the Riders organization or the staff or the team or the freaking guy who cooks hot dogs at the stadium. Not a soul. Got it?” I glare at him with gritted teeth.
“Your secret’s safe, El. You’re gonna have to come clean eventually, though. And by ‘eventually,’ I mean before Baby Quarterback makes his rookie debut on Earth.”
“I know.” I shut my eyes tight. “I’m gonna figure it out.”
He nods, still taking it all in. I understand, of course. “But what about the two of you? Please, God, tell me I was wrong about the crush thing. Please say it was just one time, and you’re not actually into him.”
“What would be so bad if I was? You said yourself he’s a great guy.”
“Yeah, great as in…he’s a likable athlete, and he can sell tickets because of his humble disposition and cannon of an arm. He’s still a professional jock. He’s still a hotshot quarterback who probably has girls falling at his feet. I know athletes, Ellie. They’re like that.”
I swallow hard. “I’m really not sure what’s going on between us. But I’m fully prepared and planning on being a single mom.”
“He could hurt you.” His eyes flash. “Badly. He’s young. He’s a football star on the rise. I don’t know him that well personally, but…” He scratches his head. “I know enough of these guys to have him pretty much figured out.”
I want to protest and defend Matt, but the reality is that I have known him for only about a month. And whatever fiery physical chemistry the two of us have, I have no clue if it would ever work in a real relationship that includes a baby.
“Besides,” Noah continues, “he had a one-night stand with you, didn’t he? So obviously, he’s not exactly morally golden.”
“I was a willing participant,” I spit back, crossing my arms.
“I don’t want to think about the details, El.” He holds up a hand in disgust. “Thanks.”
“Just saying.” I bite back a laugh and welcome the little bit of lightness that’s reviving in this massively heavy conversation.
“No matter what happens…” Noah gestures around the plane. “You’ve got one hell of a support system.”
I nod and smile. “I know I do.”
“Didn’t you say the father was going to be completely out of the picture? Matt’s cool with that, I assume?”
I twist a strand of hair and swallow the lump of anxious worry rising in my throat. “I’m not…totally clear how that’s going to go. We have a lot to figure out. I promise, once I have answers, you’ll be the first to know.” I lock eyes with my brother. “But, please, silence.”
“All right, Ellie Belly.” He shakes his head and half smiles a little. “You’re weaving one tangled-ass web, kiddo.”
“Yeah. No shit.”
I was so sure that I wanted to be a totally independent, strong, single, working mother and do this with the help of my family. I planned to keep my lifestyle and raise my kid with the same spirit of adventure and freedom that I have.
But now…I’m not so sure. In some insane, twisted, massively incomprehensible way, the memory of sitting on the bathroom floor with Matt pressing a cold wet rag to my head is making me question if I want to do this without him.
What if Noah is right? What if Matt truly has no idea what he’s getting into with fatherhood in general, let alone wanting an actual relationship with me? There’s no way he really wants that, is there? It’s only because of the baby…
I have total pregnancy brain.
“Secret, remember?” I eye my brother.
He makes a gesture like he’s zipping his lips shut. “Not a word. Promise.”
I feel a sense of calm for having told Noah before anyone else. I had no idea how good it would feel for someone to know the truth besides Matt and me.
“I hope you’ve all enjoyed your flight to New York, Vices.” The captain’s voice calmly echoes through the cabin. “We’re gonna be landing soon. Everything should be nice and smooth from here on out.”
I hug my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them.
Nice and smooth, huh? Yeah, that’s a good one.
Seventeen
Matt
I glance back up at the scoreboard, still trying to convince myself that the blaring red digital numbers are real.
Yeah. Twenty-eight to ten. We beat the Jets. We’re going to the fucking Super Bowl.
There’s thirty seconds left on the clock, and we’re on defense. No shot they can even score—nothing’s getting past Smoke. Besides, we have it in the