19. Fallon

Fallon

"Hi! You must be Fallon!"

Dazed, my eyes tear away from the general chaos that's around the arena, and focus on two women standing near the first gate, waving their hands excitedly at me.

One is a little taller than the other. She has a brilliant streak of purple in her hair, which is tucked behind her ears. A little girl stands next to her, clutching her leg, looking up at her with wide eyes.

The sight of it hits me like a truck—I don't know how old that girl is, maybe two or three?—but the baby strapped to my chest right now is going to look like that. She's going to keep growing and eventually get big enough to toddle around on her own two feet.

"Hi, it is so nice to meet you," another woman says, lunging forward and gazing down at the baby with wide eyes. "I'm Lola, Devon's wife!"

"Right," I say, smiling and glancing around nervously. I don't know who Devon is, or what that's supposed to mean to me, but unease is growing in my chest. On the stadium wall over Lola's head, a TV screen flashes, advertising The Vipers hockey team, showing clips of them skating around on the ice, calling for chants from the growing crowd, which they readily participate in.

"It's nice to meet you," I manage.

All around us, sports fans churn and laugh and shout loudly to one another. My friends and I are no strangers to a Friday night, but none of us are sports people, so we're not often on this side of town.

Once, Cassidy, Chloe, and I stood outside the stadium and listened to a band perform inside, wishing we could afford the tickets. At the thought of ticket prices, my eyes dart to the will-call area, then I remember that I'm not poor anymore—another deposit from the trust hit my account this morning. I can afford tickets.

But that's a dangerous assumption—I've seen how much kids cost, and what if the baby gets sick again? I need to figure out how to get her health insurance.

Thinking about the money reminds me of the voice mail sitting on my phone. The one that I haven't responded to, from the lawyer. I was too shaken up, sitting in Brett's house on my own, to formulate a plan.

When the phone started ringing, and I saw it was from A&P Law, I'd let it ring out, then played the message with shaking fingers.

"Good morning, Ms. Ratcliffe. This is Solomon Blackstone from A&P Law, calling regarding your grandfather's estate. I hope this message finds you well. I'm reaching out because there are a few matters we need to discuss pertaining to the release of your trust funds. I attempted to visit you at the home address we have on file, but it seems you weren't available.

Given the sensitive nature of these discussions, I believe it would be best to meet in person rather than handle this over the phone. There are some documents that require your signature, and I'd like to review a few stipulations of the trust with you to ensure everything is in order. If you could please contact my office at your earliest convenience to schedule an appointment, I would greatly appreciate it. You can reach me directly at 555-0157. Again, this is Solomon Blackstone from A&P Law. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Thank you, and have a good day."

"I'm Ellie," the taller woman says, drawing me out of my memory. Her smile is still stretched wide across her face, despite the fact that I'm clearly overwhelmed and distracted. She leans down and scoops the toddler at her feet up into her arms. "And this is Clementine—you'll mostly have to look down at her. She's on strike against being carried."

"Wish I could say the same," I laugh, glancing down at the baby strapped to my chest. My entire body has been sore from the moment she landed on my doorstep—unused to the extra weight. When I carry her in my arms, my biceps burn. When I strap her to my chest, my back and hips ache the next day.

"Down!" Clementine demands, and Ellie laughs, placing her on the ground.

"I can't believe Brett was keeping this from us! Boy or girl?" Lola asks, leaning forward again and grinning at the baby, who just sits like a lump in the carrier, staring back at her.

"Oh," I say, glancing down at the baby, realizing I've put her in a plain brown outfit, "she's a girl."

"What's her name?"

I open my mouth, the list of names Brett and I ran through the other night flashing through my mind—Mila, Avery, Layla, Abigail, Ella, Isla, Eliana, Nova, Madison, Zoe—but still none of them feel right. They don't fit the girl strapped to me, reaching her hand out to Lola, who smiles cheerily at her.

Luckily, I'm saved by an announcer coming onto the various screens outside the stadium, announcing it's time for the game to start. Ellie and Lola jump and laugh, and little Clementine, who, I notice, is wearing earplugs, doesn't react.

"Don't worry," Lola says, reaching into her purse and pulling out a spare pare of little baby earmuffs. She slides them onto the baby's head as I watch, captivated. "These are noise-cancelling. She'll make it through the whole game. I have my own, but she's at home with her uncle right now."

"Right," I say, laughing weakly when Lola takes my hand, pulling me toward the gates.

"We don't want to miss the start of the game," Ellie says, laughing, "Brett will kill me if he finds out I made you stand outside this long."

"Oh," I laugh, "it's no trouble, really, I—"

"I've never seen him act like this about anyone ," Lola says, glancing at me with a wry smile on her face. "And I've been around for more than a year now. He brought a girl to our place once, for a dinner party, but barely paid her any attention. Devon said he was young, wouldn't want to settle down, but—sheesh, the way he was talking about you!"

A flush runs from the top of my head to my toes, and the world around me muffles as my thoughts flood in. Brett was talking about me?

Ellie and Lola walk us into the stadium, flashing something at the security people, who let us in and smile at the baby as we go. We head to the back of the arena, passing hordes of people in Vipers jerseys.

Faintly, I'm aware that there's a professional sports team in this town. But now, seeing it up close for the first time, it's shocking the presence and sheer size of the excitement.

"Excuse me!" someone says, sticking a microphone in my face. "Is it true? Are you married to Brett Ratcliffe?"

"No questions at this time," Lola says, gently pushing the microphone down as Ellie tugs me along. I feel numb, and tap my fingers against my arm to try and ground myself.

Ellie and Lola step onto an elevator tucked away in the back of the arena, smiling at another security person before we ascend, the doors sliding open to reveal a lush viewing area at the top of the stadium.

When we step forward together, the rink opens up in front of us, and though the box is heated, I still feel the cool chill rolling off the ice. Ellie and Lola walk right up to the ice, and Ellie waves to someone.

"There's Grey," she says, then nudges me gently, "your guy better do well tonight. How happy my husband is depends on him."

"Mine, too," Lola jokes, tucking her wild curly hair behind her ears. It's a deep brown color, and she's wearing a jersey dress with Chambers written on the back. "Oh," she says, noticing my appraisal of her outfit. "I wasn't sure if you'd have a jersey, but I went ahead and grabbed one for you. They know me well in the fan shop."

Ellie takes the baby from me as I accept the jersey from Lola, pulling it on over my T-shirt. It's white, with the Viper's logo on the front.

Ratcliffe is written across the back.

"Wow," I say, swallowing thickly, as the lights go down and a spotlight shines on the rink below us. Ellie keeps the baby in her arms, cooing at her and adjusting her earmuffs, as players start to skate out onto the ice.

I have a good idea of what's going on here, but it still shocks me when I see him skate out onto the ice, holding his hands up. His eyes meet mine, and he mouths something that looks like I'm sorry .

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer booms, "number nineteen, Brett Ratcliffe!"