right.”

“God.” She laughs and I can’t help it when I laugh too. I feel a little lighter that at least she’s finding some humor in all of this. “We’re both nervous wrecks, aren’t we?”

A throat clears to our left, and a woman leans forward with a kind smile. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but I just wanted to say it sounds to me like you two are going to be just fine. Worrying like that shows how much you already care and love that baby. I assume it’s your first?”

Bertie nods with a kind smile. “It is.”

“I’m on my fourth and very much final,” the woman laughs. “It gets easier, I promise. You’re going to mess up, that’s normal, and each child is different. You learn as you go. Be kind to yourselves, that’s the best advice I can give.”

“Thank you,” Bertie says softly. “I appreciate it. This was … unexpected so I feel completely unprepared.”

The woman laughs, her brown eyes sparkling with humor. “Trust me, even if it’s planned, you’re still unprepared.”

“Carthwright!”

At the sound of Bertie’s last name, we turn to find a nurse with a clipboard waiting at a now open door. Standing, I’m surprised when she reaches out and takes my hand. A sense of relief fills me at her touch. I was worried maybe she really didn’t want me here, since I basically begged to come, but maybe Bertie was scared to ask me. It’s obvious from how things went down with her parents that she’s not used to having people support her.

Before we make it to a room, the nurse stops to have Bertie weigh and get her blood pressure. At the end of the hall, we’re brought into a room, and she gives Bertie instructions to tuck a sheet into her pants and that someone will be in shortly to do the anatomy scan.

The door snicks shut softly behind her.

“At least it’s an abdominal ultrasound this time.” Bertie plops on the paper covered exam table and rolls her pants down and secures the sheet.

“What did you have last time?”

“Transvaginal,” she says with a shudder. “It goes inside you and it hurts. Or at least it hurt for me.” She taps on her phone and pulls up an image, showing it to me.